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small_giftsTitle: A Cup of Kindness
Author/Artist:shaggydogstail
Recipient:luminousgloom
Rating: PG-13
Contents or warnings (highlight to view): None
Word count: 2300
Summary: Topping up his mulled cider with the potion brewed long ago by his traitorous ex-boyfriend might turn out to be one of Remus' better bad ideas.
Notes: For Gloom, in thanks for your generous and excellent advice re alcoholic beverages, I hope you enjoy something sweet.
It starts with cider from his mother, from the small batch she brews every year. The apples are Gwell Na Mil – one in a thousand – though the English call them Seek No Further, and isn’t that advice Remus would like to take, just for once? He pours the cider into his least dented cauldron and lights a fire below. Adds cinnamon, star anise, cardamom, and allspice for flavour. Wildflower honey from Lily and James, for sweetness. Quarters of apple, pomegranate, and clementine to finish.
The tincture in the old bottle, the one Sirius made, he shouldn’t add. Shouldn’t think about Sirius, have anything to do with him. But the potion was brewed years ago, before Sirius kissed him, or broke his heart, before he turned traitor. Remus isn’t sure if it’s magic or just fancy that has him believe that the tincture connects them somehow, gives him an insight into Sirius’ emotions.
Remus uncorks the bottle and empties it into the simmering cauldron. The potion lands with a splash, filling the air with the apple-sweet scent of mulled cider, invitingly spiced and tinged with magic. It’s a bad idea to drink it and Remus knows it, but he never could stop looking; perhaps he just wants to know that Sirius is still capable of feeling something.
The first sip is delicious, pungent and ripe, a wholesome remedy against the October chill. Remus drinks greedily, so quickly he’s nearly finished the first gobletful when he feels it; sadness washing over him like the frigid North Sea. It’s a dramatic, pacing the moors and winter storms kind of sadness, not Remus’ own brand of quietly stoical melancholy. The potion still works, it seems, and right now Sirius is utterly, wretchedly miserable.
As miserable and lonely as a traitor ought to be. The drink’s still warm, but the knowledge is a cold sort of comfort.
#
Remus drinks too much and falls asleep on the sofa, waking up with a crick in his neck and the taste of cinnamon and tears at the back of his throat. He remembers dreaming of Sirius and he knows, he knows now what’s making Sirius so unhappy. So many things, like how he’s lonely and afraid, how he worries about the Potters, his guilt over Regulus. All things Remus knew already, he’s familiar with Sirius’ excuses. But there’s something new, something that’s troubling Sirius more than all the rest. Sirius thinks that Remus is the spy. He thinks Remus is a traitor and it’s breaking his heart.
Thing is, there’s only two people in the Order know for sure that Remus isn’t the spy – Remus himself, and whoever the spy is. Remus feels a flicker of pleasure at Sirius’ misery, only now there’s no malice in it. Sirius wouldn’t think Remus was the spy if he weren’t innocent himself.
All Remus has to do is convince him that he is too.
#
‘My name is Remus John Lupin. My favourite jam is blackcurrant. I stepped on your foot the first time we kissed.’
Sirius stands in the doorway, staring back at him blankly. Remus holds out his wand. ‘You take it while I talk. We’d best sit down. This might take a while.’
He looks wary, but Sirius lets him in and he listens. He listens while Remus tells him where he’s really been on all his Order missions, confesses to a catalogue of lies he’s told, big and small, important and trivial. It’s not normal behaviour, not by a long shot, but Remus knows somehow that it’s what Sirius needs to hear.
‘Why are you telling me this?’ asks Sirius. His eyes are bloodshot and his stubble’s crossed from “ruggedly sexy” into “unkempt”. His hair could do with a wash.
‘You think I’m the spy,’ says Remus, watching him carefully. Sirius looks defeated, fragile despite his combat boots and artfully dishevelled, vaguely punk clothes, huddled into the corner of his incongruously chintzy sofa. ‘You think it’s me and it’s making you miserable.’
