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small_giftsTitle: Smaller in the Winter
Author/Artist:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
brighty18
Recipient:chibitoaster
Rating: PG
Contents or warnings (highlight to view): This is Magic AU *Canadians!!!!*
Word count: About 1,700
Summary: What if both men and survived the war, but post-war life was not what they’d expected?
Notes: As requested, a peek at the lives of our boys as older men… and as challenged, Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada.
“Everything is smaller in the winter”
“What a bloody odd fortune - if one could even call it that,” muttered Sirius aloud.
“What was that?” asked Remus from beneath the Christmas tree. He’d been there for nearly forty minutes now. Ever since they’d finished their Kung Pao chicken, Remus had been in a tinsel-covered tizzy about making the house look perfect for their impending guests. In fact, Sirius was half-surprised his partner even bothered to listen to anything but the blaring carols on the radio and his own sour musings.
“My fortune from this fortune cookie,” Sirius replied. “It simply says that things are smaller in the winter.”
“Well, I do rather wish this tree were smaller,” grumbled Remus, adding, “I still cannot believe you raised the damn ceiling three feet just to accomodate this bloody thing. Where are Harry and his family supposed to sleep? Or did you assume they’d suddenly taken on the physical stature of house elves? I’m no expert on child development, but I am relatively sure that James Sirius, Albus Severus, and Lily Luna are more likely to grow than shrink.”
“Hey, now, I raised the roof as well.” Sirius waved his wand and poured two cups of green tea.
From beneath the towering blue spruce, Remus sputtered out an indecipherable grunt. “True, but I feel compelled to point out that the added space also allowed you room to put up another ten-thousand Christmas lights. A person could easily blind himself on our roofline - and Merlin knows what eye damage might be sustained by looking directly at the snowman.”
“No one will look directly at the snowman,” laughed Sirius. “I’m quite sure the large warning sign you posted will be sufficient to prevent either ocular injury or the subsequent lawsuits.”
Remus made no reply, so Sirius returned to gazing out the window at the falling snow. It was cold outside, bitter cold, and the prairie wind was howling, but inside, their home was a light-bright haven in the Manitoba winter. Even with his face pressed to the frosted glass, Sirius could see nothing beyond the faint glimmer of the Redbone’s house next door. Through the veil of snow he could just make out the bulky, sweater-bound form of Dorothea Redbone as she bustled about her living room, her husband, Stanley, stationed, as usual, in his easy chair by the fireplace. Sirius continued to stare, and Dorothea, as if sensing his presence, looked out the window and gave a cheery wave.
Smiling, Sirius returned the gesture. “Remus,” he asked quietly, “Do you ever miss London?”
“Not really,” came the muffled reply.
But Sirius had his doubts. “Are you happy, then?” he asked finally.
“I’d be happier if I could get these damned lights to work properly,” Remus snapped. “The Potters will be here tomorrow, and everything needs to be in place!”
Sirius held back a laugh as he watched the rainbow-hued twinkle lights blink violently then suddenly go dark as if in sync with Remus’ mood. He briefly contemplated a reply, but, noting the clouds of ominous swearing emmanating from beneath the tree, quickly thought the better of it and returned to staring out into the Canadian night.
Canada. Manitoba. Winnipeg. In his youth, Sirius could never have imagined living anyplace other than England, but his years on the run and gradual acceptance of his own non-acceptance changed that profoundly. After the war - and despite his numerous heroic acts during it - Sirius had foundered in Wizarding society. He’d foolishly hoped that his association with Harry, Ron, and Hermione - all so active in the Ministry of Magic - would somehow be able to ease him back into the flow of Wizarding life. But that proved a failure. Sure, the Ministry had officially absolved Sirius of all guilt, but the public could not shake their image of the criminal Black. And, Merlin knows, it was even worse for Remus. Sirius became accustomed to the fearful looks and frank lack of eye contact, to the terse conversations of strangers before hurrying away, but such public ignorance cut Remus to the quick. “The murderer and the werewolf,” they were known in hushed whispers behind their backs - though by all official counts, Sirius was no longer guilty of any crime.
