South Sea Bubbles
Author - shaggydogstail
Title - South Sea Bubbles
Rating - PG (gasp! but for one rude word, it's probably a G)
Pairing - Remus/Sirius
Summary - When Sirius 'flies south' after his escape from the Ministry of Magic, he spends his days on a beach, waiting for the tropical sun to chase away the darkness of Azkaban. Remus finds him.
The sand on English beaches is yellow, mostly, sometimes slightly orange or flecked with brown. It’s coarse and abrasive, scratching between toes and any other place it gets trapped. Some beaches don’t even have sand, just pebbles or, worse still, gravel, pointy and sharp, too painful to walk on, far less lie down to sunbathe (not that there ever is much sun to bathe in).
The sand running between Sirius’ fingers is brilliant white, pure and dazzling, not the dirty golden sand of his youthful jaunts to Essex beaches with their shabby piers and striped beach huts. It’s softer too, the fine particles seem to stroke his fingers as they fall back down on the beach.
It isn’t just the sand, everything is brighter here, more colourful. The sparkling ocean, deep turquoise with opaque foam from the waves, the perfect sky, clear blue. The men and women on the beach, locals, tourists all wear ridiculously colourful clothes; tacky neons and clashing primaries on the Bermuda shorts favoured by the male tourists, vivid indigos and fiery red prints on the fabric of the local women’s clothes.
The colours are intense, overwhelming, like the heat from the blazing sun. It makes Sirius’ eyes hurt, and his skin scorches, but he doesn’t mind, doesn’t even squint in the glare. It’s lighter and brighter than anything he has ever seen, more heat than he has ever felt. The light dazzles after thirteen years of darkness, the heat sweats out thirteen years of cold. Sirius wants to burn, to feel the light and the heat purify him, blast away the putrid stench, tomb-like cold and bleak, dank dark of Azkaban and his memories. Lily and James…Lily and James…my fault.
He finds a tropical bird with brilliant plumes to take his letter to Harry.
~*~
It’s eight in the morning and already the sun is burning down on the beach. The sand feels cool for now, but before the hour is up it will already have started to warm, and by mid day it will be impossible to walk barefoot across it, as it absorbs and reflects the sun’s rays, white-hot and burning. Sirius sits alone under a palm tree and waits.
At ten o’clock a small child, running towards the waves trips up and lands at his feet. Sirius picks her up and sets her down on her feet. The little girl glances at Sirius, before bursting into tears and running for her mother. Sirius doesn’t blame her.
At twelve o’clock he buys grilled fish and slices of fresh pineapple from a stall on the beach. Counting out the Muggle coins to pay, he remembers the last time he bought anything with wizarding currency, he had to use a cat as an intermediary, and smiles. The boy serving on the stall has to run after him to give him his change.
At two o’clock he climbs the rocky path up the cliff face on the far side of the beach, taking water and apples to Buckbeak. The hippogriff allows Sirius to stroke the feathers on the top of his head while he eats. Later, when Sirius is back on the beach, he forces his eyes to look up into the blinding sunlight, and thinks he can see pale blue wings flapping overhead. He doesn’t suppose the Muggles will notice.
At four o’clock Sirius is tired from sitting in the sun all day, waiting and waiting. The brilliant, unrelenting blaze of the sun makes his eyes sting and his head aches. As he watches children flying kites further down the beach, laughing and free, he feels a shadow fall over him. He looks up.
‘Hello, Moony.’
~*~
Remus smiles awkwardly and sits down beside him. ‘You were expecting me?’ he asks.
Sirius nods. ‘Dumbledore said…we’ve been writing, you know…he said, well, that you were travelling. So I thought…hoped…’ he breaks off and stares out to sea.
Do you still love me?
The heat doesn’t agree much with Remus; the tops of his ears have turned pink and his skin feels prickly. The boyish freckles on his nose are incongruous beside the streaks of grey in his hair. He doesn’t want to get burnt.
‘I just…I had to see you.’ He looks straight at Sirius, who continues to gaze out across the ocean. ‘I wanted to be sure, to know…’ He places a hand on Sirius’ shoulder; Sirius stiffens, but doesn’t move away. ‘I wanted to be sure you were real.’
Sirius turns back and looks at him, curious. ‘Real?’ he asks.