He hands over the empty bottle by way of explanation. Sirius turns it over for several long moments before finally setting it down on the coffee table, next to Remus’ wand. ‘What did you do with it?’
‘Put it in mulled cider.’ The only instruction Sirius had given was that the tincture went with apples. He’s had it drizzled on apple cake, with pie and custard, even once in a carton of juice. Every time has brought him to Sirius.
Sirius stops staring at the bottle and looks up at Remus again. His eyes are bright. ‘You still love me.’
‘Of course I still love you.’ Remus has been keeping his distance, but he can’t be in the same room but not touch Sirius any longer. He hurries forward, dodging a discarded can of lager and a broken Sneakoscope, and takes Sirius hands in his own as he sits beside him. Sirius looks down, his shoulders shaking as he squeezes Remus’ fingers. Remus swallows heavily; he can still taste cinnamon and cardamom.
‘Padfoot, it’s not me, I swear. I don’t know how to prove it to you but I’ll do anything.’
There’s all sorts of ways Sirius could test Remus’ honesty, lawful, unlawful, and downright Dark. I’ll do anything is a bold, foolhardy promise to make to someone with Sirius’ temper at the best of times, nevermind when the stakes are so high. Sirius doesn’t do anything, though, just nods tightly.
‘OK.’ Sirius’ voice is little more than a whisper as he looks at Remus, eyes damp and imploring. It’s all the encouragement Remus needs to lean forward and press his lips to Sirius’ in an awkward, tender kiss. Sirius shakes in his arms as Remus kisses his mouth, his cheek, the lids of his closed eyes, the taste of his tears painfully familiar.
‘I’m frightened all the time,’ confesses Sirius, and Remus nods because he is too. ‘I’ve been so lost, Moony. So alone.’
‘Not anymore.’ Remus smiles like he’s just remembered how to do it. ‘Let’s go to bed.’
In the chilly, unmade bed Sirius holds onto him like he’s afraid that Remus might evaporate. That’s fine, because all Remus wants is to lose himself inside of Sirius, with Sirius’ legs wrapped tight around his waist, Sirius’ fingers clutching at him hard enough to bruise, the scent and the taste of Sirius flooding his senses as Remus plunges into the familiar heat of his body over and over again until Sirius eclipses everything else, all the pain and fear that’s gone before. Remus’ mind explodes in blinding light, and all that’s left in the world is Sirius and his own desperate desire.
‘Promise you’ll still be here when I wake up,’ says Sirius, sleepy and languid in Remus’ arms.
‘Promise,’ says Remus, pressing a final kiss to Sirius sweat-damped forehead. They used to promise each other such grand things, everlasting love and fidelity, and perhaps it’s a sign of how very aware the war’s made them of their own mortality that Sirius finds contentment in Remus promising him just a few hours. He entangles himself with Remus like some human Devil’s Snare before he drifts off on Remus’ shoulder, and it’s enough to pull Remus into his first peaceful sleep in weeks.
#
‘It’s today,’ says Sirius, sitting upright in bed. ‘The Fidelius Charm. It’s being cast today.’
Today’s the day Sirius gets his biggest chance yet to show his willingness to die for his friends. Remus feels sick.
‘I don’t want you to do it,’ he says. ‘I don’t want you to be Secret Keeper. It’s dangerous.’ It’s old territory, Sirius’ frantic need to prove himself by offering up everything for his friends, for the cause, and the suffocating terror it inspires in Remus. ‘I won’t try to stop you. I know it’s selfish, but… I want you to be safe.’
He’s glad he said it calmly, because they’ve had enough rows about Sirius’ recklessness versus Remus’ lack of commitment. ‘You’re not the only one,’ says Sirius. ‘There’s been… well, we’ve all had second thoughts.’
