Spoilers: None really. Takes place Christmas Day of their fifth year.
Rating: PG . . . I still can’t believe I can actually write something with such a low rating
Disclaimer: Nothing in the Potter-verse is mine, neither is the song. I don’t own Lord of the Rings, either. I just think Remus would love Tolkien’s books. He seems the type. Don’t sue me, I’m poor.
Notes: I wrote this one day when I was feeling like hammered sh!t and couldn’t go to class. (Thank you to Sei-chan for keeping me up till 3 am on AIM.) I was listening to music on my computer, including this song, and well . . . this cute little bunny hopped into the room and bit me.
Thanks: To all the writers in Azkaban’s Lair, without whose numerous fics, I would never have gotten so attached to this pairing. Huggles to Sei-chan, my favorite Yaoi Queen, for turning me to the ‘Dark Side.’ *smirk* Yours is still better. And who am I again? Also much thanking is in order for Inuki-chan, my bestest (and only! ^^) beta reader.
Feedback: BlueEcho117@hotmail.com Good, bad, or ugly, give it to me or I shall invoke a hex that will cause a thousand small rabid rodents to invade your domicile and set up housekeeping in your underwear drawer. I wanna know if I should add anything to the end. (It’s currently being debated between myself and my muses.)
It was Christmas Day. Outside, wet white rags of snow flung themselves against the windowpane like frozen wisps of cloud. The cold air leaked around the edges of the windowpanes, creating little pockets of cold around the sills, but on the whole, everything was cheerful and cozy in the Gryffindor common room. Enchanted red and green flames crackled merrily in the grate and a comforting smell of evergreen and gingersnaps suffused the tower.
The few students who had stayed for Christmas Break were gathered around the hearth. All five of them, to be precise. Well, four out of five, anyway: Remus Lupin sat curled under a duvet in his usual chair by the fire, nose buried in “The Two Towers,” a gift from Lily (his fellow Marauders had gotten him the other three books in the foursome and he’d polished off the first two already). James Potter was beating the hell out of his friend Peter Pettigrew in a game of Wizard Chess, despite whispered instructions to Peter from James’ girlfriend, Lily Evans. (“Now, honestly, Lil, shouldn’t you be on MY side?” “I would be, James, but you don’t seem to need my help, now do you.”) Sirius Black was nowhere to be found. Scraps of leftover wrapping paper were strewn about the floor; a green foil bow was stuck to Lily’s curly red hair, where Sirius had jokingly placed it an hour ago when the presents were being exchanged, claiming it matched her eyes, earning him a blushing giggle and a punch to the shoulder from Lily and a death glare from James. (“Are you making a pass at my woman, Mr. Padfoot?” “Of course not, Mr. Prongs, you bloody idiot. I haven’t got a death wish after all.”)
Warm and comfortable in his chair, immersed in the adventures of Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli, Remus didn’t hear Sirius troop down from the dormitories and reenter the common room. In fact, he was pretty much oblivious to the other boy’s presence until, in the middle of a paragraph concerning the Riders of Rohan, the book was unceremoniously snatched from his hands.
“Hey-!”
Sirius stood beside the chair, that trademark teasing smirk plastered across his face as he dangled the book a few inches out of reach. Remus shot him a dirty look and flung out an arm from under the duvet to reclaim his book.
“Sirius, you bloody oaf, give me that!” Sirius’ only response was to grin wider and hold the book further out of reach. “You’d better not lose my place, Black.”
“Honestly, Moony, would I do that?”
Remus glared. “Yes you would. In a heartbeat. Now give me my book.” Sirius rolled his eyes.
“Very well.” He placed it nonchalantly in Remus’ outstretched hand. “I guess that means you don’t want your other present then.”
“Other present?” Remus said suspiciously.
“Yup.” From heaven-only-knew where, Sirius produced a black furry something-or-other and dropped it into Remus’ lap.
“Sirius, what on earth- . . . ?” Upon closer inspection, the something-or-other turned out to be a stuffed animal. A Labrador puppy, to be precise, with wonderfully soft fur, twinkling brown eyes, and a miniature leather collar from which dangled a biscuit-shaped tag. Remus turned the tag to the firelight and read the inscription. “Paddy.” He blinked and chuckled.
“You like it?” Sirius queried from over his shoulder, his voice expectant, hopeful, and maybe even a bit nervous. Remus nodded, toying with the dog’s floppy black ears.
“It’s adorable, Sirius, thank you,” he said. “But . . . .”
“But?”
“Would you care to explain this?” He pointed to the nametag. Amazingly, impossibly, Sirius turned pink.
“Well, see . . . I remembered what you told me before about that stuffed puppy you had when you were a kid. You know, the one you . . . .”
