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small_giftsTitle: But the greatest of these is joy
Author:adistantsun
Recipient:tvkeshi
Rating: PG-13
Contents or warnings: None
Word count: ~4,000
Notes: Thanks to M, as ever, for the beta read and wealth of encouragement, and thank you to the mods for their generous patience.
Summary: Christmas Eve, 1982. Everyone lives.
"Maybe it's ridiculous, maybe Sirius won't mind a dinner candle. They've never stood on ceremony but Sirius is a sap for thoughtful gestures. Maybe he won't even notice? It's been days since a murmured confession confirmed what they've both secretly known for years, and if Remus knows anything about Sirius Black and anxious, anticipatory waits... well. Maybe they'll be frotting against the wallpaper in under thirty seconds."
Christmas Eve, 1982
He's debating whether to light a candle for the table when the doorbell rings. Split-second decision. God he's always been pants at them, far prefers to leave them to Sirius and mop up the consequences later. Except that Sirius is waiting outside, snowdamp in the cold, and Remus has been waiting for this moment all day, anticipating, vibrating with gut butterflies. Fingers flex on impulse and there's fire in his hand, warm and steady-burning. Remus blinks.
Right. Hadn't meant to do that.
The bell rings again.
"Sod it." He flicks the flame at the candlewick and bustles for the door. Maybe it's ridiculous, maybe Sirius won't mind a dinner candle. They've never stood on ceremony but Sirius is a sap for thoughtful gestures. Maybe he won't even notice? It's been days since a murmured confession confirmed what they've both secretly known for years, and if Remus knows anything about Sirius Black and anxious, anticipatory waits... well. Maybe they'll be frotting against the wallpaper in under thirty seconds.
There go his butterflies again.
And the doorbell. Continuously. Sirius must have his thumb jammed on the button, the impatient, glorious git.
"Alright! I can hear you," Remus shouts through the oak panelling. Three heartbeats to battle the chain, one more to fill his lungs and he's heaving the door open.
"Moony! Thank feckin' Merlin, I can barely feel my armpits out here!"
"For once, James Potter, would you please refrain from swearing in front of our son?"
"Armpits, Mama!"
...right.
Not Sirius.
Right.
At least he's got something here to feed them all?
~
September, 1971
They met under burning candles. That's what Remus remembers. The ceiling soared into a night sky littered with sparks; he caught the eye of the only other boy looking up. They were put in the same house and on the winding way up to Gryffindor Tower, he learned the boy's name was Sirius.
A Black. A scandal.
Remus grew up for all intents muggle. Wouldn't have been at Hogwarts at all but for a wolfbite and fire that leapt from his hands whenever he was nervous. He preferred the dirt and chalk dust of his Kentish schools. He'd never heard of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Maybe that was why, when Ned Tresillian drew his wand to hex them before a Black could set foot through the portrait hole, Remus leapt across the gaggle of firsties and punched him.
It was close on the Full was his only excuse. The moon tugged his limbs in strange, visceral ways.
He had detention for a week after, so no one questioned why they didn't see him much. McGonagall sat by his bedside when she could, read him fairytales and riot acts by turn. When Pomfrey finally let him go, he limped back to the common room alone. The clock said it was half-midnight but Sirius was there waiting for him, with steak and kidney pie and a look of admiration so plain Remus suddenly felt invincible.
Successive years of students wondered why Prefect-elect Remus Lupin went about with a lot of hooligans like Potter, Pettigrew and Black. A few even had the spine to ask. Remus only ever had to smile and brace himself for the faithful weight of Sirius draping over his back.
~
Christmas Eve, 1982
"I can't take it, mate. I love my mum, but if she spends any more time fawning over our Harry, he's going to turn into bloody Bambi! –oh, cheers."
"An infant animagi?" Remus lays out a last plate of baked pumpkin, cherries and cobnuts and folds himself down to sit at the table. Harry's already fingerpainting in his baby bowl of mash. "I suppose if anyone's going to do it, it'd be yours and Lily's progeny."
"'Prodigy' I think's the word you're looking for, mate."
Lily only rolls her eyes, however fondly, and passes down a plate of Yorkshires.
"Blatant flattery will not get you more mince pies after dinner, Lupin."
Maybe not, but the rich scent of them—cloves and cinnamon and fruit soaked in brandy—has filled every corner of his room-and-a-room flat. There are scraps of fir and holly and bayberries tucked about the place (the best he could do scrounging off his neighbours) and every breath is beginning to taste like Christmas.
Though where Sirius has got to, he has no idea.
Not that it makes any difference, Remus tells himself as they all dig into their baked veggies, which are all he has to pass for a main meal because bloody Sirius said he'd bring the roast. What does it matter that Sirius has apparently stood him up on Christmas Eve? James and Lily and Harry are here. Out of all their myriads of family, they've gone miles out of their way to spend the evening with him. So what if Sirius is out making merry with whichever group of revellers he's run across? The most important people in the world, the closest thing to a family Remus has, are right here. Sitting at his rickety pound-shop table with its single wistful candle, on charmed-together chairs, revelling in all the best bits of the season: kinship, comfort, and joy.
(But the greatest of these is joy, his mother would say.)