‘Then let Dumbledore – ’
‘– they don’t trust Dumbledore, not for this,’ says Sirius. ‘Anyway, we wanted something less obvious…’
He trails off, looking contemplative. Remus knows from long experience that Sirius’ brain is in overdrive, plotting and planning, and the outcome will be brilliant or disastrous. He ought to have learnt by now to more concerned and less excited by it.
‘Can you meet me at Godric’s Hollow in a couple of hours?’ says Sirius. ‘I have an idea, but – I promise I won’t do anything without you.’
Remus nods. He hasn’t the foggiest what Sirius is up to, but he’s sure he’s going to end up agreeing anyway.
‘I love you,’ says Sirius, stopping half in and half out of his jacket to kiss Remus goodbye. ‘It’s going to be alright.’
And somehow, despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary, Remus believes him.
#
When Remus gets to the house Sirius lets him in through the back door. He’s preparing tea and biscuits in a faintly absurd display of domesticity.
‘Where’s Lily and James?’ Remus asks, as Sirius arranges wafers and newt gingers into a “G” for Gryffindor.
‘Sitting room, with Harry,’ says Sirius. ‘And Professor McGonagall.’
‘Minerva?’ It tickles Remus that Sirius has such trouble addressing their old teacher by her given name, despite having cheekily called her “Minnie” at school.
‘I’ve asked her to be Secret Keeper,’ Sirius explains.
‘Good,’ says Remus. It is good, and not just because it’ll keep Sirius from doing it. ‘It’s a good choice. Minerva won’t let anything happen to Lily and James.’
Sirius stops fiddling with biscuits and looks up at Remus. ‘I haven’t asked her to be their Secret Keeper,’ he says. ‘I asked her to be ours.’
Remus blinks. ‘What?’
‘I’ll be the Potters’ Secret Keeper,’ says Sirius. ‘I thought about… well, nevermind. It’s my responsibility. I think I understand now, how keeping the people you love safe matters more than playing the hero. So I’m going into hiding, properly. I was thinking… hoping, that you’d come with me.’
There’s a dozen questions Remus ought to ask, about what Dumbledore thinks of this plan, if they’ve even told him, what’ll happen about his own work for the Order, and where he and Sirius are going to go. None of which will make the slightest difference to his answer.
‘Of course I’ll go with you.’
#
Cinnamon, star anise, cardamom, and allspice go into the cauldron. Cider from French apples isn’t quite as good as his mum’s, but it’ll chase away the January chill well enough.
‘I should’ve got you to make more of that tincture,’ says Remus, as Sirius mixes a non-alcoholic version for Harry. Over the weeks they’ve got contact between the two hidden households down to a fine art. ‘You never did tell me what it was.’
‘Essence of Rosemary,’ says Sirius. ‘Remember how pathetically I pined for you the whole term before I gave you it? I wanted you to think of me over the holidays.’
Remus chucks a clementine skin at him. ‘Idiot. Like I needed a potion to think about you. But why did I have to put it with apples?’
Sirius retaliates with a heavy dusting of nutmeg. ‘You ignorant peasant, what do apples represent?’
‘Gravity,’ says Remus, lobbing a core at Sirius’ hair. Sirius picks up a pomegranate in a vaguely threatening manner. It’s going to look like there’s been a murder if they carry on like this. ‘Oh, OK. Knowledge. Desire.’
‘Love.’ Sirius drops the pomegranate into the cauldron. ‘That night we got back together, that’s how I knew you still loved me. It wouldn’t have worked so well if you hadn’t.’
Smiling, Remus reaches out and pulls Sirius towards him. ‘How romantic,’ he says. ‘But I prefer seeing how you feel first-hand. That potion only seemed to tell me when you were unhappy.’
‘Yeah, well, culinary potions can be a bit… temperamental,’ says Sirius. ‘And, you know, I was really down when I made it. Prongs mirror called me half-way through to tell me you were going to Hogsmeade with Berinthia Hopplethwaite, and after he’d gone I blubbed so much I could hardly read the instructions.’
