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small_giftsTitle: Of Snowball Fights and Memories
Author/Artist:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
laroseminuit
Recipient:imnotjkr
Rating: PG
Contents or warnings (highlight to view): *none *
Word count:1,490
Summary: Things would have gone very differently, thought Remus, if Sirius Black had gone to Azkaban.
Notes: Thanks so much toyoucantseeus for the excellent beta work. All remaining flaws are mine. imnotjkr, I hope this at least touches what you were hoping for with family, domesticity, and raising Harry.
Sirius Black did not go to Azkaban. Well, that is not entirely true. Perhaps it is more precise to say that Sirius Black did not stay in Azkaban, and the three months he spent there awaiting his trial before the Wizangamot were more than enough incentive to never do anything which might land him there again.
In the winter of 1981, his indefinite imprisonment in that dark and frozen nightmare seemed all but certain. But fortunately, and contrary to the opinion of many, Britain’s wizarding world does have a functioning justice system. Although to call it “functioning” may be overly idealistic, justice can be had, especially if one has money.
And Sirius Black did have money, and, moreover, the privilege that can only be had by the scion of a Noble House (although, as Sirius would remark years later when in a sarcastic mood, at that particular moment in time, the roster at Azkaban read like the invitation list to one of his mother’s parties). His father had died two years previously and while Sirius had been blasted off the family tapestry, his legal disownment had never been completed (as if his father had never truly considered Sirius’s divergent behavior as anything more than a particularly distasteful and persistent phase from which he would one day recover ). His brother was missing and presumed dead. Thus, aside from a handsome widow’s portion and the stipulation that she be allowed to live out her days at Grimauld Place, the Black family fortune and property was his to access as he pleased.
At first, he did not wish to touch it at all. It felt tainted by generations of genteel bigotry. To accept it and use it after rebelling against it – would that prove his father right? And even if he refused to touch that gold, there was the money from his Uncle Alphard. It was a comparatively modest fortune, but it would likely have afforded him a sufficient defense. Luckily, wiser heads prevailed, and with his father’s money, he afforded a magnificent defense and the purchase of a sturdy farmhouse in Wales.
But why the farmhouse? That brings us to the real story herein. The events of October 31, 1981 are certainly well known and do not need repeating, so let us come at last to the events of December 24, 1987. It was mid-afternoon and the weak winter sunlight was fading quickly behind the Snowdon mountains. Grey clouds, heavy with the promise of fresh snow for Christmas, were blowing in from the north like galleons weighted down with gold. There would be no stars tonight, Sirius thought as he observed this change of the weather, and the moon was not quite a quarter full, just past new. He was glad.
A snowball hit him in the back of the head and immediately went to dripping icy water down the collar of his shirt, which put a tidy stop to the reveries engaging his mind. He immediately stooped to scoop up a handful of snow and whirled, arm cocking and eyes seeking out a target for return fire. Remus shot him a grin from behind the tall walls of his snow fortress. “Wishing you’d worn a scarf, like I suggested?” His grin was smug, and framed quite mockingly by a soft wooly balaclava of his own.
“Moony, my friend, as you well know, I usually regret forgoing your recommendations, and this is merely the latest in a long string of poor decisions on my part.”
Remus’s mouth twisted slightly as his memory clamored to remind him of several examples. Some were amusing – like the time in fourth year potions when a distracted Sirius (too busy trying to sabotage Severus’s workstation to pay attention to his own) ignored Remus’s mild suggestion to add the powdered salamander after the raven’s feathers. Needless to say, you didn’t have to have a good memory to remember the peculiar yellow stain that spent the majority of fourth, fifth, and sixth year on the ceiling of the Potions classroom before the house elves’ determined scrubbing finally did away with it.
Other memories, however, still had the power to make his fingers clench and his lungs ache with the strain of his desire to make his past self do more to make Sirius listen. You should tell me why you’re leaving, said the echo of his younger self from that chaotic autumn six years ago. We’ll be safer together. There are too many secrets between us, now. I wish you would tell me what you’re planning. But Sirius hadn’t listened. He had convinced James to change secret-keepers to Peter without telling Remus, because the four of them had closed off from each other since the war. Remus was slowly choking on the bitterness and despair he felt growing inside himself with every secret mission for Dumbledore. Sirius was afraid Remus was the spy. Peter was courted away by smiling-faced evil. They offered him a semblance of the trust and brotherhood he no longer found with his old friends, and all it cost him was a little information. They grew apart, the four of them; it was just an inch a day, so small they hardly noticed, and the war came and swallowed them whole for it. James and Peter didn’t survive. Sirius and Remus did, although it still chilled Remus to the bone to realize just how close they came to losing everything . What if Sirius had been convicted? How would things be different now?