Remus nodded, recalling. When he was five years old, he had received a stuffed dog for Christmas, which he had christened Spot and had immediately become very attached to, carrying it with him everywhere. Three years later, sometime during the course of a particularly difficult full moon night, faithful Spot had met his demise at the claws of the wolf. A few tatters were all that remained in the morning. He smiled sadly, silently. How very like Sirius to remember the story.
“Well, while I was out gift-shopping, I saw this in the window and went in and when I saw that it said Paddy . . . well, I thought you might like it.”
“My very own Padfoot,” Remus grinned.
“For those summer nights when you don’t have anyone to hug,” Sirius grinned sheepishly.
Remus laughed. “Careful, Sirius. One might think you were coming on to me.”
Oh yes, Padfoot was definitely blushing now. “Would that be so terrible?”
Blink, blink.
A heavy silence ensued.
Finally, impulsively, Sirius leaned down, wrapped his arms around his friend, and hugged him.
“Happy Christmas, Moony,” he murmured, dropping a kiss on the other boy’s cheek. Then, just as quickly, he straightened up and made tracks for the dorm, leaving one very stunned werewolf staring dazedly into the fire, utterly confused.
‘Was that . . . did he just . . . ?’ Almost absentmindedly, he traced his fingertips over the spot on his cheek where Sirius’ lips had rested. For several long moments, he sat staring into the fire, his thoughts going in a thousand different directions. At length, unseen violins played a long shimmery note. Remus sighed and began to sing.
If there's a prize for rotten judgment
I guess I've already won that
No man is worth the aggravation . . . .
He shut his book abruptly.
That’s ancient history, been there, done that.
Over at the table, James, Lily, and Peter suddenly broke into gospel-choir style song.
Who ya think you’re kiddin’?
He’s the earth and heaven to you
Try to keep it hidden
Honey, we can see right through you
Getting up from the table, they swarmed around his chair, still singing.
Boy, you can’t conceal it
We know how you’re feeling,
Who you’re thinking of . . . .
At this, they all pointed, glanced, and otherwise indicated the stairwell where Sirius had disappeared moments before. Remus glared at the three of them and hunched down in his chair, wriggling down under the duvet as he answered them. In tune, yet.
No chance, no way, I won’t say it, no, no . . . .
James, Lily, and Peter glared disapprovingly and admonished him.
You swoon, you sigh,
Why deny it, oh-oh!
Remus curled his lip and stared stonily ahead.
It’s too cliché
I won’t say I’m in love
He pushed himself out of the chair, past the knot of his friends that untied to let him pass, and over to the snowy window, hugging the stuffed puppy to his chest. He stared out at the swirling white flakes and sighed.
I thought my heart had learned its lesson
It feels so good when you start out
My head is screaming, “Get a grip boy!
Unless you’re dying to cry your heart out.”
His backup singers, who had followed him from the fireplace, broke into chorus again.
You keep on denyin’
Who you are and how you’re feelin’
Baby, we’re not buyin’
Hon, we saw you hit the ceiling!
Face it like a grownup
When ya gonna own up
That you got (got) got it bad!
Turning away from the window and making his way back across the floor, Remus answered them.
No chance, no way, I won’t say it, no, no . . . .
Drawn by the loud singing, Sirius slipped unnoticed into the room from the stairwell. Again, the choir sang.
Give up or give in
Lily, noting the slight smile that curled the corner of his mouth, rumpled his hair playfully.
Check the grin, you’re in love!
Remus dropped the smile faster than an envelope full of undiluted bobotuber pus.
This scene won’t play!
I won’t say I’m in love!
Clapping his hands over his ears, he fled back to his chair. His tormentors did not cease their relentless chorus of reason, singing loudly over his protests.
You’re doin’ flips
Read our lips
You’re in love!
Remus flopped down in the chair and flung the duvet over his head.
You’re way off base, I won’t say it!
Get off my case, I won’t say it!
James plucked Paddy off the floor, where he had accidentally been dropped in Remus’ frantic flight from the Insane Choir of Doom, and handed him to his rightful owner.
Hey, don’t be proud, it’s OK
You’re in love!
Remus fingered the plastic tag. A whimsical smile played at the corner of his mouth and he hugged the puppy to his chest.
Oh . . . .
At least out loud,
I won’t say I’m in love . . . .
James, Lily, and Peter, who had secretly been rehearsing this number for weeks, heaved sighs of relief and went back to the chess board. At the foot of the stairwell, Sirius clutched the wall for support, his pulse quickening.
‘He . . . he loves me . . . .’ A broad grin made an appearance on Sirius’ pale face. ‘Hell yeah.’
If I decide not to, I'll probably take volunteers to do so if anyone's interested.
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