It takes a moment for the implication to sink in. ‘Padfoot, did you give me a potion of your tears?’
‘Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if there was some snot in there,’ admits Sirius. ‘It was a bit cloudy.’
‘That’s disgusting,’ says Remus. There’s no more fruit left to throw, so he settles for whacking Sirius over the head with a ladle.
‘Pish, Moony, it’s a bit late to pretend you’re squeamish about my bodily fluids.’
‘I’m allowed to be selective about them!’
Sirius laughs, and leans over Remus, leering. ‘So, Moony, care to make a selection?’
‘That is the worst chat up line I’ve ever heard,’ says Remus as he wraps his hands around Sirius’ neck. ‘No wonder you spent half of sixth year crying into your potion supplies because you couldn’t get a boyfriend.’
‘Fuck you, I could’ve pulled plenty of boys,’ says Sirius, in between nibbling Remus’ earlobe. ‘I was holding out for the best.’
‘Is that so?’
‘You know it.’ Sirius presses a soft kiss to Remus’ mouth. ‘Who else could mock my pain like you?’
‘Mock you and pelt you with fruit,’ Remus reminds him.
‘And keep me safe.’ Sirius’ expression turns solemn. ‘I really do love you, you know.’
Remus nods, because he does know it and he’s glad. Glad that Sirius is safe, wrapped up in the protection of the Fidelius Charm and Remus’ love. Pulling Sirius close, he feels the damp warmth of Sirius’ breath and the soft thump of his heartbeat, solid proof of Sirius’ presence. The air in the kitchen is ripe with the headily aromatic scent of mulling cider, and Remus knows he’ll move heaven and earth to make sure Sirius never feels as lost or as lonely as he did the last time he made it.
‘We’re safe together,’ he says. Remus disentangles himself just enough to pull out his wand, and he fills two goblets with warm cider, passing one to Sirius. The sweet apple-cinnamon smell is richly comforting. ‘Let’s stay that way.’
Sirius accepts with a smile. ‘I’ll drink to that.’
Author/Artist:
shaggydogstailRecipient:
luminousgloomRating: PG-13
Contents or warnings (highlight to view): None
Word count: 2300
Summary: Topping up his mulled cider with the potion brewed long ago by his traitorous ex-boyfriend might turn out to be one of Remus' better bad ideas.
Notes: For Gloom, in thanks for your generous and excellent advice re alcoholic beverages, I hope you enjoy something sweet.
It starts with cider from his mother, from the small batch she brews every year. The apples are Gwell Na Mil – one in a thousand – though the English call them Seek No Further, and isn’t that advice Remus would like to take, just for once? He pours the cider into his least dented cauldron and lights a fire below. Adds cinnamon, star anise, cardamom, and allspice for flavour. Wildflower honey from Lily and James, for sweetness. Quarters of apple, pomegranate, and clementine to finish.
The tincture in the old bottle, the one Sirius made, he shouldn’t add. Shouldn’t think about Sirius, have anything to do with him. But the potion was brewed years ago, before Sirius kissed him, or broke his heart, before he turned traitor. Remus isn’t sure if it’s magic or just fancy that has him believe that the tincture connects them somehow, gives him an insight into Sirius’ emotions.
Remus uncorks the bottle and empties it into the simmering cauldron. The potion lands with a splash, filling the air with the apple-sweet scent of mulled cider, invitingly spiced and tinged with magic. It’s a bad idea to drink it and Remus knows it, but he never could stop looking; perhaps he just wants to know that Sirius is still capable of feeling something.
The first sip is delicious, pungent and ripe, a wholesome remedy against the October chill. Remus drinks greedily, so quickly he’s nearly finished the first gobletful when he feels it; sadness washing over him like the frigid North Sea. It’s a dramatic, pacing the moors and winter storms kind of sadness, not Remus’ own brand of quietly stoical melancholy. The potion still works, it seems, and right now Sirius is utterly, wretchedly miserable.