Perhaps, at the very least, he might have fewer melancholy thoughts to distract him. An entire bucket of snow rained down on his head, followed shortly by a warm body tackling him into the wall of his fort, which collapsed under the weight of two grown men. “Who’s got his head stuck in the clouds now, eh?” Sirius stuffed a cold hand down the neck of Remus’s shirt for good measure.
“Oh, not on! That’s cold! What are you, a frost giant?” Remus laughed, squirming away from Sirius’s icy fingers. His dark thoughts flew from his head.
“I guess you’d better do something to warm me up, then,” teased Sirius. Remus responded by wrapping his arms around Sirius tightly and pressing their mouths together. Sirius kissed back eagerly.
Sirius’s fingers were just beginning to feel warm, curled around the nape of Moony’s neck, when their impromptu snogging session was interrupted by a high pitched giggle. This was all the warning they had before the last remaining wall of Remus’s snow fort collapsed onto them.
When they had managed to dig themselves out, Harry stood over them, a snowball in each mitten. He giggled again and waved his missiles. “Say uncle or get a faceful of snow!”
Remus and Sirius exchanged a look, then, without a word, surged up simultaneously and dragged Harry down into the powdery snow. He squealed as Sirius sprinkled snow on his nose. “Who’s the uncle now, Harry?”
“You are, Uncle Sirius. Help me, Uncle Remus!” Harry cried.
“I don’t know, Harry. Looks like we’ve got you now.” Remus looked sorrowful. “You’d best just give in now. You know how Uncle Sirius gets.” He pulled off a glove and tickled Harry behind his left ear. Harry laughed and squirmed away, but not before Remus felt how chilly Harry’s face was. He sighed dramatically. “Besides, if you admit defeat now, we could go inside for some lovely hot cocoa with marshmallows. I might even let you stir it with a candy cane.”
“Uncle! Uncle! Uncle!” was Harry’s immediate response. He jumped to his feet as soon as Sirius stopped flicking snow at him and raced toward the sturdy farmhouse at the other end of the yard. “Last one in has to make the cocoa !”
Sirius helped Remus to his feet, then looked after Harry sheepishly. Remus rolled his eyes and nodded slightly. In a flash, Sirius was gone and a large black dog was bounding through the snow drifts after the child. Remus gazed at his happy little family in the fading December light. He thought of the day when Sirius was acquitted of the charges against him and came home to their little flat. They had wept together for their lost friends. They broke down the walls they had built between each other during the last months of the war, and they had made promises that they would never keep secrets like that again. Whatever they would do, they would do it together. Always. So when Sirius had said, Remus, what are we going to do about Harry? Remus had replied, My childhood home is for sale.
Remus glanced back toward the treeline. He thought for a moment that he saw a couple of deer in amongst the evergreens, but when he looked harder, there was nothing there. Happy Christmas, friends, he thought. Then he went inside to drink Christmas eve cocoa with the two people he loved beyond all measure.
Author/Artist:
laroseminuitRecipient:
imnotjkrRating: PG
Contents or warnings (highlight to view): *none *
Word count:1,490
Summary: Things would have gone very differently, thought Remus, if Sirius Black had gone to Azkaban.
Notes: Thanks so much to
youcantseeus for the excellent beta work. All remaining flaws are mine. imnotjkr, I hope this at least touches what you were hoping for with family, domesticity, and raising Harry.Of Snowball Fights and Memories
Sirius Black did not go to Azkaban. Well, that is not entirely true. Perhaps it is more precise to say that Sirius Black did not stay in Azkaban, and the three months he spent there awaiting his trial before the Wizangamot were more than enough incentive to never do anything which might land him there again.
In the winter of 1981, his indefinite imprisonment in that dark and frozen nightmare seemed all but certain. But fortunately, and contrary to the opinion of many, Britain’s wizarding world does have a functioning justice system. Although to call it “functioning” may be overly idealistic, justice can be had, especially if one has money.