‘Yes,’ says Remus, staring back at him. ‘Real. That night, in the Shack…It felt like I’d dreamt it.’
Sirius looks puzzled. ‘I don’t have dreams,’ he says matter-of-factly.
Remus doesn’t need to ask why. He passes Sirius one of the pieces of watermelon he bought on his way down to the beach. Sirius thanks him, and wonders what it might be like to have dreams instead of just memories.
Do you still love me?
~*~
When he finishes eating the watermelon, Remus wraps up the skin and the pips in a handkerchief, ready to dispose of the mess sensibly when he leaves the beach. He places the handkerchief on the sand beside him and looks around. ‘It’s beautiful here,’ he says.
It takes a minute for Sirius to respond. ‘Yes, it is,’ he replies, sounding slightly surprised, as if he only just noticed it. After another minute’s silence he says suddenly, ‘I used to be beautiful.’
‘Yes, you were,’ Remus agrees. Sirius can’t tell if he thinks it’s a good or a bad thing, so he doesn’t say anything.
Do you still love me?
‘Does it bother you?’ Remus asks, when it is clear Sirius isn’t going to speak.
‘No, I’m glad,’ Sirius tells him. ‘I don’t want to look like me. Don’t want to be me.’
‘No?’ Remus looks at him. His expression is soft, reflective. It makes Sirius flinch again.
‘No. Haven’t you heard? It was in the Prophet. Sirius Black is a wanted criminal. A murderer and traitor. Every decent wizard hates him.’
Remus bites his lip and forces a tiny smile. ‘I don’t hate you, Padfoot.’
Sirius looks away and watches the children take down their kites.
Do you still love me?
~*~
It takes a long time for darkness to fall properly, but as soon as the light dims in the early evening, lanterns are lit along the road at the top of the beach. There’s a market there every night, selling jewellery and nick-nacks, mementos, novelties and food carts with sweet, hot and spicy snacks. Sirius likes the lanterns best, brightly coloured balls of light, bobbing in the evening breeze and laughing at the darkness.
The sun had gone down, but it was still warm on the beach where Sirius and Remus had sat in near silence for hours. Sirius sits with his legs drawn up in front of his chest, chin propped on his knees. Remus sits beside him, twiddling his fingers and swishing the sand slightly with tiny movements of his feet. Their shoulders are just touching.
‘You probably should,’ says Sirius abruptly.
Remus turns to face him. ‘Should what?’ he asks.
‘Hate me.’
‘Why?’
Sirius looks surprised. ‘Lily and James,’ he starts, and gulps down air before continuing. ‘My fault.’
Remus shakes his head firmly. ‘No, no it wasn’t.’
‘But if I didn’t…if I hadn’t-’
Remus places one hand on each of Sirius’ shoulders, pulling him gently to face him. ‘No,’ he says, ‘You didn’t know. None of us did. You did your best. It isn’t your fault.’
Shaking, Sirius opens his mouth to protest, but no words come out. Remus looks straight at him, his eyes full of concern and compassion, the anger and resentment Sirius feels sure he deserves absent from his care-worn features. Remus lifts a hand off Sirius’ shoulder and strokes the hair back from his face. ‘It’s not your fault,’ he whispers.
Sirius’ eyes are bright, the burning red of the nearest street lantern reflected in against the dead grey and dilated pupils. His shaking gets worse and he sniffs heavily. ‘Please…please don’t be nice to me…I don’t think I can stand it.’
He chokes and Remus pulls him towards him. Sirius’ face is damp on his shoulder as he strokes his back, murmuring over and over, ‘it’s not your fault, it’s not your fault, it’s not your fault.’
Eventually Sirius stills, and his breathing returns to normal. Remus stops muttering, but keeps his hands pressed to Sirius’ back. Sirius doesn’t really believe Remus, but he’s glad that he said it anyway. Loveyouloveyoulovedyouforever, he thinks.
Do you still love me?
~*~
The stars are out, twinkling in a velvety sky, yet somehow it isn’t really dark. The sea is inky-blue, waves breaking gently over the sand, which glows, pearlescent, in the light of the crescent moon. The street market is in full swing, illuminated by a carnival of multi-coloured lanterns swaying overhead. Remus and Sirius are watching birds swooping low over the waves and diving for fish. Sirius didn’t think Remus ever cared much for bird watching, and wonders if he should show him the market.