Under cover of cutting up his carrots, Remus watches them. Leaning back in her chair, Lily closes her eyes to savour the steam of hot chocolate from her mug. James is grinning like the truly barmy as he flies a Chaser of mash straight for Harry's mouth. Harry giggles around the spoon and Remus can't help half a grin with him. Nutmeg, baked parsnips and warmth are soothing over the cracks in his heart.
~
October, 1975
They patched up more than his injuries over warm mugs in the hospital wing.
By Fourth Year, Remus practically had his own room there. He kept emergency tins of cocoa, cups and a box of Twinings Earl Grey in the side table. Most months he'd wake around lunchtime, either to be sick or devour every scrap in sight, and most months Sirius would bunk off afternoon classes to keep him company. Remus was too weak for anything more than a tiny lumos flame cupped in his palm, so Sirius took care of the water and milk and heating charms and the complex task of putting them all together. His hands didn't shake after a Full the way Remus' did.
"Think you'll make it out for tonight?" Sirius waited 'til his fingers were completely wrapped around the mug before letting it go. Last thing Remus needed was a lapful of scalding tea. Especially when the heat felt so good on his bruised, newly-knitted joints. (If he managed to make it past 40, he'd have years of chronic arthritis to look forward to.)
"Not standing up. Have you got a wheelchair handy?"
"I reckon we could charm one together. You'll kill it on the dance floor; everyone'll be wanting a ride." Sirius' attempt at a leer was pathetic—he wouldn't master the art of them 'til Sixth—but Remus laughed anyway. Then pressed his arm hard against his still-tender ribs.
"Please don't make me laugh, Padfoot," he said around wincing chuckles. "I hurt."
"Poor Moony." The words were teasing, but the smile that tugged at Sirius' lips was tender. "What'll make it better today?"
"More cocoa?"
Rain was lashing at the windows like ceilidh drums. A draught pushed its icy fingers through the walls to try and get under his blankets. Remus couldn't stop a shiver, though he tried. He didn't miss Sirius' hand flicking to his wand before a toasty warmth began to radiate out of the mattress and envelop him whole. It eased the bone-deep ache in every inch of him and he couldn't stop his sigh of relief, didn't even bother trying.
It almost convinced him bed was a better option than the Samhain Ball.
"You don't need to stay here," Remus murmured, when they were halfway through their third round of milk and chocolate and he could feel his eyelids getting heavier by the mouthful. "James'll miss you."
(He learned later that James and Pete had somehow managed to spike the Slytherins' butterbeer with a love potion swiped from Narcissa Black. The subsequent chaos had resulted in fisticuffs between several individuals not limited to Snape and Regulus, a full performance of the Dance of the Seven Veils from Lucius Malfoy right down to his silken drawers, and Narcissa warding herself inside the Prefects' bathroom for thirteen hours straight. Of course, Lily had almost set fire to the Common Room lambasting them for it afterwards. Sirius had found them still stuck to the ceiling.)
Stray echoes of music drifted up the stairs but it all seemed strangely removed from Remus' little room, no bigger than a cupboard, warm and flickering in the lumos light. Soft sips and the rustle of a half-finished Charms essay filled Remus' ears and some deeper, quieter part of his soul.
Sirius shrugged. "Prongs is a big boy, he can entertain himself for one night. And if he can't then Pete'll set off a few dung bombs and smuggle him off somewhere else. They're all set."
"But you..."
He didn't bother finishing. Sirius had been looking forward to the Samhain Ball since they'd kicked off the year from Platform 9¾. But the tightness around his jaw and the stiff-necked way he lifted his chin, just slightly, spoke of an innate pureblood stubbornness he'd picked up in his cradle. There'd be no more explanation from Padfoot than that.
Remus might have found the energy to be peeved if he wasn't so very warm. "I think I'm going to fall back to sleep now."
"Wait a sec—" The mug was gently pried from his hands, and then Sirius was shifting his pillows for him. He had the best mates, they thought of everything. Even ways to keep him company at the Full. Remus beamed at the wondrous thought even as he nestled gingerly down into his cloud of pillows: they'd become Animagi. For him. He could spend the rest of his life repaying that kindness gladly.
"Thank you, Padfoot. You always look after me," he said. Or at least, that's what he meant to say. His mouth might have garbled the words a bit, but the amused crinkles around Sirius' eyes told him he'd been understood.
"Yep, just call me Dr. Padfoot, here to ease all your troubles."
"Nurse Padfoot more like." Remus buried a smile into his pillow even as Sirius flicked his ear and his dreams were as light as his feathery floating joy.
~
Christmas Eve, 1982
He and Lil are trying to tune the telly with a coathanger and James' fruit mince pies are almost gone when the doorbell starts frantically ringing again.
"'Bout bleedin' time," James mutters under his breath with Harry climbing across his shoulders and wait, what—? But there's no time to think any further on it with the bell piercing through his skull. Tomorrow it's being charmed into something friendlier on the ear. A marimba perhaps?
Another three seconds to battle with the chain and heave open the door—
"Sorry I'm late, the blasted ricotta milk refused to curdle and then some genius decided to pour half a barrel of vinegar in there and guess who had to clean up the mess?” Nose still twitching in distaste, Peter thrusts a truly gargantuan wheel of cheese into Remus' hands. “Merry Christmas! Did James make mince pies?”
