![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
penhaligonblue.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
small_giftsTitle: In the Guise of a Friend
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
penhaligonblue
Recipient:liseuse
Rating: PG
Word count: 1,174
Summary: Remus and Sirius have a hushed conversation beneath the dome of Saint Paul's Cathedral.
Notes: In response toliseuse's first prompt, a photo of the Whispering Gallery at Saint Paul's. Many thanks to brighty18 for her exceptionally helpful beta reading services.
In the Guise of a Friend (December 1980)
What the Iliad and the Æneid were to Milton, the Pantheon and the Temple of Peace were to Wren. It was necessary he should try to conceal his Christian Church in the guise of a Roman Temple. Still the idea of the Christian cathedral is always present, and reappears in every form, but so, too, does that of the Heathen temple: two conflicting elements in contact, neither subduing the other...
(James Fergusson’s History of Modern Architecture)
Cords of cirrus cloud rear up above the London skyline. As he walks, Remus can feel icy knots in his ear canals. Nevertheless, he's grateful for the frigid wind. It keeps the sulfurous reek of Battersea in check. From his lofty perch near the top of Saint Paul's, he gazes at the rooftops of the surrounding buildings. Remus doesn’t need a guidebook to tell him that the cathedral is older than half of them: any good Londoner knows that most of the City had to be rebuilt after the Blitz. Not Saint Paul's, though. The fanciful confection of a cathedral turned out (some might say miraculously) to be the sturdiest structure in London.
Remus takes another turn about the Stone Gallery, a narrow outdoor walkway ringing the joint between the cathedral’s massive dome and its spire. The movement helps ward off the cold, but still Remus's skin pinches with each gust of wind. He digs his hands deeper into his pockets. His coat buttons need mending, he notes; and with that observation, his resolve shatters. He makes for the door to the inner stairs, and though the passage is hardly toasty, the relief in his limbs is almost painful.
The staircase spills Remus out into the Whispering Gallery, the next level down from the Stone Gallery; though this one, mercifully, is housed within the dome. The walls at this height are bare limestone; but every other surface in eyesight is gilded, painted, or otherwise ornamented. The grandeur strikes Remus with particular force after his bout with asceticism outside.
Normally, Remus considers such entertainments off-limits. Unless he’s hosting out-of-town cousins, the fee for a visit to the galleries is enough to keep him out of Saint Paul's altogether. But Sirius was insistent that they see the place done up for Christmas, and they were both feeling flush with their holiday bonuses. So, this afternoon, Remus Flooed to Sirius's flat, and together they boarded a train (crowded with weary shoppers) on the Central Line.
At the moment, Sirius is in the crypt (another few shillings' worth of indulgence), paying homage to Arthur Sullivan. Not willing to pay the extra fee, and unsure he can tolerate yet another verse of 'Modern Major General', Remus has sought higher ground.
His body begins to adjust to the sudden warmth and splendor. Remus approaches the railing of the Whispering Gallery and peers into the yawning void beneath the dome. A hundred empty feet below, a many-armed compass rose marks the intersection of the nave and transept. Black and white floor tiles surround the design in a checker pattern, and somewhere in the sanctuary, a chamber orchestra rehearses for this evening's service. The columns and arches are hung with swags of dazzling Sarum blue. Remus feels vertigo looming, and he steps back from the overlook.
His dizziness subsides, revealing Sirius on the other side of the gallery. Hair mussed, scarf swathing his face, Sirius stands with his hands in his pockets and a benevolent smile on his face. Pretty damn handsome, Remus thinks, and he doesn't even consider not grinning back.
'Do you know how this works?' Sirius calls. His voice rings on sacred stone.
'The walls?' Remus shouts back. 'Of course.'
Remus steps over to the smooth, white wall, and sits on the curved bench at its base. Sirius finds a seat directly across from him, then turns his head to one side, so that Remus views him in profile. When Sirius speaks, it is in a whisper, but Remus hears him as though they were side by side.
'Radio check.'