‘So,’ Sirius says, brushing sand off his clothes, a little awkward in the role of host, ‘what do you want to do now? I thought maybe you might like to see the market; we could get some churros or maybe a drink?’
Remus looks at him, mildly bemused by the stilted politeness of Sirius’ tone. ‘Actually, I was hoping you’d take me back to your hotel and let me shag you senseless,’ he says.
Sirius goggles, and stares back at him open mouthed. Remus’ expression is unruffled; he was always a demon poker player.
‘There’s no need to look so shocked, Padfoot,’ he says calmly. ‘True, you’re not quite the looker you once were, but scruffy unemployed werewolves can’t afford to be too picky. It’s been a while and, frankly, I’m getting desperate.’
Remus’ expression is even as Sirius’ gapes at him. Slowly, Sirius feels something bubbling up inside him. His chest and stomach contract, and he feels the muscles pull in his face. He smiles, then snickers, throws back his head and is laughing out loud. It’s the most ridiculous thing, because everything is so wrong, and he’s so scared and desperate and anxious, and Remus is meant to be serious and grave, telling him off or reassuring him, not teasing him with bawdy comments. After everything that’s happened laughter is the last thing Sirius expected, but that makes it even funnier, like trying not to snigger in front of a teacher, and when Sirius remembers this he laughs even harder. He’s shaking now, almost crying with mirth as he rolls over on the sand, his body wracked with something he’d forgotten. Remus laughs too, falling over onto the sand, the sound of his laughter echoing around Sirius like ringing bells.
Do you still love me?
It takes several minutes for Sirius’ frantic hilarity to subside. He lies on his back, twitching and looking at the stars. Every time he tries to look at Remus he can’t help but snicker like a schoolboy, and just knowing how completely inappropriate it all is, how utterly wrong it seems to find anything funny makes them both snort with laughter.
Eventually, even the bubbling after-shocks of laughter die away, and Remus looks at Sirius with a warm, gentle smile. Sirius returns the smile almost shyly.
‘You’ll be all right, you know,’ Remus tells him.
Yes.
~*~
Title - South Sea Bubbles
Rating - PG (gasp! but for one rude word, it's probably a G)
Pairing - Remus/Sirius
Summary - When Sirius 'flies south' after his escape from the Ministry of Magic, he spends his days on a beach, waiting for the tropical sun to chase away the darkness of Azkaban. Remus finds him.
The sand on English beaches is yellow, mostly, sometimes slightly orange or flecked with brown. It’s coarse and abrasive, scratching between toes and any other place it gets trapped. Some beaches don’t even have sand, just pebbles or, worse still, gravel, pointy and sharp, too painful to walk on, far less lie down to sunbathe (not that there ever is much sun to bathe in).
The sand running between Sirius’ fingers is brilliant white, pure and dazzling, not the dirty golden sand of his youthful jaunts to Essex beaches with their shabby piers and striped beach huts. It’s softer too, the fine particles seem to stroke his fingers as they fall back down on the beach.
It isn’t just the sand, everything is brighter here, more colourful. The sparkling ocean, deep turquoise with opaque foam from the waves, the perfect sky, clear blue. The men and women on the beach, locals, tourists all wear ridiculously colourful clothes; tacky neons and clashing primaries on the Bermuda shorts favoured by the male tourists, vivid indigos and fiery red prints on the fabric of the local women’s clothes.
The colours are intense, overwhelming, like the heat from the blazing sun. It makes Sirius’ eyes hurt, and his skin scorches, but he doesn’t mind, doesn’t even squint in the glare. It’s lighter and brighter than anything he has ever seen, more heat than he has ever felt. The light dazzles after thirteen years of darkness, the heat sweats out thirteen years of cold. Sirius wants to burn, to feel the light and the heat purify him, blast away the putrid stench, tomb-like cold and bleak, dank dark of Azkaban and his memories. Lily and James…Lily and James…my fault.
He finds a tropical bird with brilliant plumes to take his letter to Harry.
~*~
It’s eight in the morning and already the sun is burning down on the beach. The sand feels cool for now, but before the hour is up it will already have started to warm, and by mid day it will be impossible to walk barefoot across it, as it absorbs and reflects the sun’s rays, white-hot and burning. Sirius sits alone under a palm tree and waits.
