Day Fourteen
Title: Gloves
Author: schwarzbrille
Prompt(s): Day Fourteen - “a lost woolen glove”
Rating: G
Word Count: 1691
Feedback: Fill my inbox with it, be it good, bad, or neutral!
Sirius awoke with a start as his History of Magic book dropped to the floor. He rubbed his eyes to dim the rumbling fire that brightened the common room, and then lounged his legs out along the length of one of the couches, stretching his arms above his head until being startled again, this time by a quiet voice on the stairs.
“Have you seen my gloves?”
He squinted over the back of the couch, and blinked blearily at Remus, whose brows were furrowed in a most discontent way.
“Hm?” Sirius replied, still sleep-thick. He wondered what time it was, as Remus was already in his mended, mismatched pajamas and the common room was empty but for a very intense game of Gobstones.
Remus pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, murmuring patiently, “My gloves, Sirius - have you seen them?”
Sirius shook his head vehemently - virtually a reflex when he felt he was being accused of anything - but then paused, and nodded.
“Yeah,” he said, sliding stiffly off the couch and scratching a hand through his dark hair, made even blacker in the low lights. “Yeah, I borrowed them earlier for Quidditch practice.”
“Borrowing implies an agreement,” Remus intoned, the tension in his face easing slightly.
“Alright, then - I took them. Why’s it matter?” Sirius’ brow arched and he kicked his book under the couch, telling himself he’d get it later though he knew this was a lie the moment he thought it.
“I need them. It’s Hogsmeade tomorrow and it’s cold out. I wish you’d asked me,” sighed Remus, stepping back on the stairs to allow Sirius to pass. “Could you get them for me?”
Sirius flinched as his bare feet pressed against the cool stone stairs, skipping a stair at a time as Remus followed him, slippers slapping lightly with each step. Sirius cracked the door to the room he shared with the others, having become wary of what he might stumble across now that James and Lily were together, and Remus shook his head.
“James and Peter have gone to the kitchens - I think they wanted some of the leftover biscuits from dinner.”
“Right,” Sirius replied, waiting for the candles to flicker to life before pacing over to the pile of clothes beside his bed that lay yet untouched by house elves. He dropped to a crouch and stifled a yawn in his shoulder as he dug through the more recently worn shirts and trousers.
“Here’s one,” he offered, and Remus took the soft, crimson wool glove gratefully, having been averse to rummage through Sirius’ dirty clothes, whether it was the “smells clean” pile or not.
“And the other? There are two, usually.” He grinned a little, but it dimmed as Sirius shook his head.
“I don’t see it. It should be right alongside that one.”
“You don’t exactly have an organized system, Sirius - are you sure it’s not there?”
Sirius heard the clear note of anxiety that rang like a piano chime through Remus’ voice, and he started going through the clothes with more precision. He checked in trouser pockets, inside shirtsleeves, and even inside a rather grey pair of socks that he hadn’t worn in over a week before sitting back on his heels and scratching his cheek thoughtfully.
“It’s not here, mate.” Sirius kept facing the traitorous pile of clothes, if only to stop seeing what would inevitably be one of those terribly quiet looks of bitterness that so often came across Remus’ face, carrying all the unsuspecting grace of an autumn rain.
“Where could it be?” asked Remus, his tone quiet - nothing more or less. This concerned Sirius even more greatly than if he had decided to shout at him.
“Probably in the changing rooms. I must have dropped it after practice.”
“So you came back with one glove? How didn’t you notice you were only wearing one glove?”
“I didn’t wear them back inside - I was hot then and didn’t need them.” Training his voice to a tone of casual caution, Sirius reached for his clothes again and Remus interjected.
“Don’t - just… don’t bother, Sirius.”
Typically this would be an invitation to return to his nap - or go and join Peter and James in the kitchen - but the resignation in Remus’ voice stung him and he stood, finally facing his friend from behind a protective drape of hair. He offered a winning smile - nonchalant and capable of winning over most anyone that hasn’t already caught onto him - and rolled his shoulders in a shrug.
“It’s nothing to worry about, Moony - I’ll have a run down to the changing room tomorrow and look for it.”
Remus watched the floor instead of Sirius, face and expression shadowed by his tawny hair.
“The house elves would have picked it up already. You should have asked me.”