Remus swivels his own head and murmurs against the wall, 'I read you loud and clear. You've had your light opera fix, then?'
Sirius waves a hand in reply.
'You underestimate me, Moony. It's a shame they’ve got so many monuments and rubbish down there. Got in the way of my choreography. I'll have to save it for later.'
'Where? In the Tube station?'
'If you don’t watch it, you'll get a performance of my full Savoy repertoire on the ride home.'
'That would hardly be the strangest thing you’ve done on the Underground', Remus asserts.
'Nor the queerest.' Sirius waggles his eyebrows, and Remus wonders when he started feeling so warm.
Sirius sighs comfortably. 'I remember the first time I visited St Paul's', he says. 'My uncle Alphard brought me during holiday first year. Regulus came, too. We assumed it was Wizard-made, at first, but Uncle Alphie said no, not a single spell went into it. He had Regulus and me sit across from each other up here and talk back and forth. We couldn’t believe it wasn't magic.'
Remus doesn’t remember the last time Sirius mentioned Regulus with anything short of malice. 'What did you say to each other?' he asks.
Sirius shrugs. 'No idea. Uncle Alphie got a kick out of it, though. "There’s nothing like good old Muggle engineering", he said.'
'I think I would have liked him', Remus says.
'Who, Alphie?' Sirius replies. 'Yeah, you would've.' He gazes up at the dome, contemplating its painted ceiling, and Remus allows the distant string concerto to lull his eyes closed. Sixteen sixty-six, Remus thinks. The year of the Great Fire. Construction on the cathedral started a rough decade later, just as the wizarding and Muggle worlds were divorcing.
He remembers Professor Binns telling them that in the years surrounding the signing of the Statute of Secrecy, some isolationist wizards attempted to advance their cause by passing information to Muggle witch-hunters. It bothered the conspirators little that a witch might burn or hang because of them, as long as the executions helped sway wizarding opinion against the Muggles. Remus wonders if any such spies ever met here in the Whispering Gallery, trading secrets high above the roofs of London.
Perhaps Sirius is thinking along similar lines, because his voice slips along the gallery wall into Remus’s ear: 'You’ve heard Dumbledore’s latest warning to the Order?'
Remus won’t forget it soon. '"Grant your trust warily"', he quotes. '"There may, alas, be a traitor among us."' He opens his eyes and gazes at Sirius across the dome’s huge expanse, but this time, no winning smile greets him. Sirius fixes him with a burning stare, and Remus is grateful for the Blitz-proof stone to steady him.
'I swear I don’t believe it’s you', Remus says. He means it.
Remus waits for a response, but it doesn’t come. Instead, with a curt nod, Sirius stands. He descends the staircase as the cathedral quietens, leaving Remus to decipher Sirius’s failure to say the same.
Author:
penhaligonblueRecipient:
liseuseRating: PG
Word count: 1,174
Summary: Remus and Sirius have a hushed conversation beneath the dome of Saint Paul's Cathedral.
Notes: In response to
liseuse's first prompt, a photo of the Whispering Gallery at Saint Paul's. Many thanks to brighty18 for her exceptionally helpful beta reading services.In the Guise of a Friend (December 1980)
(James Fergusson’s History of Modern Architecture)
Cords of cirrus cloud rear up above the London skyline. As he walks, Remus can feel icy knots in his ear canals. Nevertheless, he's grateful for the frigid wind. It keeps the sulfurous reek of Battersea in check. From his lofty perch near the top of Saint Paul's, he gazes at the rooftops of the surrounding buildings. Remus doesn’t need a guidebook to tell him that the cathedral is older than half of them: any good Londoner knows that most of the City had to be rebuilt after the Blitz. Not Saint Paul's, though. The fanciful confection of a cathedral turned out (some might say miraculously) to be the sturdiest structure in London.
