Fic: Summer New Year for dustmouth

[mindabbles.livejournal.com]

Title: Summer New Year
Author: mindabbles
Recipient: dustmouth
Rating: PG
Contents or warnings (highlight to view): *none, except that there are no warnings*
Word count: 2,900
Summary: Sirius needs something. Maybe a holiday at the seaside will do it.
Notes: dustmouth, I so hope you enjoy this little bit of holiday fluff. Happy New Year! Thank you, thank you to pavlablack for the record quick beta!!!



"Where are we?" Remus asks. He brushes sand from his trousers. They'd all grabbed the portkey, no questions asked. It occurred to him that some might say they shouldn't all be so trusting.

The rest of them follow suit, hoisting themselves up from the ground and shaking sand off, with the exception of Lily. She's on her feet and looking around.

"Moony, Moony, Moony," Sirius says. "Always with the note of suspicion."

"It's well-earned," Peter says.

James smiles. "Brilliant plan, Padfoot. A seaside New Year."

Peter wipes his brow. "It's hell of a hot."

The sun does beat down mercilessly and Sirius can't wait to see what it does for the band of freckles that appears on Remus' nose.

"Are we in Australia?" Lily asks. She puts her hands on her hips as if this implies some terrible plan to which she did not agree.

"You didn't think the Blacks only had houses on the continent, did you? My ancestors believed in inhabiting the colonies as well."

"You'll get yourself thumped in the head, talking like that," Remus says. "Australia?" He sounds as sure as Lily that this must mean trouble.

"I thought we could use a holiday and it's my luck that you lot are brilliant enough to follow me anywhere." Sirius beams at his friends. It's been a tough year—not what they might have expected for their first year out of school, and he wants them all to have bloody fantastic New Year. He wants himself to have a bloody fantastic New Year. He needs it.

"Thick enough, more like," Lily says, but she laughs.

"Here, wait a minute," James says. "You're disgraced and disowned. How are we to stay at one of your family's holiday houses?"

"I didn't say I'd asked them," Sirius says.

"Oh, that's brilliant," Remus says.

The four of them roll their eyes—that's it, they think they've found the rub.

"Oh, don't worry. This place is much too cheerful for most of my family. Come on. Now we've just to find it."

*

Sirius' feet sink into the sand. It seeps into his shoes, so he kicks them off. His toes in the sand make it feel like a holiday and relief seems to come in with the heat.

"I'm beginning to doubt the existence of this place," James says. He wipes his brow. All of their cheeks are red and Peter looks as if he's about to fall over.

"We're British, Padfoot," Peter says. "We're not meant to walk about in the heat."

"It builds character," says Sirius. The three rocks are about fifty paces away and he grins. He'd begun to doubt his memory, himself.

"It builds heat rash," Remus says, pulling his shirt away from his chest.

"There's a huge bathtub, Moony," Sirius says. "Can't wait to see your face when you get in it."

"I do like a bath." Remus smiles and Sirius wishes he hadn't said that just now. All he can picture is Remus lowering himself, naked, into the tub.

"You've stopped," Lily says. "Are we there?"

"We are," says Sirius. He taps the smallest rock with his wand and then the middle one and then the largest. He repeats the cycle and then ends on the smallest. Seven taps, seven repeats of the incantation. The sand ripples and parts in waves and a steepled, green roof emerges, sand running off it in rivulets. Bay windows and painted red, wood walls come next. The balconies facing the sea are big enough for a dining table and chairs. Sirius feels something shift inside that this is just as he remembered it.

*

No one's been here in years. That's clear by the dust in the front hall. Sirius huffs out a long breath. The air is stuffy and there's the cloyingly sweet smell of potpourri—someone's misguided idea to keep this less-used home fresh.

"Gah, it smells like my Aunt Gerdie in here," says Peter. He pulls a face and yanks his t-shirt up over his nose.

"I don't guess it smells much better in there, Pete," Remus says.

Sirius laughs and it sounds too loud to his ears, too much like he's trying to endear himself to Remus. His stomach jumps about every time Remus looks at him. As unfamiliar as this feeling is, it's not entirely unpleasant—yet. If it goes on too much longer, it will be.

"Padfoot," James says.

Sirius clears his throat. He's been staring at Remus, who seems completely oblivious to it. "Just, yeah, just trying to remember which one is the trick floorboard." James rolls his eyes at him. "Sixth one. Step over the sixth one unless you want to some unpleasant surprises."

*

With the five of them working together, it doesn't take long to get a few bedrooms, the front room, and kitchen in livable order. The place is just neglected, not filled with dark magic, so the cleaning spells suffice and the chores aren't fraught with danger. The simplicity of it is almost relaxing after the last year.

His family had only come here a few times when he was a kid—his parents preferring to stay in Europe. He'd always had the impression his father was afraid of missing something. Either that, or he didn't feel comfortable not surrounded by the old, dark magic of home.