As miserable and lonely as a traitor ought to be. The drink’s still warm, but the knowledge is a cold sort of comfort.
#
Remus drinks too much and falls asleep on the sofa, waking up with a crick in his neck and the taste of cinnamon and tears at the back of his throat. He remembers dreaming of Sirius and he knows, he knows now what’s making Sirius so unhappy. So many things, like how he’s lonely and afraid, how he worries about the Potters, his guilt over Regulus. All things Remus knew already, he’s familiar with Sirius’ excuses. But there’s something new, something that’s troubling Sirius more than all the rest. Sirius thinks that Remus is the spy. He thinks Remus is a traitor and it’s breaking his heart.
Thing is, there’s only two people in the Order know for sure that Remus isn’t the spy – Remus himself, and whoever the spy is. Remus feels a flicker of pleasure at Sirius’ misery, only now there’s no malice in it. Sirius wouldn’t think Remus was the spy if he weren’t innocent himself.
All Remus has to do is convince him that he is too.
#
‘My name is Remus John Lupin. My favourite jam is blackcurrant. I stepped on your foot the first time we kissed.’
Sirius stands in the doorway, staring back at him blankly. Remus holds out his wand. ‘You take it while I talk. We’d best sit down. This might take a while.’
He looks wary, but Sirius lets him in and he listens. He listens while Remus tells him where he’s really been on all his Order missions, confesses to a catalogue of lies he’s told, big and small, important and trivial. It’s not normal behaviour, not by a long shot, but Remus knows somehow that it’s what Sirius needs to hear.
‘Why are you telling me this?’ asks Sirius. His eyes are bloodshot and his stubble’s crossed from “ruggedly sexy” into “unkempt”. His hair could do with a wash.
‘You think I’m the spy,’ says Remus, watching him carefully. Sirius looks defeated, fragile despite his combat boots and artfully dishevelled, vaguely punk clothes, huddled into the corner of his incongruously chintzy sofa. ‘You think it’s me and it’s making you miserable.’
He hands over the empty bottle by way of explanation. Sirius turns it over for several long moments before finally setting it down on the coffee table, next to Remus’ wand. ‘What did you do with it?’
‘Put it in mulled cider.’ The only instruction Sirius had given was that the tincture went with apples. He’s had it drizzled on apple cake, with pie and custard, even once in a carton of juice. Every time has brought him to Sirius.
Sirius stops staring at the bottle and looks up at Remus again. His eyes are bright. ‘You still love me.’
‘Of course I still love you.’ Remus has been keeping his distance, but he can’t be in the same room but not touch Sirius any longer. He hurries forward, dodging a discarded can of lager and a broken Sneakoscope, and takes Sirius hands in his own as he sits beside him. Sirius looks down, his shoulders shaking as he squeezes Remus’ fingers. Remus swallows heavily; he can still taste cinnamon and cardamom.
‘Padfoot, it’s not me, I swear. I don’t know how to prove it to you but I’ll do anything.’
There’s all sorts of ways Sirius could test Remus’ honesty, lawful, unlawful, and downright Dark. I’ll do anything is a bold, foolhardy promise to make to someone with Sirius’ temper at the best of times, nevermind when the stakes are so high. Sirius doesn’t do anything, though, just nods tightly.
‘OK.’ Sirius’ voice is little more than a whisper as he looks at Remus, eyes damp and imploring. It’s all the encouragement Remus needs to lean forward and press his lips to Sirius’ in an awkward, tender kiss. Sirius shakes in his arms as Remus kisses his mouth, his cheek, the lids of his closed eyes, the taste of his tears painfully familiar.
‘I’m frightened all the time,’ confesses Sirius, and Remus nods because he is too. ‘I’ve been so lost, Moony. So alone.’
‘Not anymore.’ Remus smiles like he’s just remembered how to do it. ‘Let’s go to bed.’