"Um, yes, yeah he did but they're nearly--"
"Brilliant!"
And Peter brushes past into the living room without a backward glance, bundling hat and scarf into the pockets of his macintosh like this is something they do every day. And something is definitely Going On, but right now Remus has his arms' worth of cheese to divvy up and he's too grateful for his friends and their company to spend any more time worrying about it. He's got a pretty good idea who's behind it all.
Within half an hour, the mince pies are well and truly gone and the Winterdale shaw is more wedge than wheel. Pete hasn't stopped muttering into his wand and Harry is pulling himself up to stand with the tinsel hanging off the telly. For some reason the BBC has decided 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea is an appropriately festive film for Christmas Eve. (Entertaining as it is, and Kirk Douglas in a camp sailor suit is very entertaining, Remus has always felt a little too much in common with the giant squid at the end, who just wanted something to eat.)
A stifled yawn comes from across the room, where Lil is curled up on the threadbare couch and trying not to drift off against Prongs' shoulder. The blinking fairy lights and flurries of snow outside throw soft spots of colour over their cheeks. It's all so postcard perfect Remus feels like someone ought to be sick. Not him, though. He has his dearest friends tucked in his tiny living room, the blissful fullness of food in his belly, and a warmth in his heart glowing bright as the candle on the table. At this moment, there's only one more thing he could possibly ask for.
Sirius doesn't even bother with the doorbell in the end. A tattoo of steel-toed kicks against the oak panelling and who else could it be? Who else could have wrangled their entire surrogate family together for a surprise Christmas dinner in Remus' front room, the sneaky, devious, brilliant berk? The chain falls away and he's on the other side, with a hock over one shoulder and levitating a bloody great potted pine, lights and all, up the staircase.
"I brought the ham," he says, trying not to grin.
"You are the ham," Remus says, then grabs the knit of his reindeer jumper and drags him in to kiss him senseless.
~
November, 1977
"I ruined everything, didn't I?"
Sirius took an extra-long drag on his cigarette, his third on their little jaunt through the Forbidden Forest. It threw jagged shards of light against the trees and Remus aggressively did not answer. He refused to touch the argument. It was still too raw.
He already regretted agreeing to go along. A Marauder hunt for the perfect Common Room tree had sounded innocent enough coming from James' mouth. Of course, Prongs and Wormtail had buggered off the second they were out of sight of the castle. The vaguely terrified look on Sirius' face (in the instant before he masked it with bravado) at least proved he hadn't been in on any plans to make them talk.
"Are you going to– I mean, we still have an hour and a half before dinner and—"
"The better pines are over by the moss pond," Remus said to forestall whatever Sirius was trying to ask without asking. It might have been funny, watching the ex-scion Black trip over basic words. If it didn't remind him every second of what Sirius had done and the fact he would never, ever understand why. Realising you could spend six years at someone's side, love them with all your soul (and maybe a bit more), and at the end of it still not know them at all... the thought shook him, even now. Of all people, he'd never expected Sirius would—
Sirius vaulted down the dry bank towards the pond and Remus needed to watch his feet if he didn't want a broken ankle for Christmas.
They were here, for better or worse. If he didn't want the next hour to feel like walking on shards of glass, he needed to say something to diffuse the tension. Fuck knew Sirius had never managed to.
Strange, the things he'd used to take pride in that could turn to fiendfyre in his gut.
"How big does this tree need to be?"
"High enough to just miss the ceiling. Have to leave room for the star." Sirius blinks, owlish, and takes another quick, fortifying drag. "Young enough we can still talk it into a pot until Epiphany."
The pines that grew around the moss pond must have recognised them; they didn't loom quite so ominously as they might've. For all his bull-in-a-potions-shop approach to tact, Sirius trod carefully around the seedlings pushing through the frost. His lungfuls of smoke crystallised ever so briefly on the air.
"There's a few good ones here," he muttered and gestured to the young trees opposite, nestled around their older brethren who might have graced the halls and corridors last year.
Remus shrugged. "You're the herbologist."
"You might be too if you actually read my notes while you're all frantically copying them down."
The tone was light, but there was a stiffness across Sirius' shoulders as if he were bracing for a hit. Testing the waters of their friendship. Seeing how much of their old easy liberty Remus would let him take. He was looking across the pond, but Remus knew there would be a lift of hope in his eyebrows, that maybe this time he wouldn't be turned away. Some days it hurt just to look at him, but something between Remus' ribs still yearned for this: their teasing banter, casual compliments and so much laughter. He'd never realised how much he laughed around Sirius until he stopped.
It was a stupid thing to miss. But his heart had always been a bit stupid wherever Sirius Black was concerned.
"Maybe," Remus said, which wasn't banter but it wasn't a closed gate either, and Sirius looked back over his shoulder in dawning disbelief.
"…only 'maybe'?"
His budding smile was asking a different question altogether.
"Don't push your luck, Black."