Remus takes another turn about the Stone Gallery, a narrow outdoor walkway ringing the joint between the cathedral’s massive dome and its spire. The movement helps ward off the cold, but still Remus's skin pinches with each gust of wind. He digs his hands deeper into his pockets. His coat buttons need mending, he notes; and with that observation, his resolve shatters. He makes for the door to the inner stairs, and though the passage is hardly toasty, the relief in his limbs is almost painful.
The staircase spills Remus out into the Whispering Gallery, the next level down from the Stone Gallery; though this one, mercifully, is housed within the dome. The walls at this height are bare limestone; but every other surface in eyesight is gilded, painted, or otherwise ornamented. The grandeur strikes Remus with particular force after his bout with asceticism outside.
Normally, Remus considers such entertainments off-limits. Unless he’s hosting out-of-town cousins, the fee for a visit to the galleries is enough to keep him out of Saint Paul's altogether. But Sirius was insistent that they see the place done up for Christmas, and they were both feeling flush with their holiday bonuses. So, this afternoon, Remus Flooed to Sirius's flat, and together they boarded a train (crowded with weary shoppers) on the Central Line.
At the moment, Sirius is in the crypt (another few shillings' worth of indulgence), paying homage to Arthur Sullivan. Not willing to pay the extra fee, and unsure he can tolerate yet another verse of 'Modern Major General', Remus has sought higher ground.
His body begins to adjust to the sudden warmth and splendor. Remus approaches the railing of the Whispering Gallery and peers into the yawning void beneath the dome. A hundred empty feet below, a many-armed compass rose marks the intersection of the nave and transept. Black and white floor tiles surround the design in a checker pattern, and somewhere in the sanctuary, a chamber orchestra rehearses for this evening's service. The columns and arches are hung with swags of dazzling Sarum blue. Remus feels vertigo looming, and he steps back from the overlook.
His dizziness subsides, revealing Sirius on the other side of the gallery. Hair mussed, scarf swathing his face, Sirius stands with his hands in his pockets and a benevolent smile on his face. Pretty damn handsome, Remus thinks, and he doesn't even consider not grinning back.
'Do you know how this works?' Sirius calls. His voice rings on sacred stone.
'The walls?' Remus shouts back. 'Of course.'
Remus steps over to the smooth, white wall, and sits on the curved bench at its base. Sirius finds a seat directly across from him, then turns his head to one side, so that Remus views him in profile. When Sirius speaks, it is in a whisper, but Remus hears him as though they were side by side.
'Radio check.'
Remus swivels his own head and murmurs against the wall, 'I read you loud and clear. You've had your light opera fix, then?'
Sirius waves a hand in reply.
'You underestimate me, Moony. It's a shame they’ve got so many monuments and rubbish down there. Got in the way of my choreography. I'll have to save it for later.'
'Where? In the Tube station?'
'If you don’t watch it, you'll get a performance of my full Savoy repertoire on the ride home.'
'That would hardly be the strangest thing you’ve done on the Underground', Remus asserts.
'Nor the queerest.' Sirius waggles his eyebrows, and Remus wonders when he started feeling so warm.
Sirius sighs comfortably. 'I remember the first time I visited St Paul's', he says. 'My uncle Alphard brought me during holiday first year. Regulus came, too. We assumed it was Wizard-made, at first, but Uncle Alphie said no, not a single spell went into it. He had Regulus and me sit across from each other up here and talk back and forth. We couldn’t believe it wasn't magic.'
Remus doesn’t remember the last time Sirius mentioned Regulus with anything short of malice. 'What did you say to each other?' he asks.
Sirius shrugs. 'No idea. Uncle Alphie got a kick out of it, though. "There’s nothing like good old Muggle engineering", he said.'
'I think I would have liked him', Remus says.
'Who, Alphie?' Sirius replies. 'Yeah, you would've.' He gazes up at the dome, contemplating its painted ceiling, and Remus allows the distant string concerto to lull his eyes closed. Sixteen sixty-six, Remus thinks. The year of the Great Fire. Construction on the cathedral started a rough decade later, just as the wizarding and Muggle worlds were divorcing.