“So we’ll go and talk to them - ”
“Sirius - ”
“ - or maybe one of the team picked it up - ”
“Sirius, please - ”
“ - so we can check - ”
“Sirius!”
Remus clenched his sole remaining glove tightly in his hands, as though wary it might disappear as well, and for the ringing silence after his shout, both boys seemed equally taken aback. Sirius recovered most quickly, however, and his brow creased as he followed Remus back down the hall to his bedroom, whispering sharply.
“Mate, it’s a glove! A sodding glove! Why are you getting all bent about this?” insisted Sirius, jaw tight. “I’ll buy you another pair when we’re out tomorrow if it matters so bloody much - “
“My mum, Sirius - my mum made these gloves for me,” Remus said once they had reached his room, his voice scarce above a whisper but carrying more impact than his shout or even a blow. “She knit them for me to congratulate me making prefect and it’s the only gift they could afford to give me. So yes - to you they’re just sodding gloves that you can borrow without asking and lose whenever you like, and but they are - were - important to me, because not everyone’s got money falling out their backsides to buy whatever they like.”
Sirius’ eyes widened briefly and then narrowed, and he opened his mouth to speak before he caught sight of Remus’ gaze, painful to meet like the fire downstairs had been. He bit his tongue - literally, and painfully - and set his jaw, folding his arms tight over his chest and watching Remus as he stalked back to his bed and whipped the curtains closed around him, still tightly clutching his remaining glove. Sirius closed his eyes and pretended he didn’t hear the catch in Remus’ breath behind the thick drapes, and returned to his own room to snatch the map from beneath Peter’s bureau. His feet fell heavy as he paced down the stairs and across the common room, leaving the dormitory with a watchful eye on the map.
The next morning, just before the sun crackled across the windows of the tower, Remus squinted at the headache that had been brought upon him the evening before and reached for the glass of water he always left next to his bed. Instead, his fingers met something thick and a little scratchy, but mostly soft, and he pulled it to him through the curtain around his bed. He looked at the two scarlet mittens - one slightly larger than the other, with a few mistakes and patches of unevenness in the knitting, and he turned them over gently. His brows furrowed - on the right hand mitten was a gold letter L, and on the left mitten was an R. He considered this at length, and then slid quickly out of bed. His footfalls were soft as he made his way to the other boys’ room, careful not to wake James or Peter as he entered it, and walked quietly to sit on the edge of it Sirius’ bed.
Sirius let out a snort in his sleep, still in his clothes from the day before, and Remus grasped his shoulder, gently shaking him awake. Sirius opened one eye up at him and grunted - as close to a question as he could form.
“These mittens, Sirius - where did they come from?” He kept his voice low, glancing warily to the other boys’ motionless forms to ensure they stayed as such.
Sirius stretched into a languid yawn, sprawling out even more than he was initially, and squinted from beneath his tangled hair.
“Made them.”
Remus blinked and looked at the mittens again, as Sirius rolled onto his side away from Remus and stuffed his pillow beneath his head.
“You… made these.”
“Mmn.”
“You don’t know how to knit.”
“Books,” Sirius murmured half into his pillow. Remus watched the length of his back, the slow rise and fall of his breath beneath the sheets, and continued gently.
“Books?”
“Charms book… the library. Can charm and… make things.”
“But how did you - ”
“Will show you later. Only been asleep an hour an’ I’ve got practice later.”
Drawing in on himself slightly, Remus stroked a thumb over the wool mittens and suddenly recognized where he had felt the material before. It was the soft but scratchy, warm and familiar yarn from the scarves they were given by the school, striped with broad bands of crimson and gold. His fingers traced a series of imperfect stitches and he leaned back against Sirius, draping an arm over him and resting his forehead against Sirius’ shoulder, eyes closing briefly.
“The letters - the right and left - they’re on the wrong hands,” Remus whispered after a long moment, intense warmth in his voice and charmed all the way to his cheeks, which had turned a scarlet that could rival the mittens.
Sirius shifted slightly, moving back against Remus’ touch and warmth and acceptance, and reached up to grasp Remus’ hand and pull him closer.
“It’s not right and left, you git,” he mumbled against Remus’ palm, each word a soft brush of lips despite the crooked grin that appeared like dawn through the haze of sleep. “It’s your initials.”
Remus glanced down at the mittens again, left to right, and hid a smile against Sirius’ shoulder.