The words were harsh but he couldn't help a twitch of something resembling a smile back (Merlin, he'd missed this) and for a moment Sirius' guard melted away. No more than a split second. In the coming days, Remus would wonder if he hadn't projected the whole thing. But in that fraction of an instant, he could have sworn he saw all the frenetic feelings held back for months bleed across Sirius' pale, sharp-boned face. The ice grey in his eyes cracked like the spring thaw.
Then it was gone, back under the pureblood mask, and Sirius shrugged lightly.
"If you insist. I'll try my luck sweet-talking us a Christmas tree then."
As he turned on his heel toward the pines, Remus wondered if perhaps this was what the first glimmers of forgiveness felt like.
~
Christmas Eve, 1982
The clock over the TV inches further and further past 'bedtime' and Lily casts a quietus over the turntable with Harry asleep on her shoulder. His curly little head nestles closer against her neck. The way Prongs is looking at them, sleepy-eyed and adoring, anyone would think it was Christmas already.
Remus murmurs as much to Sirius, curled up behind him on the couch, and only gets a huffed laugh and a nuzzle in reply. He lets the air ease out of his lungs and settles a little more into familiar arms and familiar warmth.
"Is it really alright?" Lil asks (even as James shifts past her with a brief, "G'night," and hands at her hips to get to the bedroom, where Pete is already passed out on the floor). "I don't want to put you out of your own room."
"It's fine, Lil, really. This late, you won't move Prongs short of levicorpus."
"If you're sure?"
"Evans," Sirius says, and Remus can feel the comforting rumble of the words against his back. "Would you please stop being polite so I can give Moony the rest of his Christmas present?"
It reminds him of the bike, rumbling between their knees as they fly back and forth across the country: to James and Lily's, to London, to the Forbidden Forest for the Full and other, random places just because they can. So many memories and all of them leading here, to this night, to the gentle pulse of Christmas lights and the hush of Sirius' breath over his collarbones. Another treasured moment to tuck inside the lining of his heart.
Lily smiles and something in it says she's remembering, too. All the pranks and parties and quiet nights bent over parchment. Wondering, maybe, why it took them so long, but he thinks she understands that they're all just muddling through as best they can, and that the most important thing will always be the six of them, right now, in this tiny flat, holding fast to each other.
She doesn't say any of it, doesn't really need to. Instead, she says, "Don't stay up too late, Harry's usually up by four. Sleep well."
And with that, she waves one-handed and slips into the bedroom, closing the door behind her.
Sirius lays a kiss to the curve of his jawline and doesn't stop. It feels like everything Remus has ever wanted finally come within reach.
"How did you know?" he asks.
"What?" murmured against the sensitive skin of his ear that sends warmth blooming under his ribs.
"How did you– with everyone?"
It's hard to fit words together when all of his skin wants to seek out more of this delicious touch. Remus tilts his head, to see if the words he wants are on Sirius' lips. They're chapped from the cold (idiot, flying without proper shielding charms) but they're warm, Sirius is always so warm, and his lips taste like melted chocolate and comfort and joy. This is new, they're still learning each other as Remus arches for a better angle, but this is Sirius curling closer around him and no one knows the inside of his head better than this man he's spent the past decade confiding in.
Remus pulls back a fraction of a centimetre to breathe and Sirius's forehead comes to rest against his own. As if that's all they've ever needed to understand each other. (It's not, but to have someone who knows him so well, in this moment it feels like it could be.)
"I figured," Sirius murmurs into the air between them. "Because you never ask for what you want. Not if you think it'll put someone out." His voice is a little more syrup-like, running words and sounds together in a languid pour of meaning. He pushes his nose against Remus' in gentle reprimand. "You think Prongs and Lil didn't jump at the chance to get out of family holidays with her wretched sister? Or that Wormtail wanted to work the Christmas churning shift if he could help it?"
Sirius' smile is lopsided and no, Remus hadn't thought of any of those things. Only that his friends are usually busy over the holidays and no one said anything about not being so. He wasn't going to impose just because his mum is in Australia with her 'gentleman friend' this year, and besides, Sirius is always happy to open presents before their annual New Years-mas lunch. One Christmas alone. He would have got by.
He's so deeply thankful now he doesn't have to.
"Our Moony. So stubborn."
"I…" Remus doesn't finish the thought. "You could have said something," he says instead and Sirius' grin spikes a little mischievous at the corners.
"And spoil the surprise? A lengthy snog from you's the best welcome I've had anywhere. It'll take years to top that."
Remus laughs quietly, more a huff of breath. "Will it put you out if I start trying now?"
"Nothing you do will ever put me out."
"That sounds like a challenge, Mr. Padfoot."
"Well then have at, Mr. Moony. Have at."
It takes a long time and a lot of kisses to wipe the smile off Sirius' face, but Remus doesn't mind in the least. They have the rest of their lives. He's going to enjoy every second.
Author:
adistantsunRecipient:
tvkeshiRating: PG-13
Contents or warnings: None
Word count: ~4,000
Notes: Thanks to M, as ever, for the beta read and wealth of encouragement, and thank you to the mods for their generous patience.
Summary: Christmas Eve, 1982. Everyone lives.