And Sirius Black did have money, and, moreover, the privilege that can only be had by the scion of a Noble House (although, as Sirius would remark years later when in a sarcastic mood, at that particular moment in time, the roster at Azkaban read like the invitation list to one of his mother’s parties). His father had died two years previously and while Sirius had been blasted off the family tapestry, his legal disownment had never been completed (as if his father had never truly considered Sirius’s divergent behavior as anything more than a particularly distasteful and persistent phase from which he would one day recover ). His brother was missing and presumed dead. Thus, aside from a handsome widow’s portion and the stipulation that she be allowed to live out her days at Grimauld Place, the Black family fortune and property was his to access as he pleased.
At first, he did not wish to touch it at all. It felt tainted by generations of genteel bigotry. To accept it and use it after rebelling against it – would that prove his father right? And even if he refused to touch that gold, there was the money from his Uncle Alphard. It was a comparatively modest fortune, but it would likely have afforded him a sufficient defense. Luckily, wiser heads prevailed, and with his father’s money, he afforded a magnificent defense and the purchase of a sturdy farmhouse in Wales.
But why the farmhouse? That brings us to the real story herein. The events of October 31, 1981 are certainly well known and do not need repeating, so let us come at last to the events of December 24, 1987. It was mid-afternoon and the weak winter sunlight was fading quickly behind the Snowdon mountains. Grey clouds, heavy with the promise of fresh snow for Christmas, were blowing in from the north like galleons weighted down with gold. There would be no stars tonight, Sirius thought as he observed this change of the weather, and the moon was not quite a quarter full, just past new. He was glad.
A snowball hit him in the back of the head and immediately went to dripping icy water down the collar of his shirt, which put a tidy stop to the reveries engaging his mind. He immediately stooped to scoop up a handful of snow and whirled, arm cocking and eyes seeking out a target for return fire. Remus shot him a grin from behind the tall walls of his snow fortress. “Wishing you’d worn a scarf, like I suggested?” His grin was smug, and framed quite mockingly by a soft wooly balaclava of his own.
“Moony, my friend, as you well know, I usually regret forgoing your recommendations, and this is merely the latest in a long string of poor decisions on my part.”
Remus’s mouth twisted slightly as his memory clamored to remind him of several examples. Some were amusing – like the time in fourth year potions when a distracted Sirius (too busy trying to sabotage Severus’s workstation to pay attention to his own) ignored Remus’s mild suggestion to add the powdered salamander after the raven’s feathers. Needless to say, you didn’t have to have a good memory to remember the peculiar yellow stain that spent the majority of fourth, fifth, and sixth year on the ceiling of the Potions classroom before the house elves’ determined scrubbing finally did away with it.
Other memories, however, still had the power to make his fingers clench and his lungs ache with the strain of his desire to make his past self do more to make Sirius listen. You should tell me why you’re leaving, said the echo of his younger self from that chaotic autumn six years ago. We’ll be safer together. There are too many secrets between us, now. I wish you would tell me what you’re planning. But Sirius hadn’t listened. He had convinced James to change secret-keepers to Peter without telling Remus, because the four of them had closed off from each other since the war. Remus was slowly choking on the bitterness and despair he felt growing inside himself with every secret mission for Dumbledore. Sirius was afraid Remus was the spy. Peter was courted away by smiling-faced evil. They offered him a semblance of the trust and brotherhood he no longer found with his old friends, and all it cost him was a little information. They grew apart, the four of them; it was just an inch a day, so small they hardly noticed, and the war came and swallowed them whole for it. James and Peter didn’t survive. Sirius and Remus did, although it still chilled Remus to the bone to realize just how close they came to losing everything . What if Sirius had been convicted? How would things be different now?
Perhaps, at the very least, he might have fewer melancholy thoughts to distract him. An entire bucket of snow rained down on his head, followed shortly by a warm body tackling him into the wall of his fort, which collapsed under the weight of two grown men. “Who’s got his head stuck in the clouds now, eh?” Sirius stuffed a cold hand down the neck of Remus’s shirt for good measure.
“Oh, not on! That’s cold! What are you, a frost giant?” Remus laughed, squirming away from Sirius’s icy fingers. His dark thoughts flew from his head.