Day: 1&2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14
Author: schwarzbrille
Prompt(s): Day Fourteen - “a lost woolen glove”
Rating: G
Word Count: 1691
Feedback: Fill my inbox with it, be it good, bad, or neutral!
Sirius awoke with a start as his History of Magic book dropped to the floor. He rubbed his eyes to dim the rumbling fire that brightened the common room, and then lounged his legs out along the length of one of the couches, stretching his arms above his head until being startled again, this time by a quiet voice on the stairs.
“Have you seen my gloves?”
He squinted over the back of the couch, and blinked blearily at Remus, whose brows were furrowed in a most discontent way.
“Hm?” Sirius replied, still sleep-thick. He wondered what time it was, as Remus was already in his mended, mismatched pajamas and the common room was empty but for a very intense game of Gobstones.
Remus pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, murmuring patiently, “My gloves, Sirius - have you seen them?”
Sirius shook his head vehemently - virtually a reflex when he felt he was being accused of anything - but then paused, and nodded.
“Yeah,” he said, sliding stiffly off the couch and scratching a hand through his dark hair, made even blacker in the low lights. “Yeah, I borrowed them earlier for Quidditch practice.”
“Borrowing implies an agreement,” Remus intoned, the tension in his face easing slightly.
“Alright, then - I took them. Why’s it matter?” Sirius’ brow arched and he kicked his book under the couch, telling himself he’d get it later though he knew this was a lie the moment he thought it.
“I need them. It’s Hogsmeade tomorrow and it’s cold out. I wish you’d asked me,” sighed Remus, stepping back on the stairs to allow Sirius to pass. “Could you get them for me?”
Sirius flinched as his bare feet pressed against the cool stone stairs, skipping a stair at a time as Remus followed him, slippers slapping lightly with each step. Sirius cracked the door to the room he shared with the others, having become wary of what he might stumble across now that James and Lily were together, and Remus shook his head.
“James and Peter have gone to the kitchens - I think they wanted some of the leftover biscuits from dinner.”
“Right,” Sirius replied, waiting for the candles to flicker to life before pacing over to the pile of clothes beside his bed that lay yet untouched by house elves. He dropped to a crouch and stifled a yawn in his shoulder as he dug through the more recently worn shirts and trousers.
“Here’s one,” he offered, and Remus took the soft, crimson wool glove gratefully, having been averse to rummage through Sirius’ dirty clothes, whether it was the “smells clean” pile or not.
“And the other? There are two, usually.” He grinned a little, but it dimmed as Sirius shook his head.
“I don’t see it. It should be right alongside that one.”
“You don’t exactly have an organized system, Sirius - are you sure it’s not there?”
Sirius heard the clear note of anxiety that rang like a piano chime through Remus’ voice, and he started going through the clothes with more precision. He checked in trouser pockets, inside shirtsleeves, and even inside a rather grey pair of socks that he hadn’t worn in over a week before sitting back on his heels and scratching his cheek thoughtfully.
“It’s not here, mate.” Sirius kept facing the traitorous pile of clothes, if only to stop seeing what would inevitably be one of those terribly quiet looks of bitterness that so often came across Remus’ face, carrying all the unsuspecting grace of an autumn rain.
“Where could it be?” asked Remus, his tone quiet - nothing more or less. This concerned Sirius even more greatly than if he had decided to shout at him.
“Probably in the changing rooms. I must have dropped it after practice.”
“So you came back with one glove? How didn’t you notice you were only wearing one glove?”
“I didn’t wear them back inside - I was hot then and didn’t need them.” Training his voice to a tone of casual caution, Sirius reached for his clothes again and Remus interjected.
“Don’t - just… don’t bother, Sirius.”
Typically this would be an invitation to return to his nap - or go and join Peter and James in the kitchen - but the resignation in Remus’ voice stung him and he stood, finally facing his friend from behind a protective drape of hair. He offered a winning smile - nonchalant and capable of winning over most anyone that hasn’t already caught onto him - and rolled his shoulders in a shrug.
“It’s nothing to worry about, Moony - I’ll have a run down to the changing room tomorrow and look for it.”
Remus watched the floor instead of Sirius, face and expression shadowed by his tawny hair.
“The house elves would have picked it up already. You should have asked me.”