They’d spent the first years of the new millenium as virtual pariahs, no friends but the rag-tag remnants of the Order of the Phoenix and no social life apart from occasional visits from Harry, Ron, and Hermione. But new families and new responsibilities made even those visits few and far between. Eventually, it had all become too much, and Harry had shyly suggested they emigrate to somewhere outside the confines of Wizarding England. “Go someplace warm and welcoming,” he’d said. “Someplace with sunshine and beaches and those funny fruity drinks with little umbrellas.”
But Sirius had had other ideas. There was a city, strong, sure, and solid, he’d passed through once on his travels, and a strange part of him yearned to return. Winnipeg. Even the name sounded friendly. Like Winnie the Pooh or that kindly Winnifred Stephens who’d once fed Padfoot lamb stew on his way through Yorkshire. It seemed the perfect home.
And, oddly, it was. Sure, it was cold and dark in the winter, but the aurora borealis was glorious, and he’d learned to take comfort in the big, wide prairies skies. And the people were quite lovely. No sooner had they moved in, than the Redbones knocked on their door, welcoming them with apple pie and mugs of strong, black coffee. Both men had felt compelled to be honest.
“I was once imprisoned for a crime I didn’t commit,” said Sirius.
“Oh, that’s terrible, my dear,” Dorothea had replied. “You still look so thin! We should bring you some of that venison we have in the freezer. Stanley’s quite the hunter, you know! He takes our nephews out to to woods every autumn.”
“And I should tell you that I’m a werewolf,” Remus had admitted.
“Oh, we Canadians are quite proud of our wolves!” Stanley had responded. “And my Dorothea has a little pot of Wolfsbane growing in our kitchen window should you want some!”
And so their little community had been formed. The Redbones - along with the Nguyens from down the block and the Bouchers from across the street - came over for frequent bridge nights and the occasional movie. They showed Sirius and Remus around the city, pointing out the secret Wizarding enclaves and places of interest. It was a big city, but, nestled amongst friends and neighbors, it could feel quite cozy and small.
Their first year brought frequent visits from the Manitoban Ministry of Magic, mostly earnest young witches eager to teach the British strangers the wonders of Canadian spellwork. Magic was useful in the cold. There were spells to seal the cracks from the howling prairie wind and spells to keep the lining of a coat toasty on even the most frigid of days. There were spells to melt snow off the roof and spells to warm the floor for tired, old feet. Oddly, there was even a special charm to heat up the gravy and cheese curds on one’s chips (which they so quaintly referred to as “fries”) - though Remus flatly refused to even attempt it. Mayonnaise was the only thing to touch Remus’ fried potatoes, a fact that Sirius found charming albeit a tad uptight.
Over the decade they’d lived in Winnipeg, Sirius had grown accustomed to the cold. It was simply a part of life, difficult, but not nearly as daunting as the deeper chill of an unaccepting London. Again, he glanced out the window; snow was collecting on the sill, obscuring even the twinkling lights of the neighbor’s house.
“... so on Tuesday, the Nguyens are taking us downtown to see the lights and… Sirius? Sirius? Are you even listening to me?” The raspy voice of his favorite werewolf jolted him out of his reverie.
“Yeah, yeah, Tuesday the light show with the Nguyens and then Friday we’re all going on that train ride thingie. What is it? the Assiniboine Valley Railway?”
“Exactly!” said Remus with a surprising smile.
Sirius looked around the room. The tree gleamed stunningly in the corner, the pine boughs on the mantle expertly arranged. “Moony, my love, you’re amazing,” he said.
“Thanks,” breathed Remus, obviously relieved. He moved closer and rubbed his cheek against Sirius’ nubby jumper. “And sorry I was such an utter prat earlier.”
“Not at all,” Sirius lied.
“You, my love, are a terrible liar,” chuckled Remus. He leaned in for a small kiss.
