Fic: Waiting for mustntgetmy
Dec. 13th, 2014 12:25 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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small_giftsTitle: Waiting
Author/Artist:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
imnotjkr
Recipient:mustntgetmy
Rating: PG
Contents or warnings (highlight to view): *None *
Word count: 877
Summary: First meeting after the Shrieking Shack
It was an old house. No, maybe house wasn’t the right word. It was an old cottage, sturdily made of weathered tan stone and a sloping slate roof breaking for the small, proud chimney. It was about the right size to be cosy, and here among the rolling hills and countryside, it almost looked like it had sprung from the ground and simply been there forever.
Once, not too long ago, it had been meticulously maintained, with the mathematically trimmed hedges, immaculate lawn and perfect paintwork of those with too much time on their hands. You could still almost see some of that even if it was now well on its way to ramshackle, in the same way you could see the former lines of muscularity in an athlete now slightly gone to seed. The roof was now almost more moss than tile, all the paintwork chipped and flaking and the hedges along the path so overgrown it was nearly too small a gap to get through.
Not exactly designed for visitors. But on this day, on this rare day, it was about to receive one.
A large black dog bound round the corner, before stopping suddenly at the sight of the house. It took a couple of seconds, almost as though to gather itself, and then began to slink through the small gap between the hedges, up the unkempt path and to the front door, before letting out a single bark.
There was silence for a moment, then the rushed sounds of bare feet on flagstone and a scramble of jingling keys before the door was wrenched open.
“Padfoot,” Remus Lupin gasped, standing staring for a moment. Then he broke his gaze to look widely up and down the road before opening the door wider and gesturing, “Come in, come in.”
He took a little longer than normal fiddling with the keys to lock the door, before turning round to see his old friend, staring at him with those dark empty eyes, that began to flicker back to life the longer their gazes held.
“What are you doing here?” he asked instead. “Do you want to go back to Azkaban? They’ll look for you here!”
Sirius smiled that cocky smile, just like he always did on the few occasions Remus had tried to temper his and James’ mischief making.
“Come on, Moony, I’ve just spent a year living in a shack and eleven years in jail. I’m earned the right to live a little. Besides,” he added, now he’s got Remus’ attention, “Dumbledore sent me.”
Remus blinked, but his hands dropped to his sides. “Why did Dumbledore send you?”
Sirius smiled and dropped onto the old, red leather coach, familiar in the way all of the house is, his home before Azkaban, but alien too, in the way that he had expected nothing to change. Not even Remus.
He patted the space next to him and flung his legs up on the coffee table. If it weren’t for the patches and the way the coach sags, as close as it is to surrendering under his weight, he could have been nineteen again: sitting and waiting for the next call to put his life on the line, or to pay his respects to another fallen comrade.
Remus settled gingerly next to him, but the coach decided to play matchmaker, letting him slide along his seat until they were pressed. Remus could feel the heat against his leg, his arm. Their eyes met and he didn’t want to look away.
Someone was leaning forward, or maybe they both were and:
**
They’re fourteen years old and leaning over a text book, lips an inch apart, breathing the same air, just waiting for … and the door bursts open. By the time James and Peter come into the room, they’re both looking in opposite directions and trying to look innocent.
**
They’re sixteen years old and trading desperate promises between kisses. “This just stays between us.” “It doesn’t mean anything.” “This will be the last time.”
**
They’re nineteen years old and sharing mischievous glances that no one else sees, sultry looks heavy with meaning, subtle motions and suggestive smiles. Their own secret language.
**
They’re twenty-one years old and “Not now Sirius.”
“Well, when then?” Sirius snaps back, watching Remus gather his clothes. “When would it be convenient for you to deal with this mess?”
“What mess? You get what you want, I get what I want, it’s fine.”
“No, it isn’t.”
Remus finally meets his eyes again. “You really think telling anyone will make it easier? You really think now is the time to deal with something like this when people are dying?”
“You know what?” Sirius snaps, getting out of bed and grabbing trousers, “Maybe there’s nothing to deal with. Don’t worry about me, I’ll keep out of your way.”
**
They’re 34 years old and pulling each other as close as they can. “I love you,” Sirius thinks he hears, whispered into his ear and then –
**
“Harry,” Sirius said, pulling back. “They kidnapped Harry. He’s … well, he’s not OK, but he’s safe. But Voldemort – Voldemort’s back.”
They can wait. They’ll have to wait.
Remus pulled back too, his eyes hardening. “Tell me everything.”
Author/Artist:
imnotjkrRecipient:
mustntgetmyRating: PG
Contents or warnings (highlight to view): *None *
Word count: 877
Summary: First meeting after the Shrieking Shack
It was an old house. No, maybe house wasn’t the right word. It was an old cottage, sturdily made of weathered tan stone and a sloping slate roof breaking for the small, proud chimney. It was about the right size to be cosy, and here among the rolling hills and countryside, it almost looked like it had sprung from the ground and simply been there forever.