He remembers Professor Binns telling them that in the years surrounding the signing of the Statute of Secrecy, some isolationist wizards attempted to advance their cause by passing information to Muggle witch-hunters. It bothered the conspirators little that a witch might burn or hang because of them, as long as the executions helped sway wizarding opinion against the Muggles. Remus wonders if any such spies ever met here in the Whispering Gallery, trading secrets high above the roofs of London.
Perhaps Sirius is thinking along similar lines, because his voice slips along the gallery wall into Remus’s ear: 'You’ve heard Dumbledore’s latest warning to the Order?'
Remus won’t forget it soon. '"Grant your trust warily"', he quotes. '"There may, alas, be a traitor among us."' He opens his eyes and gazes at Sirius across the dome’s huge expanse, but this time, no winning smile greets him. Sirius fixes him with a burning stare, and Remus is grateful for the Blitz-proof stone to steady him.
'I swear I don’t believe it’s you', Remus says. He means it.
Remus waits for a response, but it doesn’t come. Instead, with a curt nod, Sirius stands. He descends the staircase as the cathedral quietens, leaving Remus to decipher Sirius’s failure to say the same.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-12-21 03:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-28 01:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-21 03:49 pm (UTC)Love the visual of them whispering at the wall together, though. We've got one of those at my uni, and I love them. Love seeing Remus and Sirius enjoying the same simple pleasures I do.
no subject
Date: 2011-12-28 01:43 am (UTC)Thank you for reading and commenting!
no subject
Date: 2011-12-21 04:39 pm (UTC)So achy, but so, so good! Gorgeous imagery!
*Edited to add that I laughed at seeing that the commenter above me had the same reaction. You are an evil woman! And I say that in the very best way!
no subject
Date: 2011-12-28 01:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-21 05:43 pm (UTC)What I really adored about it (well besides the beauty of the narrative voice and the descriptions of Saint Paul's) was the way you interwove the Muggle and Wizarding worlds. That always fascinates me and you did it exceedingly well here. Sirius sighs comfortably. 'I remember the first time I visited St Paul's', he says. 'My uncle Alphard brought me during holiday first year. Regulus came, too. We assumed it was Wizard-made, at first, but Uncle Alphie said no, not a single spell went into it. He had Regulus and me sit across from each other up here and talk back and forth. We couldn’t believe it wasn't magic.' and He remembers Professor Binns telling them that in the years surrounding the signing of the Statute of Secrecy, some isolationist wizards attempted to advance their cause by passing information to Muggle witch-hunters. It bothered the conspirators little that a witch might burn or hang because of them, as long as the executions helped sway wizarding opinion against the Muggles. Remus wonders if any such spies ever met here in the Whispering Gallery, trading secrets high above the roofs of London. This makes me want to know more, to read further about the Wizarding history of Muggle London.
But the story, itself, was a gem. The abrupt change in Sirius from laughing Gilbert and Sullivan fan to distrustful Order member made perfect sense in its way. It is such an awful conversation for them to have to have, yet the setting made it all the more powerful.
Really well done!
no subject
Date: 2011-12-28 04:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-21 10:30 pm (UTC)I was all warm and fuzzy and now left sad and cold. Nice touchy on the reverse of Remus, though i imagine that he's probably feeling much the same at the end.
no subject
Date: 2011-12-28 04:51 am (UTC)More Small Gifts!
Date: 2011-12-22 12:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-28 04:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-22 02:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-28 04:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-22 03:44 am (UTC)This makes me want to go back to London. :-)
no subject
Date: 2011-12-28 04:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-25 11:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-28 04:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-26 11:05 pm (UTC)And then it breaks your heart. Quietly and painfully.
I am in awe. Thank you so so so much!
no subject
Date: 2011-12-28 06:06 am (UTC)It was great fun to write for you, mademoiselle!
(P.S. - This is the closest I have to a dust-jacket icon.)
no subject
Date: 2011-12-28 12:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-12-28 04:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-01-03 07:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-01-28 12:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-01-29 02:34 am (UTC)