"Maybe it's ridiculous, maybe Sirius won't mind a dinner candle. They've never stood on ceremony but Sirius is a sap for thoughtful gestures. Maybe he won't even notice? It's been days since a murmured confession confirmed what they've both secretly known for years, and if Remus knows anything about Sirius Black and anxious, anticipatory waits... well. Maybe they'll be frotting against the wallpaper in under thirty seconds."
Christmas Eve, 1982
He's debating whether to light a candle for the table when the doorbell rings. Split-second decision. God he's always been pants at them, far prefers to leave them to Sirius and mop up the consequences later. Except that Sirius is waiting outside, snowdamp in the cold, and Remus has been waiting for this moment all day, anticipating, vibrating with gut butterflies. Fingers flex on impulse and there's fire in his hand, warm and steady-burning. Remus blinks.
Right. Hadn't meant to do that.
The bell rings again.
"Sod it." He flicks the flame at the candlewick and bustles for the door. Maybe it's ridiculous, maybe Sirius won't mind a dinner candle. They've never stood on ceremony but Sirius is a sap for thoughtful gestures. Maybe he won't even notice? It's been days since a murmured confession confirmed what they've both secretly known for years, and if Remus knows anything about Sirius Black and anxious, anticipatory waits... well. Maybe they'll be frotting against the wallpaper in under thirty seconds.
There go his butterflies again.
And the doorbell. Continuously. Sirius must have his thumb jammed on the button, the impatient, glorious git.
"Alright! I can hear you," Remus shouts through the oak panelling. Three heartbeats to battle the chain, one more to fill his lungs and he's heaving the door open.
"Moony! Thank feckin' Merlin, I can barely feel my armpits out here!"
"For once, James Potter, would you please refrain from swearing in front of our son?"
"Armpits, Mama!"
...right.
Not Sirius.
Right.
At least he's got something here to feed them all?
September, 1971
They met under burning candles. That's what Remus remembers. The ceiling soared into a night sky littered with sparks; he caught the eye of the only other boy looking up. They were put in the same house and on the winding way up to Gryffindor Tower, he learned the boy's name was Sirius.
A Black. A scandal.
Remus grew up for all intents muggle. Wouldn't have been at Hogwarts at all but for a wolfbite and fire that leapt from his hands whenever he was nervous. He preferred the dirt and chalk dust of his Kentish schools. He'd never heard of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Maybe that was why, when Ned Tresillian drew his wand to hex them before a Black could set foot through the portrait hole, Remus leapt across the gaggle of firsties and punched him.
It was close on the Full was his only excuse. The moon tugged his limbs in strange, visceral ways.
He had detention for a week after, so no one questioned why they didn't see him much. McGonagall sat by his bedside when she could, read him fairytales and riot acts by turn. When Pomfrey finally let him go, he limped back to the common room alone. The clock said it was half-midnight but Sirius was there waiting for him, with steak and kidney pie and a look of admiration so plain Remus suddenly felt invincible.
Successive years of students wondered why Prefect-elect Remus Lupin went about with a lot of hooligans like Potter, Pettigrew and Black. A few even had the spine to ask. Remus only ever had to smile and brace himself for the faithful weight of Sirius draping over his back.
Christmas Eve, 1982
"I can't take it, mate. I love my mum, but if she spends any more time fawning over our Harry, he's going to turn into bloody Bambi! –oh, cheers."
"An infant animagi?" Remus lays out a last plate of baked pumpkin, cherries and cobnuts and folds himself down to sit at the table. Harry's already fingerpainting in his baby bowl of mash. "I suppose if anyone's going to do it, it'd be yours and Lily's progeny."
"'Prodigy' I think's the word you're looking for, mate."
Lily only rolls her eyes, however fondly, and passes down a plate of Yorkshires.
"Blatant flattery will not get you more mince pies after dinner, Lupin."
Maybe not, but the rich scent of them—cloves and cinnamon and fruit soaked in brandy—has filled every corner of his room-and-a-room flat. There are scraps of fir and holly and bayberries tucked about the place (the best he could do scrounging off his neighbours) and every breath is beginning to taste like Christmas.
Though where Sirius has got to, he has no idea.
Not that it makes any difference, Remus tells himself as they all dig into their baked veggies, which are all he has to pass for a main meal because bloody Sirius said he'd bring the roast. What does it matter that Sirius has apparently stood him up on Christmas Eve? James and Lily and Harry are here. Out of all their myriads of family, they've gone miles out of their way to spend the evening with him. So what if Sirius is out making merry with whichever group of revellers he's run across? The most important people in the world, the closest thing to a family Remus has, are right here. Sitting at his rickety pound-shop table with its single wistful candle, on charmed-together chairs, revelling in all the best bits of the season: kinship, comfort, and joy.
(But the greatest of these is joy, his mother would say.)
Under cover of cutting up his carrots, Remus watches them. Leaning back in her chair, Lily closes her eyes to savour the steam of hot chocolate from her mug. James is grinning like the truly barmy as he flies a Chaser of mash straight for Harry's mouth. Harry giggles around the spoon and Remus can't help half a grin with him. Nutmeg, baked parsnips and warmth are soothing over the cracks in his heart.
October, 1975
They patched up more than his injuries over warm mugs in the hospital wing.