Once, not too long ago, it had been meticulously maintained, with the mathematically trimmed hedges, immaculate lawn and perfect paintwork of those with too much time on their hands. You could still almost see some of that even if it was now well on its way to ramshackle, in the same way you could see the former lines of muscularity in an athlete now slightly gone to seed. The roof was now almost more moss than tile, all the paintwork chipped and flaking and the hedges along the path so overgrown it was nearly too small a gap to get through.
Not exactly designed for visitors. But on this day, on this rare day, it was about to receive one.
A large black dog bound round the corner, before stopping suddenly at the sight of the house. It took a couple of seconds, almost as though to gather itself, and then began to slink through the small gap between the hedges, up the unkempt path and to the front door, before letting out a single bark.
There was silence for a moment, then the rushed sounds of bare feet on flagstone and a scramble of jingling keys before the door was wrenched open.
“Padfoot,” Remus Lupin gasped, standing staring for a moment. Then he broke his gaze to look widely up and down the road before opening the door wider and gesturing, “Come in, come in.”
He took a little longer than normal fiddling with the keys to lock the door, before turning round to see his old friend, staring at him with those dark empty eyes, that began to flicker back to life the longer their gazes held.
“What are you doing here?” he asked instead. “Do you want to go back to Azkaban? They’ll look for you here!”
Sirius smiled that cocky smile, just like he always did on the few occasions Remus had tried to temper his and James’ mischief making.
“Come on, Moony, I’ve just spent a year living in a shack and eleven years in jail. I’m earned the right to live a little. Besides,” he added, now he’s got Remus’ attention, “Dumbledore sent me.”
Remus blinked, but his hands dropped to his sides. “Why did Dumbledore send you?”
Sirius smiled and dropped onto the old, red leather coach, familiar in the way all of the house is, his home before Azkaban, but alien too, in the way that he had expected nothing to change. Not even Remus.
He patted the space next to him and flung his legs up on the coffee table. If it weren’t for the patches and the way the coach sags, as close as it is to surrendering under his weight, he could have been nineteen again: sitting and waiting for the next call to put his life on the line, or to pay his respects to another fallen comrade.
Remus settled gingerly next to him, but the coach decided to play matchmaker, letting him slide along his seat until they were pressed. Remus could feel the heat against his leg, his arm. Their eyes met and he didn’t want to look away.
Someone was leaning forward, or maybe they both were and:
**
They’re fourteen years old and leaning over a text book, lips an inch apart, breathing the same air, just waiting for … and the door bursts open. By the time James and Peter come into the room, they’re both looking in opposite directions and trying to look innocent.
**
They’re sixteen years old and trading desperate promises between kisses. “This just stays between us.” “It doesn’t mean anything.” “This will be the last time.”
**
They’re nineteen years old and sharing mischievous glances that no one else sees, sultry looks heavy with meaning, subtle motions and suggestive smiles. Their own secret language.
**
They’re twenty-one years old and “Not now Sirius.”
“Well, when then?” Sirius snaps back, watching Remus gather his clothes. “When would it be convenient for you to deal with this mess?”
“What mess? You get what you want, I get what I want, it’s fine.”
“No, it isn’t.”
Remus finally meets his eyes again. “You really think telling anyone will make it easier? You really think now is the time to deal with something like this when people are dying?”
“You know what?” Sirius snaps, getting out of bed and grabbing trousers, “Maybe there’s nothing to deal with. Don’t worry about me, I’ll keep out of your way.”
**
They’re 34 years old and pulling each other as close as they can. “I love you,” Sirius thinks he hears, whispered into his ear and then –
**
“Harry,” Sirius said, pulling back. “They kidnapped Harry. He’s … well, he’s not OK, but he’s safe. But Voldemort – Voldemort’s back.”
They can wait. They’ll have to wait.
Remus pulled back too, his eyes hardening. “Tell me everything.”
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no subject
Date: 2014-12-29 03:18 pm (UTC)Oh, and this:
Sirius smiled and dropped onto the old, red leather coach, familiar in the way all of the house is, his home before Azkaban, but alien too, in the way that he had expected nothing to change. Not even Remus.
That was a perfect description, I feel, of how it must have been.
Wonderful job.
no subject
Date: 2014-12-31 12:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-12-29 08:31 pm (UTC)This was, indeed, an exquisitely written kick to the chest. (Thanks,
And so gorgeously written, too! You feel for Sirius here - and for Remus - but I love how the house (or cottage) itself was a strong character.
Such moving flashbacks, too! Just SO well done! The word that comes to mind here is "bijou" small, delicate, beautifully-crafted, etc.
no subject
Date: 2014-12-31 12:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-12-30 01:18 am (UTC)The end just killed me. Why can't they have just a bit of kissing before seriousness intervenes? Probably because it wouldn't be such great written angst. Great use of flashbacks, they hurt in all the right ways. Great job.
no subject
Date: 2014-12-31 12:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-12-30 03:16 am (UTC)So, so excellent. This is just what I was hoping for!
no subject
Date: 2014-12-31 12:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-12-31 05:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-01-03 07:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-01-05 06:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-01-06 08:14 am (UTC)