Fic: Christmas in July for Penhaligonblue

[lyras.livejournal.com]

Title: Christmas in July

Author: lyras

Recipient: penhaligonblue

Rating: R for a blink-and-you'll-miss-it sex scene

Contents or warnings (highlight to view): *None*

Word count: 2,400

Summary: After escaping with Buckbeak, Sirius flees to warmer climes and persuades Remus to join him for a holiday.

Notes: Happy Holidays, penhaligonblue, and I really hope you enjoy this! Thanks for your lovely prompts, and a big thank you to the lovely mods for running this fest year after year. Thanks also to onehundredmoons for beta-reading quickly and at short notice.











Hook Island
QLD 4741
Australia
01 July 1994

Remus,

Yes:

1. I'm an extravagant idiot.
2. You can't accept charity.
3. I'm bored shitless.
4. It's nice and warm here, even though it's winter.
5. Come and entertain me?

S


115 Peckham Road
London
SW15 1AD
09 July 1994

Dear Sirius,

1. Correct.
2. Also correct.
3. Why does this not surprise me?
4. I don't need to explain the weather here.
5. When you put it like that...

Remus




Sirius looks like an old hippie waiting by the gate; he fits right in with the shorts-wearing, shaggy-haired tourist guides who line the dingy arrivals hall like sharks. He has the arrogance of a tour guide, too, as he spreads his arms wide in welcome. Behold my territory.

"Welcome to Austrilia," he says, eyes glinting, and Remus smiles despite himself.

"It's good to see you."

Sirius answers with a grin and reaches for the luggage, shouldering it with a quickly erased grimace. "Your chariot awaits.

In the warm air that wraps around him as they exit the building, Remus looks around, then stares. A couple of minibuses wait off to one side, but there are no cars, and not even a hovering taxi. He was half-expecting Sirius do something ridiculous, like fly him to wherever they're staying with Buckbeak and a raft of deflection charms. But Sirius is following the tourist trail toward a row of plush boats, bobbing in the water at about the point where a taxi rank would normally be located, their gaudy colours gleaming in the sunshine. By the time Remus catches up, Sirius is halfway up a gangplank, handing tickets to the waiting guard.

"This your mate, is it?" the guard asks, nodding.

"Yep," Sirius says, "all the way from London town."

"Welcome to Australia, mate." Sirius got the accent exactly. With a flash of white teeth, the guard ushers them through a doorway and turns to greet the family waiting behind them.

Inside the cabin, Sirius looks him over. "You got a jumper?"

"Er, somewhere, yes." Remus nods at his bag. "But I won't need it in this."

"You will if we sit up top." Sirius cranes his neck to view the deck above. "Loads of room if we go now." He twists around and up the staircase. "Let's beat the tourists at their own game."

From the open deck, the ocean gleams azure until it fades into the deep blue sky. Sirius stretches his legs out and smiles.

Close up, his appearance is still a shock, although he's much less haggard than he was a month ago. The black shadows under his eyes appear permanently etched, and his mouth has a new, serious set to it.

But he's alive, free and smiling, and Remus swallows down grief with his exhaustion. "It's good to see you," he says again.

"You too, Moony," Sirius answers. "You, too." His grin is slightly loopy, and Remus's heart twists. He's been so afraid to see what Azkaban has done to Sirius, and yet so desperate to know. Sure, he's broken all kinds of records in terms of surviving the place, but Remus has seen what a week in there does to people. What have twelve years done, even to the bravest and best of his friends?

There's the clash of the gangplank, the roar of an engine, and then they are slipping through the water as if it were a mill pond rather than the Pacific Ocean. As the boat gathers speed, Remus lurches against the seat back, against Sirius, and they grab each other for support.

When Sirius laughs, he sounds seventeen again. After a moment Remus laughs, as well.




Two boat trips later -- the last in a rickety raintrap that Sirius powers with a wand he's garnered from Merlin knows where -- they are trudging up a white beach and Remus is more than a little dazed.

He's used to thinking of Sirius with pain. As if he's in pain, because what else is Azkaban? This image was not dispelled by their encounter last month -- by the furious, bitter shadow of a man he once loved.

This Sirius is brittle, yes, but almost completely transformed: not back to the carefree boy he used to be, but into a man who appreciates his luck and his freedom. His happiness.