By Fourth Year, Remus practically had his own room there. He kept emergency tins of cocoa, cups and a box of Twinings Earl Grey in the side table. Most months he'd wake around lunchtime, either to be sick or devour every scrap in sight, and most months Sirius would bunk off afternoon classes to keep him company. Remus was too weak for anything more than a tiny lumos flame cupped in his palm, so Sirius took care of the water and milk and heating charms and the complex task of putting them all together. His hands didn't shake after a Full the way Remus' did.
"Think you'll make it out for tonight?" Sirius waited 'til his fingers were completely wrapped around the mug before letting it go. Last thing Remus needed was a lapful of scalding tea. Especially when the heat felt so good on his bruised, newly-knitted joints. (If he managed to make it past 40, he'd have years of chronic arthritis to look forward to.)
"Not standing up. Have you got a wheelchair handy?"
"I reckon we could charm one together. You'll kill it on the dance floor; everyone'll be wanting a ride." Sirius' attempt at a leer was pathetic—he wouldn't master the art of them 'til Sixth—but Remus laughed anyway. Then pressed his arm hard against his still-tender ribs.
"Please don't make me laugh, Padfoot," he said around wincing chuckles. "I hurt."
"Poor Moony." The words were teasing, but the smile that tugged at Sirius' lips was tender. "What'll make it better today?"
"More cocoa?"
Rain was lashing at the windows like ceilidh drums. A draught pushed its icy fingers through the walls to try and get under his blankets. Remus couldn't stop a shiver, though he tried. He didn't miss Sirius' hand flicking to his wand before a toasty warmth began to radiate out of the mattress and envelop him whole. It eased the bone-deep ache in every inch of him and he couldn't stop his sigh of relief, didn't even bother trying.
It almost convinced him bed was a better option than the Samhain Ball.
"You don't need to stay here," Remus murmured, when they were halfway through their third round of milk and chocolate and he could feel his eyelids getting heavier by the mouthful. "James'll miss you."
(He learned later that James and Pete had somehow managed to spike the Slytherins' butterbeer with a love potion swiped from Narcissa Black. The subsequent chaos had resulted in fisticuffs between several individuals not limited to Snape and Regulus, a full performance of the Dance of the Seven Veils from Lucius Malfoy right down to his silken drawers, and Narcissa warding herself inside the Prefects' bathroom for thirteen hours straight. Of course, Lily had almost set fire to the Common Room lambasting them for it afterwards. Sirius had found them still stuck to the ceiling.)
Stray echoes of music drifted up the stairs but it all seemed strangely removed from Remus' little room, no bigger than a cupboard, warm and flickering in the lumos light. Soft sips and the rustle of a half-finished Charms essay filled Remus' ears and some deeper, quieter part of his soul.
Sirius shrugged. "Prongs is a big boy, he can entertain himself for one night. And if he can't then Pete'll set off a few dung bombs and smuggle him off somewhere else. They're all set."
"But you..."
He didn't bother finishing. Sirius had been looking forward to the Samhain Ball since they'd kicked off the year from Platform 9¾. But the tightness around his jaw and the stiff-necked way he lifted his chin, just slightly, spoke of an innate pureblood stubbornness he'd picked up in his cradle. There'd be no more explanation from Padfoot than that.
Remus might have found the energy to be peeved if he wasn't so very warm. "I think I'm going to fall back to sleep now."
"Wait a sec—" The mug was gently pried from his hands, and then Sirius was shifting his pillows for him. He had the best mates, they thought of everything. Even ways to keep him company at the Full. Remus beamed at the wondrous thought even as he nestled gingerly down into his cloud of pillows: they'd become Animagi. For him. He could spend the rest of his life repaying that kindness gladly.
"Thank you, Padfoot. You always look after me," he said. Or at least, that's what he meant to say. His mouth might have garbled the words a bit, but the amused crinkles around Sirius' eyes told him he'd been understood.
"Yep, just call me Dr. Padfoot, here to ease all your troubles."
"Nurse Padfoot more like." Remus buried a smile into his pillow even as Sirius flicked his ear and his dreams were as light as his feathery floating joy.
Christmas Eve, 1982
He and Lil are trying to tune the telly with a coathanger and James' fruit mince pies are almost gone when the doorbell starts frantically ringing again.
"'Bout bleedin' time," James mutters under his breath with Harry climbing across his shoulders and wait, what—? But there's no time to think any further on it with the bell piercing through his skull. Tomorrow it's being charmed into something friendlier on the ear. A marimba perhaps?
Another three seconds to battle with the chain and heave open the door—
"Sorry I'm late, the blasted ricotta milk refused to curdle and then some genius decided to pour half a barrel of vinegar in there and guess who had to clean up the mess?” Nose still twitching in distaste, Peter thrusts a truly gargantuan wheel of cheese into Remus' hands. “Merry Christmas! Did James make mince pies?”
"Um, yes, yeah he did but they're nearly--"
"Brilliant!"
And Peter brushes past into the living room without a backward glance, bundling hat and scarf into the pockets of his macintosh like this is something they do every day. And something is definitely Going On, but right now Remus has his arms' worth of cheese to divvy up and he's too grateful for his friends and their company to spend any more time worrying about it. He's got a pretty good idea who's behind it all.