In the chilly, unmade bed Sirius holds onto him like he’s afraid that Remus might evaporate. That’s fine, because all Remus wants is to lose himself inside of Sirius, with Sirius’ legs wrapped tight around his waist, Sirius’ fingers clutching at him hard enough to bruise, the scent and the taste of Sirius flooding his senses as Remus plunges into the familiar heat of his body over and over again until Sirius eclipses everything else, all the pain and fear that’s gone before. Remus’ mind explodes in blinding light, and all that’s left in the world is Sirius and his own desperate desire.
‘Promise you’ll still be here when I wake up,’ says Sirius, sleepy and languid in Remus’ arms.
‘Promise,’ says Remus, pressing a final kiss to Sirius sweat-damped forehead. They used to promise each other such grand things, everlasting love and fidelity, and perhaps it’s a sign of how very aware the war’s made them of their own mortality that Sirius finds contentment in Remus promising him just a few hours. He entangles himself with Remus like some human Devil’s Snare before he drifts off on Remus’ shoulder, and it’s enough to pull Remus into his first peaceful sleep in weeks.
#
‘It’s today,’ says Sirius, sitting upright in bed. ‘The Fidelius Charm. It’s being cast today.’
Today’s the day Sirius gets his biggest chance yet to show his willingness to die for his friends. Remus feels sick.
‘I don’t want you to do it,’ he says. ‘I don’t want you to be Secret Keeper. It’s dangerous.’ It’s old territory, Sirius’ frantic need to prove himself by offering up everything for his friends, for the cause, and the suffocating terror it inspires in Remus. ‘I won’t try to stop you. I know it’s selfish, but… I want you to be safe.’
He’s glad he said it calmly, because they’ve had enough rows about Sirius’ recklessness versus Remus’ lack of commitment. ‘You’re not the only one,’ says Sirius. ‘There’s been… well, we’ve all had second thoughts.’
‘Then let Dumbledore – ’
‘– they don’t trust Dumbledore, not for this,’ says Sirius. ‘Anyway, we wanted something less obvious…’
He trails off, looking contemplative. Remus knows from long experience that Sirius’ brain is in overdrive, plotting and planning, and the outcome will be brilliant or disastrous. He ought to have learnt by now to more concerned and less excited by it.
‘Can you meet me at Godric’s Hollow in a couple of hours?’ says Sirius. ‘I have an idea, but – I promise I won’t do anything without you.’
Remus nods. He hasn’t the foggiest what Sirius is up to, but he’s sure he’s going to end up agreeing anyway.
‘I love you,’ says Sirius, stopping half in and half out of his jacket to kiss Remus goodbye. ‘It’s going to be alright.’
And somehow, despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary, Remus believes him.
#
When Remus gets to the house Sirius lets him in through the back door. He’s preparing tea and biscuits in a faintly absurd display of domesticity.
‘Where’s Lily and James?’ Remus asks, as Sirius arranges wafers and newt gingers into a “G” for Gryffindor.
‘Sitting room, with Harry,’ says Sirius. ‘And Professor McGonagall.’
‘Minerva?’ It tickles Remus that Sirius has such trouble addressing their old teacher by her given name, despite having cheekily called her “Minnie” at school.
‘I’ve asked her to be Secret Keeper,’ Sirius explains.
‘Good,’ says Remus. It is good, and not just because it’ll keep Sirius from doing it. ‘It’s a good choice. Minerva won’t let anything happen to Lily and James.’
Sirius stops fiddling with biscuits and looks up at Remus. ‘I haven’t asked her to be their Secret Keeper,’ he says. ‘I asked her to be ours.’
Remus blinks. ‘What?’
‘I’ll be the Potters’ Secret Keeper,’ says Sirius. ‘I thought about… well, nevermind. It’s my responsibility. I think I understand now, how keeping the people you love safe matters more than playing the hero. So I’m going into hiding, properly. I was thinking… hoping, that you’d come with me.’