"Here we are," Sirius says and turns Remus around gently by the hip. He waits expectantly and Remus gazes out across the shimmering ocean, peppered by small boats and what might -- but surely it's wistful thinking? -- be dolphins.

"Beautiful," he says. "It really is."

"Too right." Sirius sighs, resting his hands on his hips. "When I think of all the time we spent on that tiny, rainy island -- I tell you what, Moony, it makes me sick. When there are places like this in the world!"

Remus is silent, choked with the knowledge of how terribly confined Sirius's recent years have been. He manages a smile. "Well, thanks for bringing me here."

"I wanted to share it with someone," Sirius says. "Who else but you?" With a smile that punches Remus in the gut, he sets off down an overgrown track. "Watch the ants," he calls over his shoulder. "They won't kill you like the spiders and the snakes, but they bloody well hurt."




"Remus," Sirius says...but that's weird, because Sirius is wrapped around him, chin tucked into the crook of Remus's neck, hand running lazily over his hip, erection nudging his back. Remus mumbles in appreciation, and Sirius's hand slides across his arse.

"Remus." A hand on his arm, and he groans as the dream slips beyond reach.

When he prises his eyes open, Sirius is gazing down at him. "Sorry," he says, sounding uncontrite. "You'll thank me later, when you don't wake up at one in the morning feeling like it's lunchtime."

"What time is it?" Remus asks. He's heard of jetlag, but had no idea it could be this disorienting.

"Five in the afternoon. Here." Sirius places a mug beside the bed. "They like their coffee round these parts. Should help you come to, and then we can go down to the beach."

Remus doesn't want coffee. He wants to pull Sirius down beside him and get back to his dream. But it was the old Sirius in his dream: the carefree, careless boy who believed nothing could touch him or those he loved. This new Sirius demands a little more thought.

When the coffee has fired up a few more synapses, he stumbles out of the cabin in Sirius's wake, back down to the cove where they left the boat.

There's a tent on the beach, lined with silver tinsel that sparkles in the sun. And a table set for two, right down to the wine glasses (two kinds) and napkins.

Remus glances at Sirius, who shrugs and smiles with half his mouth.

"They have this thing here called Christmas in July. Because it's cold, I suppose."

"Yeah," says Remus, who is wearing a lightweight plaid shirt against the sun. "Absolutely freezing."

"It does get properly cold in some parts of the country," Sirius says defensively. "People go skiing."

"Down what, sand dunes?"

"Anyway," Sirius says, "my last Christmas was pretty crap. And the one before that. And the ones before that, actually. So I nabbed a few things from the hotel on the other side of the island, and I thought we might celebrate."

"I didn't bring you a present."

Sirius looks at him for a moment, his tanned face unreadable. "Don't worry. I brought enough for both of us."




They start with mulled wine and nuts, and Remus is pleasantly tipsy by the time they take a break to feed Buckbeak. He listens blearily as Sirius chats to the hippogriff, chucking down one fish after another.

"You can't hunt much here, can you, old man? Too many boats around," he adds to Remus. "All the tourists for the Reef. But it's the best place we've found yet. The desert was a shithole -- freezing at night, boiling in daytime, and how the hell you're supposed to find food and water I've no idea. There are too many people everywhere else. So we came to the islands."

"You fit right in," Remus says, remembering the tour guides at the airport.

Sirius tosses another fish to Buckbeak, who snaps it up. "They're a pretty friendly bunch," he says. "And used to weirdos who like to keep to themselves."

"I'd have thought you'd be keen for a bit of company. You always used to be so gregarious."

Sirius shrugs. "Suppose I've lost the habit. I can't be bothered, mostly. I keep up with the news from home. I write to you, Harry, Dumbledore. That's what's important."

"Even all the way out here?"

"Even here."

Back at the beach, Sirius pulls the covers off the food and shuts off the warming charms. There's turkey, pigs in blankets, stuffing, even some sprouts, accompanied by sparkling wine.

"I shouldn't drink too much," Remus says. "I'm exhausted; I'll be under the table if I'm not careful."

"The food'll soak it up." Sirius refills the glasses. "You always could hold your booze better than the rest of us."

"When we were nineteen, maybe. I've not drunk much beyond the odd Butterbeer for years." But he takes his glass and clinks it against Sirius's.

"Merry Christmas," Sirius says, and right there, despite the warm breeze and the crashing waves, it really does feel like Christmas.




In the darkness, the breeze turns chilly, leaving Remus shivering in his shirt.