“I guess you’d better do something to warm me up, then,” teased Sirius. Remus responded by wrapping his arms around Sirius tightly and pressing their mouths together. Sirius kissed back eagerly.
Sirius’s fingers were just beginning to feel warm, curled around the nape of Moony’s neck, when their impromptu snogging session was interrupted by a high pitched giggle. This was all the warning they had before the last remaining wall of Remus’s snow fort collapsed onto them.
When they had managed to dig themselves out, Harry stood over them, a snowball in each mitten. He giggled again and waved his missiles. “Say uncle or get a faceful of snow!”
Remus and Sirius exchanged a look, then, without a word, surged up simultaneously and dragged Harry down into the powdery snow. He squealed as Sirius sprinkled snow on his nose. “Who’s the uncle now, Harry?”
“You are, Uncle Sirius. Help me, Uncle Remus!” Harry cried.
“I don’t know, Harry. Looks like we’ve got you now.” Remus looked sorrowful. “You’d best just give in now. You know how Uncle Sirius gets.” He pulled off a glove and tickled Harry behind his left ear. Harry laughed and squirmed away, but not before Remus felt how chilly Harry’s face was. He sighed dramatically. “Besides, if you admit defeat now, we could go inside for some lovely hot cocoa with marshmallows. I might even let you stir it with a candy cane.”
“Uncle! Uncle! Uncle!” was Harry’s immediate response. He jumped to his feet as soon as Sirius stopped flicking snow at him and raced toward the sturdy farmhouse at the other end of the yard. “Last one in has to make the cocoa !”
Sirius helped Remus to his feet, then looked after Harry sheepishly. Remus rolled his eyes and nodded slightly. In a flash, Sirius was gone and a large black dog was bounding through the snow drifts after the child. Remus gazed at his happy little family in the fading December light. He thought of the day when Sirius was acquitted of the charges against him and came home to their little flat. They had wept together for their lost friends. They broke down the walls they had built between each other during the last months of the war, and they had made promises that they would never keep secrets like that again. Whatever they would do, they would do it together. Always. So when Sirius had said, Remus, what are we going to do about Harry? Remus had replied, My childhood home is for sale.
Remus glanced back toward the treeline. He thought for a moment that he saw a couple of deer in amongst the evergreens, but when he looked harder, there was nothing there. Happy Christmas, friends, he thought. Then he went inside to drink Christmas eve cocoa with the two people he loved beyond all measure.
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no subject
Date: 2013-12-04 07:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-05 03:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-04 09:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-05 03:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-04 01:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-05 03:07 am (UTC)Let's face it, if their relationship wasn't complex, it would still be captivating us after all these years, would it?
no subject
Date: 2013-12-04 02:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-05 03:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-04 05:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-05 03:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-04 06:19 pm (UTC)Interestingly, it rather felt like canon, and perhaps a great deal of that feeling is owed to your marvelous storytelling voice here. That slightly-detached-from-the-action-but-full-of-love-for-the-characters voice worked exceedingly well. I could have read hundreds of pages of this and been completely happy.
And you capture Sirius so well! At first, he did not wish to touch it at all. It felt tainted by generations of genteel bigotry. To accept it and use it after rebelling against it – would that prove his father right? And even if he refused to touch that gold, there was the money from his Uncle Alphard. It was a comparatively modest fortune, but it would likely have afforded him a sufficient defense. Luckily, wiser heads prevailed, and with his father’s money, he afforded a magnificent defense and the purchase of a sturdy farmhouse in Wales. I could totally see how her would feel like this.
I'm also slightly jealous of the farmhouse and property he bought. I'd love to live there!
This was just so charming!
no subject
Date: 2013-12-05 02:56 am (UTC)Yes, I am also jealous of their farm. If I ever come into a boatload of money, I am definitely quitting my job and taking up sheep farming.
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Date: 2013-12-05 04:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-04 08:35 pm (UTC)This was a lovely read. I love the image of the three of them playing in the snow outside their farmhouse!
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Date: 2013-12-05 02:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-04 09:59 pm (UTC)I love this fic ... such a nice look at how things could have been. I love how the fic is mostly happy but still tinged with sadness because these two have been through so much even with this variation of their story. This fic really tugs at my heartstrings.
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Date: 2013-12-05 02:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-05 04:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-08 09:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-09 04:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-14 04:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-15 02:58 am (UTC)