Within half an hour, the mince pies are well and truly gone and the Winterdale shaw is more wedge than wheel. Pete hasn't stopped muttering into his wand and Harry is pulling himself up to stand with the tinsel hanging off the telly. For some reason the BBC has decided 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea is an appropriately festive film for Christmas Eve. (Entertaining as it is, and Kirk Douglas in a camp sailor suit is very entertaining, Remus has always felt a little too much in common with the giant squid at the end, who just wanted something to eat.)
A stifled yawn comes from across the room, where Lil is curled up on the threadbare couch and trying not to drift off against Prongs' shoulder. The blinking fairy lights and flurries of snow outside throw soft spots of colour over their cheeks. It's all so postcard perfect Remus feels like someone ought to be sick. Not him, though. He has his dearest friends tucked in his tiny living room, the blissful fullness of food in his belly, and a warmth in his heart glowing bright as the candle on the table. At this moment, there's only one more thing he could possibly ask for.
Sirius doesn't even bother with the doorbell in the end. A tattoo of steel-toed kicks against the oak panelling and who else could it be? Who else could have wrangled their entire surrogate family together for a surprise Christmas dinner in Remus' front room, the sneaky, devious, brilliant berk? The chain falls away and he's on the other side, with a hock over one shoulder and levitating a bloody great potted pine, lights and all, up the staircase.
"I brought the ham," he says, trying not to grin.
"You are the ham," Remus says, then grabs the knit of his reindeer jumper and drags him in to kiss him senseless.
November, 1977
"I ruined everything, didn't I?"
Sirius took an extra-long drag on his cigarette, his third on their little jaunt through the Forbidden Forest. It threw jagged shards of light against the trees and Remus aggressively did not answer. He refused to touch the argument. It was still too raw.
He already regretted agreeing to go along. A Marauder hunt for the perfect Common Room tree had sounded innocent enough coming from James' mouth. Of course, Prongs and Wormtail had buggered off the second they were out of sight of the castle. The vaguely terrified look on Sirius' face (in the instant before he masked it with bravado) at least proved he hadn't been in on any plans to make them talk.
"Are you going to– I mean, we still have an hour and a half before dinner and—"
"The better pines are over by the moss pond," Remus said to forestall whatever Sirius was trying to ask without asking. It might have been funny, watching the ex-scion Black trip over basic words. If it didn't remind him every second of what Sirius had done and the fact he would never, ever understand why. Realising you could spend six years at someone's side, love them with all your soul (and maybe a bit more), and at the end of it still not know them at all... the thought shook him, even now. Of all people, he'd never expected Sirius would—
Sirius vaulted down the dry bank towards the pond and Remus needed to watch his feet if he didn't want a broken ankle for Christmas.
They were here, for better or worse. If he didn't want the next hour to feel like walking on shards of glass, he needed to say something to diffuse the tension. Fuck knew Sirius had never managed to.
Strange, the things he'd used to take pride in that could turn to fiendfyre in his gut.
"How big does this tree need to be?"
"High enough to just miss the ceiling. Have to leave room for the star." Sirius blinks, owlish, and takes another quick, fortifying drag. "Young enough we can still talk it into a pot until Epiphany."
The pines that grew around the moss pond must have recognised them; they didn't loom quite so ominously as they might've. For all his bull-in-a-potions-shop approach to tact, Sirius trod carefully around the seedlings pushing through the frost. His lungfuls of smoke crystallised ever so briefly on the air.
"There's a few good ones here," he muttered and gestured to the young trees opposite, nestled around their older brethren who might have graced the halls and corridors last year.
Remus shrugged. "You're the herbologist."
"You might be too if you actually read my notes while you're all frantically copying them down."
The tone was light, but there was a stiffness across Sirius' shoulders as if he were bracing for a hit. Testing the waters of their friendship. Seeing how much of their old easy liberty Remus would let him take. He was looking across the pond, but Remus knew there would be a lift of hope in his eyebrows, that maybe this time he wouldn't be turned away. Some days it hurt just to look at him, but something between Remus' ribs still yearned for this: their teasing banter, casual compliments and so much laughter. He'd never realised how much he laughed around Sirius until he stopped.
It was a stupid thing to miss. But his heart had always been a bit stupid wherever Sirius Black was concerned.
"Maybe," Remus said, which wasn't banter but it wasn't a closed gate either, and Sirius looked back over his shoulder in dawning disbelief.
"…only 'maybe'?"
His budding smile was asking a different question altogether.
"Don't push your luck, Black."
The words were harsh but he couldn't help a twitch of something resembling a smile back (Merlin, he'd missed this) and for a moment Sirius' guard melted away. No more than a split second. In the coming days, Remus would wonder if he hadn't projected the whole thing. But in that fraction of an instant, he could have sworn he saw all the frenetic feelings held back for months bleed across Sirius' pale, sharp-boned face. The ice grey in his eyes cracked like the spring thaw.
Then it was gone, back under the pureblood mask, and Sirius shrugged lightly.
"If you insist. I'll try my luck sweet-talking us a Christmas tree then."
As he turned on his heel toward the pines, Remus wondered if perhaps this was what the first glimmers of forgiveness felt like.