At ten o’clock a small child, running towards the waves trips up and lands at his feet. Sirius picks her up and sets her down on her feet. The little girl glances at Sirius, before bursting into tears and running for her mother. Sirius doesn’t blame her.
At twelve o’clock he buys grilled fish and slices of fresh pineapple from a stall on the beach. Counting out the Muggle coins to pay, he remembers the last time he bought anything with wizarding currency, he had to use a cat as an intermediary, and smiles. The boy serving on the stall has to run after him to give him his change.
At two o’clock he climbs the rocky path up the cliff face on the far side of the beach, taking water and apples to Buckbeak. The hippogriff allows Sirius to stroke the feathers on the top of his head while he eats. Later, when Sirius is back on the beach, he forces his eyes to look up into the blinding sunlight, and thinks he can see pale blue wings flapping overhead. He doesn’t suppose the Muggles will notice.
At four o’clock Sirius is tired from sitting in the sun all day, waiting and waiting. The brilliant, unrelenting blaze of the sun makes his eyes sting and his head aches. As he watches children flying kites further down the beach, laughing and free, he feels a shadow fall over him. He looks up.
‘Hello, Moony.’
~*~
Remus smiles awkwardly and sits down beside him. ‘You were expecting me?’ he asks.
Sirius nods. ‘Dumbledore said…we’ve been writing, you know…he said, well, that you were travelling. So I thought…hoped…’ he breaks off and stares out to sea.
Do you still love me?
The heat doesn’t agree much with Remus; the tops of his ears have turned pink and his skin feels prickly. The boyish freckles on his nose are incongruous beside the streaks of grey in his hair. He doesn’t want to get burnt.
‘I just…I had to see you.’ He looks straight at Sirius, who continues to gaze out across the ocean. ‘I wanted to be sure, to know…’ He places a hand on Sirius’ shoulder; Sirius stiffens, but doesn’t move away. ‘I wanted to be sure you were real.’
Sirius turns back and looks at him, curious. ‘Real?’ he asks.
‘Yes,’ says Remus, staring back at him. ‘Real. That night, in the Shack…It felt like I’d dreamt it.’
Sirius looks puzzled. ‘I don’t have dreams,’ he says matter-of-factly.
Remus doesn’t need to ask why. He passes Sirius one of the pieces of watermelon he bought on his way down to the beach. Sirius thanks him, and wonders what it might be like to have dreams instead of just memories.
Do you still love me?
~*~
When he finishes eating the watermelon, Remus wraps up the skin and the pips in a handkerchief, ready to dispose of the mess sensibly when he leaves the beach. He places the handkerchief on the sand beside him and looks around. ‘It’s beautiful here,’ he says.
It takes a minute for Sirius to respond. ‘Yes, it is,’ he replies, sounding slightly surprised, as if he only just noticed it. After another minute’s silence he says suddenly, ‘I used to be beautiful.’
‘Yes, you were,’ Remus agrees. Sirius can’t tell if he thinks it’s a good or a bad thing, so he doesn’t say anything.
Do you still love me?
‘Does it bother you?’ Remus asks, when it is clear Sirius isn’t going to speak.
‘No, I’m glad,’ Sirius tells him. ‘I don’t want to look like me. Don’t want to be me.’
‘No?’ Remus looks at him. His expression is soft, reflective. It makes Sirius flinch again.
‘No. Haven’t you heard? It was in the Prophet. Sirius Black is a wanted criminal. A murderer and traitor. Every decent wizard hates him.’
Remus bites his lip and forces a tiny smile. ‘I don’t hate you, Padfoot.’
Sirius looks away and watches the children take down their kites.
Do you still love me?
~*~
It takes a long time for darkness to fall properly, but as soon as the light dims in the early evening, lanterns are lit along the road at the top of the beach. There’s a market there every night, selling jewellery and nick-nacks, mementos, novelties and food carts with sweet, hot and spicy snacks. Sirius likes the lanterns best, brightly coloured balls of light, bobbing in the evening breeze and laughing at the darkness.