The sea stretches out before them. The sand is golden and spectacular rock formations frame the sky. Regulus and he used to disappear on that beach, scrambling up the rocks, and exploring tide pools. They'd stayed out so long that even their mother had begun to worry.

"Why have we never come here before?" James asks. He comes up next to Sirius, looking out the window at the sea.

"I had to be seventeen for the house to reveal itself to me. Regulus and I tried to come here once on the holidays when we were kids and hacked off at our parents. We walked around the beach for hours before we gave up. We haven’t exactly had time in the last two years."

"Thanks for inviting us, Padfoot," Remus says. He's right behind Sirius and his hand lands on Sirius' shoulder.

Sirius would love to lean back into him.

"Don't thank me yet. I haven't told you what you've to do for your dinner."

*

"Right, you have to dig in your feet and do this," Sirius says. He wiggles his toes into the sand just past the water's edge. The cool water and wet sand squelch between his toes. When the tops of his feet are submerged, he twists his hips back and forth. "Like the Beagles. Twist." He moves his arms opposite to his hips and his feet sink, stirring up the sand under the surface. "Yes," he shouts when his toes meet their first cockle. He dives down, quickly as if it was a snitch, and grabs it. It's a nice sized one with a purple-tinged shell. "See? Easy as—"

The four of them are standing just back from the surf. Staring.

"What. Are. You. Doing?" Peter asks.

"Come on, you bloody stick-in-the-muds," Sirius says. "Get your feet in here."

"Wouldn't it be sticks-in-the-mud?" asks Remus.

"No," Lily answers. "I don't think so. The whole phrase is the noun."

"But they are stuck, so I think Moony—"

"I cannot believe you're stalling by arguing grammar," says Sirius. He frowns as his idiot friends.

"Padfoot," James says, trying to sound as if that is not what he was doing. "It's only that, how should I say this—"

"You look like a complete prat," Peter finishes.

"And arguing grammar on a hot day when there's cool surf and cockles to be had makes you unprats?"

"I don't think that's a word," Remus says. A hint of a smile reaches his eyes.

"Okay, Padfoot," Lily says. "Show me."

She walks up to stand by him and digs her toes in, twisting her hips. "It's The Beetles and I think you've to shout as well as twist," she calls, working her feet into the sand.

"That's not fair," says Peter, crossing his arms over his chest. "She looks good doing it."

"Come on, Wormtail, Moony," James calls across the beach. He jogs to the ocean's edge, pulling up one trouser leg and then the other, so they're both at his knees.

"On you go, Prongs," Sirius shouts, laughing.

James twists his hips and flings his arms back and forth. He looks like a Bowtruckle with a nervous condition.

"Come on, Moony," James shouts.

Peter has at least dug his feet in a bit.

"What's that?" Remus shouts back.

James turns to look at Remus just as a wave comes in and he lands on his arse in the surf.

"That's it then," Remus says. He rolls his trousers and walks toward the others. "Now I won’t be the first to fall on my arse."

Peter and Lily both let out whoops of triumph at the same time. Sirius watches Remus come toward him and he would swear that Remus was watching him twist.

Laughter bubbles up in Sirius' chest and the sun sparkles on the water as Remus joins them, singing along with Lily and dancing.

*

"I reckon this is enough for a respectable feast," Sirius says, surveying the full bucket of cockles with satisfaction.

Lily, Peter, and James have gone up to the house to get beer and bread. Sirius and Remus are sorting through the cockles and preparing the fire.

"Look for any that are broken or already open. We've escaped Death Eaters. Best not be done in by a cockle."

Remus gives him a perplexed, amused look that does that thing to his stomach again. The afternoon light is golden and Sirius bites his tongue to keep back a comment about the effect it has on Remus' hair.

"How about th---Ah!" Remus jumps and flails his hand about.

"What the hell, Moony?"

"It attacked me," he says, sucking a finger into his mouth.

"It's just a crab."

"It's staring at me." Remus takes a step back. The crab does indeed seem to be staring up at him.

"You realize the irony of you carrying on like this about a pinch from a crab?"

"The bloody thing took a hunk off my finger."

"Blimey, Moony," Sirius says. "Let me see." He's done this, or something like this, so many times that he doesn't even think about it. He takes Remus' hand and finds the nick. He smoothes his fingers over the sore spot and touches his wand to it.

"Thanks," Remus says. He smiles at Sirius, but doesn't quite meet his eyes.

Sirius is holding his breath. He doesn't drop Remus' hand and Remus doesn't pull away.

*

The sea air is, well, not cool, but it's cooler than it was in the afternoon. The heat from the day is still trapped in the sand and Sirius digs his toes in. The coals smolder and Peter tosses another bit of driftwood into the fire. Flames flare up, lighting their little group on the beach. Sirius catches Remus' eye as the light dances across his face. Remus smiles and frowns at the same time. Sirius takes another swig of his beer.

He could do it. He could step over the fire and sit down next to Remus. He could put his arm around his shoulders and kiss him. Peter's involved in the fire, and that'll keep him busy for hours. James and Lily are deep in conversation. No one would notice. Except, hopefully, Remus.