“Seriously, though,” said Sirius. “What had you all worked up like that?”
Remus sighed. “I just…” he began. "You know..."
A few beats of silence passed. Carols bleated quietly from the wireless and, above them, came the rumbling whoosh of snow sliding from the roof. “Yes, love,” whispered Sirius. “You just what?” He looked deep into Remus’ eyes and held him closer.
“I… just… I just wanted everything to be perfect for when Harry and Ginny and the kids come. I’m so happy with our lives but I want… I want them to see it, too. To understand how lovely and crazy and cold and snowy and beautiful it is here. To be happy for us and what we have. To be…”
“They’ll know. They’ll see,” assured Sirius. And how could they not? For the first time in years - hell, perhaps even since Hogwarts - Sirius felt at home in the world. They had friends - maybe not as exciting as the former Marauders, but then who could be? And adults of most any nationality were never as adventurous as teens. But they had a home that was warm and safe and a city that was lovely and welcoming. What more could one want in the world?
Sirius pulled Remus close, breathing in his scent of wool and pine and tea. Outside, the snow fell heavily. Across the street, the Bouchers turned on their Christmas lights, silver reindeer leaping through the snow. The wireless switched to “Silent Night,” the tree lights blinking perfectly in time.
Perhaps that fortune cookie was right, thought Sirius. The world was smaller in the winter. Well, not smaller, precisely, but certainly simpler, closer, and far more cozy.
Author/Artist:
brighty18Recipient:
chibitoasterRating: PG
Contents or warnings (highlight to view): This is Magic AU *Canadians!!!!*
Word count: About 1,700
Summary: What if both men and survived the war, but post-war life was not what they’d expected?
Notes: As requested, a peek at the lives of our boys as older men… and as challenged, Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada.
“Everything is smaller in the winter”
“What a bloody odd fortune - if one could even call it that,” muttered Sirius aloud.
“What was that?” asked Remus from beneath the Christmas tree. He’d been there for nearly forty minutes now. Ever since they’d finished their Kung Pao chicken, Remus had been in a tinsel-covered tizzy about making the house look perfect for their impending guests. In fact, Sirius was half-surprised his partner even bothered to listen to anything but the blaring carols on the radio and his own sour musings.
“My fortune from this fortune cookie,” Sirius replied. “It simply says that things are smaller in the winter.”
“Well, I do rather wish this tree were smaller,” grumbled Remus, adding, “I still cannot believe you raised the damn ceiling three feet just to accomodate this bloody thing. Where are Harry and his family supposed to sleep? Or did you assume they’d suddenly taken on the physical stature of house elves? I’m no expert on child development, but I am relatively sure that James Sirius, Albus Severus, and Lily Luna are more likely to grow than shrink.”
“Hey, now, I raised the roof as well.” Sirius waved his wand and poured two cups of green tea.
From beneath the towering blue spruce, Remus sputtered out an indecipherable grunt. “True, but I feel compelled to point out that the added space also allowed you room to put up another ten-thousand Christmas lights. A person could easily blind himself on our roofline - and Merlin knows what eye damage might be sustained by looking directly at the snowman.”
“No one will look directly at the snowman,” laughed Sirius. “I’m quite sure the large warning sign you posted will be sufficient to prevent either ocular injury or the subsequent lawsuits.”
Remus made no reply, so Sirius returned to gazing out the window at the falling snow. It was cold outside, bitter cold, and the prairie wind was howling, but inside, their home was a light-bright haven in the Manitoba winter. Even with his face pressed to the frosted glass, Sirius could see nothing beyond the faint glimmer of the Redbone’s house next door. Through the veil of snow he could just make out the bulky, sweater-bound form of Dorothea Redbone as she bustled about her living room, her husband, Stanley, stationed, as usual, in his easy chair by the fireplace. Sirius continued to stare, and Dorothea, as if sensing his presence, looked out the window and gave a cheery wave.
Smiling, Sirius returned the gesture. “Remus,” he asked quietly, “Do you ever miss London?”