“So we’ll go and talk to them - ”
“Sirius - ”
“ - or maybe one of the team picked it up - ”
“Sirius, please - ”
“ - so we can check - ”
“Sirius!”
Remus clenched his sole remaining glove tightly in his hands, as though wary it might disappear as well, and for the ringing silence after his shout, both boys seemed equally taken aback. Sirius recovered most quickly, however, and his brow creased as he followed Remus back down the hall to his bedroom, whispering sharply.
“Mate, it’s a glove! A sodding glove! Why are you getting all bent about this?” insisted Sirius, jaw tight. “I’ll buy you another pair when we’re out tomorrow if it matters so bloody much - “
“My mum, Sirius - my mum made these gloves for me,” Remus said once they had reached his room, his voice scarce above a whisper but carrying more impact than his shout or even a blow. “She knit them for me to congratulate me making prefect and it’s the only gift they could afford to give me. So yes - to you they’re just sodding gloves that you can borrow without asking and lose whenever you like, and but they are - were - important to me, because not everyone’s got money falling out their backsides to buy whatever they like.”
Sirius’ eyes widened briefly and then narrowed, and he opened his mouth to speak before he caught sight of Remus’ gaze, painful to meet like the fire downstairs had been. He bit his tongue - literally, and painfully - and set his jaw, folding his arms tight over his chest and watching Remus as he stalked back to his bed and whipped the curtains closed around him, still tightly clutching his remaining glove. Sirius closed his eyes and pretended he didn’t hear the catch in Remus’ breath behind the thick drapes, and returned to his own room to snatch the map from beneath Peter’s bureau. His feet fell heavy as he paced down the stairs and across the common room, leaving the dormitory with a watchful eye on the map.
The next morning, just before the sun crackled across the windows of the tower, Remus squinted at the headache that had been brought upon him the evening before and reached for the glass of water he always left next to his bed. Instead, his fingers met something thick and a little scratchy, but mostly soft, and he pulled it to him through the curtain around his bed. He looked at the two scarlet mittens - one slightly larger than the other, with a few mistakes and patches of unevenness in the knitting, and he turned them over gently. His brows furrowed - on the right hand mitten was a gold letter L, and on the left mitten was an R. He considered this at length, and then slid quickly out of bed. His footfalls were soft as he made his way to the other boys’ room, careful not to wake James or Peter as he entered it, and walked quietly to sit on the edge of it Sirius’ bed.
Sirius let out a snort in his sleep, still in his clothes from the day before, and Remus grasped his shoulder, gently shaking him awake. Sirius opened one eye up at him and grunted - as close to a question as he could form.
“These mittens, Sirius - where did they come from?” He kept his voice low, glancing warily to the other boys’ motionless forms to ensure they stayed as such.
Sirius stretched into a languid yawn, sprawling out even more than he was initially, and squinted from beneath his tangled hair.
“Made them.”
Remus blinked and looked at the mittens again, as Sirius rolled onto his side away from Remus and stuffed his pillow beneath his head.
“You… made these.”
“Mmn.”
“You don’t know how to knit.”
“Books,” Sirius murmured half into his pillow. Remus watched the length of his back, the slow rise and fall of his breath beneath the sheets, and continued gently.
“Books?”
“Charms book… the library. Can charm and… make things.”
“But how did you - ”
“Will show you later. Only been asleep an hour an’ I’ve got practice later.”
Drawing in on himself slightly, Remus stroked a thumb over the wool mittens and suddenly recognized where he had felt the material before. It was the soft but scratchy, warm and familiar yarn from the scarves they were given by the school, striped with broad bands of crimson and gold. His fingers traced a series of imperfect stitches and he leaned back against Sirius, draping an arm over him and resting his forehead against Sirius’ shoulder, eyes closing briefly.
“The letters - the right and left - they’re on the wrong hands,” Remus whispered after a long moment, intense warmth in his voice and charmed all the way to his cheeks, which had turned a scarlet that could rival the mittens.
Sirius shifted slightly, moving back against Remus’ touch and warmth and acceptance, and reached up to grasp Remus’ hand and pull him closer.
“It’s not right and left, you git,” he mumbled against Remus’ palm, each word a soft brush of lips despite the crooked grin that appeared like dawn through the haze of sleep. “It’s your initials.”
Remus glanced down at the mittens again, left to right, and hid a smile against Sirius’ shoulder.
Day: 1&2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14