There’s a dozen questions Remus ought to ask, about what Dumbledore thinks of this plan, if they’ve even told him, what’ll happen about his own work for the Order, and where he and Sirius are going to go. None of which will make the slightest difference to his answer.
‘Of course I’ll go with you.’
#
Cinnamon, star anise, cardamom, and allspice go into the cauldron. Cider from French apples isn’t quite as good as his mum’s, but it’ll chase away the January chill well enough.
‘I should’ve got you to make more of that tincture,’ says Remus, as Sirius mixes a non-alcoholic version for Harry. Over the weeks they’ve got contact between the two hidden households down to a fine art. ‘You never did tell me what it was.’
‘Essence of Rosemary,’ says Sirius. ‘Remember how pathetically I pined for you the whole term before I gave you it? I wanted you to think of me over the holidays.’
Remus chucks a clementine skin at him. ‘Idiot. Like I needed a potion to think about you. But why did I have to put it with apples?’
Sirius retaliates with a heavy dusting of nutmeg. ‘You ignorant peasant, what do apples represent?’
‘Gravity,’ says Remus, lobbing a core at Sirius’ hair. Sirius picks up a pomegranate in a vaguely threatening manner. It’s going to look like there’s been a murder if they carry on like this. ‘Oh, OK. Knowledge. Desire.’
‘Love.’ Sirius drops the pomegranate into the cauldron. ‘That night we got back together, that’s how I knew you still loved me. It wouldn’t have worked so well if you hadn’t.’
Smiling, Remus reaches out and pulls Sirius towards him. ‘How romantic,’ he says. ‘But I prefer seeing how you feel first-hand. That potion only seemed to tell me when you were unhappy.’
‘Yeah, well, culinary potions can be a bit… temperamental,’ says Sirius. ‘And, you know, I was really down when I made it. Prongs mirror called me half-way through to tell me you were going to Hogsmeade with Berinthia Hopplethwaite, and after he’d gone I blubbed so much I could hardly read the instructions.’
It takes a moment for the implication to sink in. ‘Padfoot, did you give me a potion of your tears?’
‘Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if there was some snot in there,’ admits Sirius. ‘It was a bit cloudy.’
‘That’s disgusting,’ says Remus. There’s no more fruit left to throw, so he settles for whacking Sirius over the head with a ladle.
‘Pish, Moony, it’s a bit late to pretend you’re squeamish about my bodily fluids.’
‘I’m allowed to be selective about them!’
Sirius laughs, and leans over Remus, leering. ‘So, Moony, care to make a selection?’
‘That is the worst chat up line I’ve ever heard,’ says Remus as he wraps his hands around Sirius’ neck. ‘No wonder you spent half of sixth year crying into your potion supplies because you couldn’t get a boyfriend.’
‘Fuck you, I could’ve pulled plenty of boys,’ says Sirius, in between nibbling Remus’ earlobe. ‘I was holding out for the best.’
‘Is that so?’
‘You know it.’ Sirius presses a soft kiss to Remus’ mouth. ‘Who else could mock my pain like you?’
‘Mock you and pelt you with fruit,’ Remus reminds him.
‘And keep me safe.’ Sirius’ expression turns solemn. ‘I really do love you, you know.’
Remus nods, because he does know it and he’s glad. Glad that Sirius is safe, wrapped up in the protection of the Fidelius Charm and Remus’ love. Pulling Sirius close, he feels the damp warmth of Sirius’ breath and the soft thump of his heartbeat, solid proof of Sirius’ presence. The air in the kitchen is ripe with the headily aromatic scent of mulling cider, and Remus knows he’ll move heaven and earth to make sure Sirius never feels as lost or as lonely as he did the last time he made it.
‘We’re safe together,’ he says. Remus disentangles himself just enough to pull out his wand, and he fills two goblets with warm cider, passing one to Sirius. The sweet apple-cinnamon smell is richly comforting. ‘Let’s stay that way.’
Sirius accepts with a smile. ‘I’ll drink to that.’