“Not really,” came the muffled reply.
But Sirius had his doubts. “Are you happy, then?” he asked finally.
“I’d be happier if I could get these damned lights to work properly,” Remus snapped. “The Potters will be here tomorrow, and everything needs to be in place!”
Sirius held back a laugh as he watched the rainbow-hued twinkle lights blink violently then suddenly go dark as if in sync with Remus’ mood. He briefly contemplated a reply, but, noting the clouds of ominous swearing emmanating from beneath the tree, quickly thought the better of it and returned to staring out into the Canadian night.
Canada. Manitoba. Winnipeg. In his youth, Sirius could never have imagined living anyplace other than England, but his years on the run and gradual acceptance of his own non-acceptance changed that profoundly. After the war - and despite his numerous heroic acts during it - Sirius had foundered in Wizarding society. He’d foolishly hoped that his association with Harry, Ron, and Hermione - all so active in the Ministry of Magic - would somehow be able to ease him back into the flow of Wizarding life. But that proved a failure. Sure, the Ministry had officially absolved Sirius of all guilt, but the public could not shake their image of the criminal Black. And, Merlin knows, it was even worse for Remus. Sirius became accustomed to the fearful looks and frank lack of eye contact, to the terse conversations of strangers before hurrying away, but such public ignorance cut Remus to the quick. “The murderer and the werewolf,” they were known in hushed whispers behind their backs - though by all official counts, Sirius was no longer guilty of any crime.
They’d spent the first years of the new millenium as virtual pariahs, no friends but the rag-tag remnants of the Order of the Phoenix and no social life apart from occasional visits from Harry, Ron, and Hermione. But new families and new responsibilities made even those visits few and far between. Eventually, it had all become too much, and Harry had shyly suggested they emigrate to somewhere outside the confines of Wizarding England. “Go someplace warm and welcoming,” he’d said. “Someplace with sunshine and beaches and those funny fruity drinks with little umbrellas.”
But Sirius had had other ideas. There was a city, strong, sure, and solid, he’d passed through once on his travels, and a strange part of him yearned to return. Winnipeg. Even the name sounded friendly. Like Winnie the Pooh or that kindly Winnifred Stephens who’d once fed Padfoot lamb stew on his way through Yorkshire. It seemed the perfect home.
And, oddly, it was. Sure, it was cold and dark in the winter, but the aurora borealis was glorious, and he’d learned to take comfort in the big, wide prairies skies. And the people were quite lovely. No sooner had they moved in, than the Redbones knocked on their door, welcoming them with apple pie and mugs of strong, black coffee. Both men had felt compelled to be honest.
“I was once imprisoned for a crime I didn’t commit,” said Sirius.
“Oh, that’s terrible, my dear,” Dorothea had replied. “You still look so thin! We should bring you some of that venison we have in the freezer. Stanley’s quite the hunter, you know! He takes our nephews out to to woods every autumn.”
“And I should tell you that I’m a werewolf,” Remus had admitted.
“Oh, we Canadians are quite proud of our wolves!” Stanley had responded. “And my Dorothea has a little pot of Wolfsbane growing in our kitchen window should you want some!”
And so their little community had been formed. The Redbones - along with the Nguyens from down the block and the Bouchers from across the street - came over for frequent bridge nights and the occasional movie. They showed Sirius and Remus around the city, pointing out the secret Wizarding enclaves and places of interest. It was a big city, but, nestled amongst friends and neighbors, it could feel quite cozy and small.
Their first year brought frequent visits from the Manitoban Ministry of Magic, mostly earnest young witches eager to teach the British strangers the wonders of Canadian spellwork. Magic was useful in the cold. There were spells to seal the cracks from the howling prairie wind and spells to keep the lining of a coat toasty on even the most frigid of days. There were spells to melt snow off the roof and spells to warm the floor for tired, old feet. Oddly, there was even a special charm to heat up the gravy and cheese curds on one’s chips (which they so quaintly referred to as “fries”) - though Remus flatly refused to even attempt it. Mayonnaise was the only thing to touch Remus’ fried potatoes, a fact that Sirius found charming albeit a tad uptight.