The sun had gone down, but it was still warm on the beach where Sirius and Remus had sat in near silence for hours. Sirius sits with his legs drawn up in front of his chest, chin propped on his knees. Remus sits beside him, twiddling his fingers and swishing the sand slightly with tiny movements of his feet. Their shoulders are just touching.
‘You probably should,’ says Sirius abruptly.
Remus turns to face him. ‘Should what?’ he asks.
‘Hate me.’
‘Why?’
Sirius looks surprised. ‘Lily and James,’ he starts, and gulps down air before continuing. ‘My fault.’
Remus shakes his head firmly. ‘No, no it wasn’t.’
‘But if I didn’t…if I hadn’t-’
Remus places one hand on each of Sirius’ shoulders, pulling him gently to face him. ‘No,’ he says, ‘You didn’t know. None of us did. You did your best. It isn’t your fault.’
Shaking, Sirius opens his mouth to protest, but no words come out. Remus looks straight at him, his eyes full of concern and compassion, the anger and resentment Sirius feels sure he deserves absent from his care-worn features. Remus lifts a hand off Sirius’ shoulder and strokes the hair back from his face. ‘It’s not your fault,’ he whispers.
Sirius’ eyes are bright, the burning red of the nearest street lantern reflected in against the dead grey and dilated pupils. His shaking gets worse and he sniffs heavily. ‘Please…please don’t be nice to me…I don’t think I can stand it.’
He chokes and Remus pulls him towards him. Sirius’ face is damp on his shoulder as he strokes his back, murmuring over and over, ‘it’s not your fault, it’s not your fault, it’s not your fault.’
Eventually Sirius stills, and his breathing returns to normal. Remus stops muttering, but keeps his hands pressed to Sirius’ back. Sirius doesn’t really believe Remus, but he’s glad that he said it anyway. Loveyouloveyoulovedyouforever, he thinks.
Do you still love me?
~*~
The stars are out, twinkling in a velvety sky, yet somehow it isn’t really dark. The sea is inky-blue, waves breaking gently over the sand, which glows, pearlescent, in the light of the crescent moon. The street market is in full swing, illuminated by a carnival of multi-coloured lanterns swaying overhead. Remus and Sirius are watching birds swooping low over the waves and diving for fish. Sirius didn’t think Remus ever cared much for bird watching, and wonders if he should show him the market.
‘So,’ Sirius says, brushing sand off his clothes, a little awkward in the role of host, ‘what do you want to do now? I thought maybe you might like to see the market; we could get some churros or maybe a drink?’
Remus looks at him, mildly bemused by the stilted politeness of Sirius’ tone. ‘Actually, I was hoping you’d take me back to your hotel and let me shag you senseless,’ he says.
Sirius goggles, and stares back at him open mouthed. Remus’ expression is unruffled; he was always a demon poker player.
‘There’s no need to look so shocked, Padfoot,’ he says calmly. ‘True, you’re not quite the looker you once were, but scruffy unemployed werewolves can’t afford to be too picky. It’s been a while and, frankly, I’m getting desperate.’
Remus’ expression is even as Sirius’ gapes at him. Slowly, Sirius feels something bubbling up inside him. His chest and stomach contract, and he feels the muscles pull in his face. He smiles, then snickers, throws back his head and is laughing out loud. It’s the most ridiculous thing, because everything is so wrong, and he’s so scared and desperate and anxious, and Remus is meant to be serious and grave, telling him off or reassuring him, not teasing him with bawdy comments. After everything that’s happened laughter is the last thing Sirius expected, but that makes it even funnier, like trying not to snigger in front of a teacher, and when Sirius remembers this he laughs even harder. He’s shaking now, almost crying with mirth as he rolls over on the sand, his body wracked with something he’d forgotten. Remus laughs too, falling over onto the sand, the sound of his laughter echoing around Sirius like ringing bells.
Do you still love me?
It takes several minutes for Sirius’ frantic hilarity to subside. He lies on his back, twitching and looking at the stars. Every time he tries to look at Remus he can’t help but snicker like a schoolboy, and just knowing how completely inappropriate it all is, how utterly wrong it seems to find anything funny makes them both snort with laughter.
Eventually, even the bubbling after-shocks of laughter die away, and Remus looks at Sirius with a warm, gentle smile. Sirius returns the smile almost shyly.
‘You’ll be all right, you know,’ Remus tells him.
Yes.
~*~