"Fire time," Sirius says, and he scurries around the trees above the beach until he has enough wood. They sit under the tinsel in the open tent, the remains of the wine between them. Alcohol notwithstanding, Remus has finally woken up, hyper-aware of everything, from the iron smell of the fire to the chattering of the crickets (although, this being Australia, they're probably not crickets but some kind of deadly beetle). And Sirius. Sirius, leaning back on his elbows, champagne glass tilted, his hair flopping back, staring out at the dark sea. Sirius, whom he has missed and dreamed of and tried to forget for nearly thirteen years.

"I do think you're an extravagant idiot," Remus says. "But thanks for bringing me out here."

Sirius turns his head but his expression is obscured by the flickering firelight. "My pleasure. To be honest," he adds, "partly I just like doing stuff like this because it would annoy the Ministry so much if they knew. Gringotts won't work with them, but they must know I'm getting money somehow. Plus, if I run through the entire Black inheritance, it'll really piss Bellatrix off."

"Still getting your kicks out of winding her up, then?"

Sirius laughs. "That was one of the few things that made being in Azkaban bearable, knowing they'd got her, too. Evil cow."

"She deserved it, though." Remus empties the bottle into their glasses so he can move it out of the way. "You didn't."

"No." Sirius sips his wine. "No, I suppose not. Although for a long time I thought I did. I was so stupid, Moony. I thought I was being clever, and James and Lily died."

"You made a bad decision under a lot of pressure. We all made bad decisions."

"You didn't," Sirius says quietly.

Remus laughs through a sob. "Didn't I? What about when I just accepted you'd done what they said? One minute you were my friend, my...my very good friend; the next you were public enemy number one. And I never argued, never questioned it. I mean, I couldn't believe it -- it took months for it to sink in -- but I never tried to help you." He hugs his knees to his chest. "I'm so sorry, Padfoot."

Sirius is leaning over, but the tide of Remus's words refuses to be stemmed. "When I think of what you've gone through, of what it must've taken to escape, I...it drives me mad. I wish I could make it all unhappen. I wish we could be nineteen again and do it all differently. I'm so sorry, Sirius. I wish I could make it not have happened to you."

Sirius shuffles across and leans his head on Remus's shoulder. "That's like me when I used to think I could stop you being a werewolf," he says dreamily. "Remember? I was so sure I would, for a while."

Remus smiles. He does remember; he remembers what a beautiful force of nature Sirius used to be. Still is, because hasn't he brought him all this way? Hasn't he produced Christmas in the middle of July, on some island nobody's ever heard of?

"You used to tell me the wolf was part of you," Sirius continues, "and if I really cared about you I should just accept it. So I did."

"Sirius," Remus says, twisting to face him, "I don't care for you any less because you've been in Azkaban. It makes me angry, but not at you."

"Well," says Sirius, "that makes two of us."




Kissing him is like it always was: unpredictable, exciting and surprisingly sweet. It's easy to fall into the old rhythm; easy to lie back on the groundsheet and let things take their course; and if loving Sirius isn't precisely easy, well, that's always been part of the attraction, hasn't it?

"Hey," he remembers afterward, as they drowse with their feet in the sand, "I did bring you a present, after all." Reaching for his jeans, he pulls out the photos he bought from Colin Creevey: Harry, Ron and Hermione mucking around by the lake at Hogwarts. Harry with Hagrid, looking very serious. Harry swooping around on the broomstick Sirius bought him.

Sirius eyes them carefully in the firelight, and the tension in his face eases. "Thanks," he says, and folds them into a book. "Right chip off the old block, isn't he?"

"Both blocks."

"Oh, yeah. Did you see him standing up to me that night in the Shack? He was Lily to a tee." Sirius is silent for a moment. "It makes me feel a bit better," he adds, "seeing him, knowing he's there. Like they're not completely gone."

"No," Remus agrees.

"Think I must be getting a bit sentimental in my old age," Sirius says dreamily.

"Yes, you sad old bastard." Remus nudges a bony hip. "It's embarrassing, if you ask me."

"It's weird, that's what it is."

"Not as weird as Christmas in July. Come here, will you?"

Sirius obliges, and Remus relaxes into him with a sigh. "Nearly thirteen years," he murmurs.

"Now who's being sentimental?"

"Me. Let's not wait that long next time."

"I don't think you need to worry about that." Sirius kisses him, and for a moment, Remus allows himself to believe that it's true.