Over the decade they’d lived in Winnipeg, Sirius had grown accustomed to the cold. It was simply a part of life, difficult, but not nearly as daunting as the deeper chill of an unaccepting London. Again, he glanced out the window; snow was collecting on the sill, obscuring even the twinkling lights of the neighbor’s house.
“... so on Tuesday, the Nguyens are taking us downtown to see the lights and… Sirius? Sirius? Are you even listening to me?” The raspy voice of his favorite werewolf jolted him out of his reverie.
“Yeah, yeah, Tuesday the light show with the Nguyens and then Friday we’re all going on that train ride thingie. What is it? the Assiniboine Valley Railway?”
“Exactly!” said Remus with a surprising smile.
Sirius looked around the room. The tree gleamed stunningly in the corner, the pine boughs on the mantle expertly arranged. “Moony, my love, you’re amazing,” he said.
“Thanks,” breathed Remus, obviously relieved. He moved closer and rubbed his cheek against Sirius’ nubby jumper. “And sorry I was such an utter prat earlier.”
“Not at all,” Sirius lied.
“You, my love, are a terrible liar,” chuckled Remus. He leaned in for a small kiss.
“Seriously, though,” said Sirius. “What had you all worked up like that?”
Remus sighed. “I just…” he began. "You know..."
A few beats of silence passed. Carols bleated quietly from the wireless and, above them, came the rumbling whoosh of snow sliding from the roof. “Yes, love,” whispered Sirius. “You just what?” He looked deep into Remus’ eyes and held him closer.
“I… just… I just wanted everything to be perfect for when Harry and Ginny and the kids come. I’m so happy with our lives but I want… I want them to see it, too. To understand how lovely and crazy and cold and snowy and beautiful it is here. To be happy for us and what we have. To be…”
“They’ll know. They’ll see,” assured Sirius. And how could they not? For the first time in years - hell, perhaps even since Hogwarts - Sirius felt at home in the world. They had friends - maybe not as exciting as the former Marauders, but then who could be? And adults of most any nationality were never as adventurous as teens. But they had a home that was warm and safe and a city that was lovely and welcoming. What more could one want in the world?
Sirius pulled Remus close, breathing in his scent of wool and pine and tea. Outside, the snow fell heavily. Across the street, the Bouchers turned on their Christmas lights, silver reindeer leaping through the snow. The wireless switched to “Silent Night,” the tree lights blinking perfectly in time.
Perhaps that fortune cookie was right, thought Sirius. The world was smaller in the winter. Well, not smaller, precisely, but certainly simpler, closer, and far more cozy.
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Date: 2015-01-03 12:14 am (UTC)I am so glad you liked it. I've never actually been to Winnipeg, but I have been to similar mid-continent prairie cities. At my old work we dealt a lot with Winnipeg and everyone seemed so nice and friendly and... solid. I still want to visit there sometime.
My general theory is that there are places where people really are friendly and more neighborly and those are often places in which the weather is potentially dangerous/there is still a bit of a frontier atmosphere. In other words, where you often find that you need others to survive. Seattle was NOT like that. Los Angeles was NOT like that. Boston was NOT like that. But Ohio was. And New Mexico. A few years back, the the government cut off all the natural gas lines to northern New Mexico during the coldest week of the year (negative double digits), but as soon as the news was released, people started calling the local radio stations offering cords of wood to senior citizens or wood-heated guest houses to people in need. One local restaurant closed for business and did nothing but serve free chili to people for three days. It was amazing how people just came together to help others. That's the sort of spirit I wanted to convey!
And I feel for Remus here. When we moved to Ohio all of our West Coast and East Coast friends were like, "Why the hell would you want to live in Ohio?" We get that about New Mexico, too. And we've loved our life in both places, but sometimes we felt like we had to somehow defend our choice.
Thank you for your comment! It made my day!