"Come and help me with these?" James is right next to him. He didn't see James get up and Sirius wonders how long he's been staring at Remus. James has the bucket with the empty cockle shells and bread ends. "Give 'em a proper send off, yeah?"

Sirius follows him down to the water. The sea is smooth at low tide. "Here, like this," he says, taking a cockle shell from the bucket. He taps it with his wand, temporarily sealing it closed. He holds it between his thumb and forefinger and flicks his wrist. "One, two, three, four, bugger," he says as the shell skips and then sinks into a wave. "I used to be able to do six."

"I'll admit—your cockles were some of the best I've had."

"Prongs, I thought you'd never say."

"You know I like yours best."

"Watch it. Lily will hear you."

"She doesn't cook."

"Are we talking about cooking?"

"You're so witty," James says, skipping a shell into shallow waves. It does three and is sucked in by the surf. "So, Pads," James says. "This whole thing—the house, the dinner, and some other things I'm not going to mention because I think I'd need to know the sand would swallow me first—what's with you?"

"Last time Regulus and I were here, we did this. Our parents were having a dinner party. They'd sent us to our rooms. I suppose I'd said something during the starter. I don't know what—I lost track of what offended them. Regulus was frightened we’d be punished and he was hungry. So, I snuck us out of the bedroom window and we came out here. We dug enough cockles for a respectable supper and cooked them over a fire of driftwood and underage magic. Best meal of my life. Dunno, makes me think about what's important."

"Yeah, that's a nice story. And I can see why you’d want to come back here and to show it to us, and I appreciate that and all, but—"

Behind them, Remus laughs at something Lily or Peter said. Sirius turns to look and Remus seems to be watching him, even as he talks with the others. Sirius sighs.

"I think you want to be telling all this to someone else," says James.

"You're very full of thoughts this evening," Sirius says. He skips another shell. Four. "You're full of something at any rate."

"Tomorrow's the New Year, Padfoot. No time like it for something new."

Over James' shoulder, Sirius sees the others stand.

"Come on, you two," Remus shouts over the sound of the waves. "It's nearly midnight."

"It's 10:30," says Peter.

"And there's champagne to open," Sirius says. "Let's get a move on."

*

He let midnight come and go without doing anything about it. He nearly grabbed Remus and kissed him just to escape James' disapproving looks, but then Remus seemed nervous and on edge and he didn't want to make it worse, so he'd settled for a brotherly hug, claps on the back and all.

Remus is out on the balcony. The sea breeze wafts in the open French doors, still warm and balmy. Remus' hands are braced on the balcony wall and he's looking at the sky.

"Go on and talk to him or I'll do it for you." James gives him a push toward the balcony doors.

It's not right, really not right, to leave Moony out there in the early hours of the New Year all by himself, obviously in some kind of existential torment, searching the sky for answers. The thought that he can help his friend occurs to him at the same time as the thought that he may have had too much to drink.

He holds onto the door frame and steps out. The music and his other friends' chatter fade into the background.

"Hey, Moony." The moon is beautiful. It's three-quarters and waning and bright as a lantern. "The moon is—Sorry."

"I'm capable of appreciating that the moon is bright tonight, Padfoot," Remus says, bumping his shoulder against Sirius'.

"Yeah, I suppose you are." Sirius looks at him sideways and there's that half-amused, half-perplexed look again. "You all right?"

"I'm fine, Pads," Remus says. He turns to face Sirius. "You, on the other hand, seem to have something on your mind."

Remus is one step away from him. He could lift his hand and touch Remus' cheek. He could lean forward and kiss him, wind his arm around Remus' waist. The moon is so bright it lights Remus' face and Sirius can see the band of golden freckles that sprung up across his nose in the afternoon sun. Remus smiles and shakes his head, his too-long fringe falling across one eye. So this, Sirius thinks, this is what it's like to be at a loss for words.

Remus' hand is on his shoulder and he's leaning closer. "Is this what you wanted to tell me?" he asks and his lips are on Sirius'.

Remus presses in close and tilts his head. This is exactly what Sirius meant to say. He slides his hand around Remus' waist, pressing his hand to the small of his back. His other hand slides down Remus' arm and their fingers twine together. Remus' hands are on his back and in his hair. The tips of their tongues touch and Sirius sighs. Remus teases Sirius' lips and tongue with his and then pulls back. His cheek is still against Sirius'.

"Yeah, that was it." Sirius says.

"You didn't have to go to all this trouble," Remus says, laughter in his voice. "You could have kissed me anytime."

Sirius presses his lips to Remus' again. "Perhaps, but this is obviously what it took to get you to kiss me."

"Happy New Year, Padfoot." Remus kisses him softly on the cheek.

"Hold on a minute," Sirius says. "I have a lot more to say."

Remus whispers a spell and then another. The balcony doors close with a click and the only sound is the surf and the warm breeze in the trees. Sirius turns and there's a large chaise longue behind them.

Remus takes his hand and pulls him toward it. "And I have all night to listen."