Christmas Eve, 1982
The clock over the TV inches further and further past 'bedtime' and Lily casts a quietus over the turntable with Harry asleep on her shoulder. His curly little head nestles closer against her neck. The way Prongs is looking at them, sleepy-eyed and adoring, anyone would think it was Christmas already.
Remus murmurs as much to Sirius, curled up behind him on the couch, and only gets a huffed laugh and a nuzzle in reply. He lets the air ease out of his lungs and settles a little more into familiar arms and familiar warmth.
"Is it really alright?" Lil asks (even as James shifts past her with a brief, "G'night," and hands at her hips to get to the bedroom, where Pete is already passed out on the floor). "I don't want to put you out of your own room."
"It's fine, Lil, really. This late, you won't move Prongs short of levicorpus."
"If you're sure?"
"Evans," Sirius says, and Remus can feel the comforting rumble of the words against his back. "Would you please stop being polite so I can give Moony the rest of his Christmas present?"
It reminds him of the bike, rumbling between their knees as they fly back and forth across the country: to James and Lily's, to London, to the Forbidden Forest for the Full and other, random places just because they can. So many memories and all of them leading here, to this night, to the gentle pulse of Christmas lights and the hush of Sirius' breath over his collarbones. Another treasured moment to tuck inside the lining of his heart.
Lily smiles and something in it says she's remembering, too. All the pranks and parties and quiet nights bent over parchment. Wondering, maybe, why it took them so long, but he thinks she understands that they're all just muddling through as best they can, and that the most important thing will always be the six of them, right now, in this tiny flat, holding fast to each other.
She doesn't say any of it, doesn't really need to. Instead, she says, "Don't stay up too late, Harry's usually up by four. Sleep well."
And with that, she waves one-handed and slips into the bedroom, closing the door behind her.
Sirius lays a kiss to the curve of his jawline and doesn't stop. It feels like everything Remus has ever wanted finally come within reach.
"How did you know?" he asks.
"What?" murmured against the sensitive skin of his ear that sends warmth blooming under his ribs.
"How did you– with everyone?"
It's hard to fit words together when all of his skin wants to seek out more of this delicious touch. Remus tilts his head, to see if the words he wants are on Sirius' lips. They're chapped from the cold (idiot, flying without proper shielding charms) but they're warm, Sirius is always so warm, and his lips taste like melted chocolate and comfort and joy. This is new, they're still learning each other as Remus arches for a better angle, but this is Sirius curling closer around him and no one knows the inside of his head better than this man he's spent the past decade confiding in.
Remus pulls back a fraction of a centimetre to breathe and Sirius's forehead comes to rest against his own. As if that's all they've ever needed to understand each other. (It's not, but to have someone who knows him so well, in this moment it feels like it could be.)
"I figured," Sirius murmurs into the air between them. "Because you never ask for what you want. Not if you think it'll put someone out." His voice is a little more syrup-like, running words and sounds together in a languid pour of meaning. He pushes his nose against Remus' in gentle reprimand. "You think Prongs and Lil didn't jump at the chance to get out of family holidays with her wretched sister? Or that Wormtail wanted to work the Christmas churning shift if he could help it?"
Sirius' smile is lopsided and no, Remus hadn't thought of any of those things. Only that his friends are usually busy over the holidays and no one said anything about not being so. He wasn't going to impose just because his mum is in Australia with her 'gentleman friend' this year, and besides, Sirius is always happy to open presents before their annual New Years-mas lunch. One Christmas alone. He would have got by.
He's so deeply thankful now he doesn't have to.
"Our Moony. So stubborn."
"I…" Remus doesn't finish the thought. "You could have said something," he says instead and Sirius' grin spikes a little mischievous at the corners.
"And spoil the surprise? A lengthy snog from you's the best welcome I've had anywhere. It'll take years to top that."
Remus laughs quietly, more a huff of breath. "Will it put you out if I start trying now?"
"Nothing you do will ever put me out."
"That sounds like a challenge, Mr. Padfoot."
"Well then have at, Mr. Moony. Have at."
It takes a long time and a lot of kisses to wipe the smile off Sirius' face, but Remus doesn't mind in the least. They have the rest of their lives. He's going to enjoy every second.
no subject
Date: 2018-12-30 03:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-01-04 05:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-12-30 09:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-01-04 05:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-12-31 05:29 am (UTC)"I brought the ham," he says, trying not to grin.
"You are the ham," Remus says, then grabs the knit of his reindeer jumper and drags him in to kiss him senseless.
Wonderful fic, well done! :)
no subject
Date: 2019-01-04 05:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-12-31 01:15 pm (UTC)I have to say,the part after the prank,and the tension,the way Sirius is trying and the back and forth on Remus' part-perfectly done.The way he misses the times with Sirius and relaises how much he laughed around him-ouch.But the fact that he was trying at the end was wonderful to see! The way you describe the scents of the cooking,the atmosphere in Remus' flat and everybody just relaxed and happy,really loved those moments.
The ending is reaaaal cute,it's making me smile even as I'm done reading it fully.
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Date: 2019-01-04 05:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-01-03 05:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-01-04 05:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-01-05 06:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-02-07 05:15 pm (UTC)