Word Count: ~4,000
Pairings: Sirius/Remus
Era: Marauders
Disclaimer: I don't own them, nor did I create them. Thank J.K. Rowling for these beautiful boys. Oh, also, I don't own Elton John or his music, etc.
Dedicated to Blake, who deserves all the happy birthdays the universe can offer him.
And I think it's gonna be a long, long time, till touchdown brings me round again to find I'm not the man they think I am at home. No, no, no, I'm a rocket man. Rocket man, burning out his fuse out here alone.
Sirius was pacing irritably, round and round their dormitory, sometimes making a full loop and other times cutting the perimeter short with erratic zigzags. He never could stay still when agitated. Remus, in contrast, was sitting on the edge of his bed, completely still save his eyes, roving back and forth across the letter clutched in his hands. Sirius gave a groan of frustration, just as Remus reached the bottom of the page, slowly folded it back up, and stared at Sirius with confusion.
"They've never asked you to come home before," Remus commented, speaking with delicate concern. "Why now? What if you just, didn't go?"
Sirius laughed dryly, though by his face, it was evident that he found no humor in the situation. "You think I want a Howler? Hell, you think I want seven? You haven't met my parents, Moony, they don't like dissent."
"I just don't see why they want you home for your birthday. From what you've told me about them—"
"They don't seem like they give a shit?" Sirius ventured bitterly. He sighed, coming to lean against the bedpost. "They don't. But they like to fool themselves into thinking I could still be the pureblooded heir they want."
"And you want me to come with you? As what, exactly?" Remus asked. Sirius shrugged, draping his arms loosely around Remus's neck. Remus rested his head against Sirius's chest.
"I don't know," He said slowly, as though thinking through the possibilities as he spoke. "I just want you there."
Remus wrapped his arms around his waist and held tightly. Sirius knew this meant 'of course' and kissed the top of his head in appreciation.
When Friday arrived, Sirius was sullen all through lessons, offering a strained grimace at every passing "happy birthday!" This was hardly how he envisaged turning sixteen, full of trepidation at the thought of his family. He could focus on little else all day. As the afternoon drew to a close and the setting sun cast the world in premature shadow, the four boys trudged across the Hogwarts grounds, bundled up against the November wind. James feigned extreme hurt that Sirius would not be available for a night of birthday drinking and revelry, and that Remus was the only one invited home with Sirius.
"I can't very well bring a pureblood home to meet my parents, Prongs. They'd think they finally converted me," Sirius chided, choosing to ignore the insinuation that he preferred dinner with his parents to drunkenly cavorting around the castle with the Marauders. He pulled his jacket tighter against his neck, crossing his arms and shoving bare hands into the crooks of his arms for warmth as much as in annoyance.
"Yes, a werewolf is a much better decision on that front," Remus agreed in an undertone, first casting a wary eye to be certain they were not overheard, even though the grounds were empty. The rest of the student body was warm inside, already assembling for dinner in the Great Hall.
"You're never going to pick me to be your date, are you?" James asked, with his usual melodrama, his breath fogging up his glasses with every word.
Peter snickered. "Not until you switch to his Quidditch team, if you catch my drift."
James muttered an insinuating comment about broomsticks, prompting Sirius to hit him roughly in the shoulder. It was, however, the first time Sirius had grinned all day.
As they neared the school gates, the laughter quieted and a tense look set into Sirius's features. James and Peter murmured their goodbyes, with James first pulling Sirius into a tight embrace, telling him to have a nice birthday anyway, and not to let his parents get him down. Regulus was waiting for them, rubbing his hands together for warmth, awkwardly watching the Marauders without ever looking directly at them. James and Peter turned back towards the castle with one last sympathetic glance, while Sirius and Remus met Regulus at the gate. They trudged the path to Hogsmeade in silence, with Remus uncomfortably positioned as a barrier between the brothers. Sirius made a point of aggressively kicking every leaf pile they came across, so that by the time they reached the Three Broomsticks, there were half a dozen crunchy, brown leaves sticking out of the laces of his boots.
Inside, Regulus approached the fireplace first, and disappeared in a whirl of bright green smoke without so much as a backward glance at his traveling companions. Remus gave Sirius's frozen hand a quick squeeze, while Madame Rosmerta had her back turned, and whispered encouragement in his ear. Regardless, Sirius looked like a man headed to the gallows as he stepped into the fireplace, and said "12 Grimmauld Place, London."
Right after the other, Sirius and Remus stumbled into the dining room of the Black family home, heads still reeling from the Floo network. It took a moment for their churning stomachs to settle and their eyes to adjust, as the only light came from the fireplace and a few candles flickering on the table. There was a distinctly dungeon-like feel about the room, with its high, windowless walls and stern, dark oak furniture. Regulus was brushing soot off his trousers, as his mother pulled him into a tight hug, fussing over his hair— it's getting long, Regulus!— even though it was nothing compared to Sirius's hair, which had reached his shoulders. It was eerie, the resemblance Sirius bore to his parents. They shared the same strong facial features and dark hair, although Sirius was distinctly different in the way he moved and acted.
The smell of something delicious cooking in the kitchen made Remus's stomach gurgle obviously, and Sirius snorted with laughter while Remus blushed.
"Sixteen. Almost a man," Sirius's father pronounced, taking notice of Sirius at last. He was going grey, but gracefully so. For a moment, Remus couldn't help but think that, if this were a vision of the future, he wouldn't mind sticking with Sirius until old age. Orion offered only a stiff handshake to his son, and one to Remus as well. "And you are?"
"This is Remus," Sirius said proudly, flourishing his hands in a ta-da motion. His parents looked unimpressed.
"Remus what?" Orion asked stiffly.
He quietly answered Lupin, feeling Sirius's father eye him up and down. He shoved his hands into his pocket, trying to keep his face turned downwards without appearing rude. Remus didn't always remember the network of scars across his body, but then, when people stared, it was a harsh reminder that other people often saw little else. After a moment, Orion asked if he was related to Alban Lupin— at least, Orion thought his last name had been Lupin. Whether or not it was didn't matter. Remus said he had never met anyone called Alban. Orion remarked 'oh' and lapsed into silence. Sirius looked about ready to stick his head into the fireplace, without floo powder, as Remus and Orion tried to carry out their uncomfortable conversation.
"Dinner should be ready shortly. In the meantime, why don't we all sit?" Walburga insisted, ushering everyone to the table with a flurry of her hands. Her husband sat at one end, she at the other, with Sirius and Remus facing Regulus. "I apologize about the wait for dinner, Remus."
"No, it's no trouble," He answered politely, leaning his elbows against the table, before thinking better of it. He was all fidgety limbs, keenly aware of the attention Sirius's parents were paying him. "I'm sure it will be more than worth the wait. The house elves at school do a fine job, but there's still nothing like a home cooked meal, I always say."
It was meant to be small talk, the pleasant sort, but Remus could sense he said something wrong by the way everyone suddenly avoided his gaze. It dawned on him slowly. Wealthy family, aristocratic family… Ah.
"Not that there's anything wrong with— I mean, thank you very much for having me regardless of whether— I really didn't mean—"
"So what are we having?" Sirius interrupted, to save Remus his fumbled apologies. He blushed furiously at his lap, feeling Sirius's leg press against his own in reassurance. Perhaps it would have been wise to mention their house elf beforehand.
"A venison roast with vegetables, and an arctic char," Walburga answered swiftly, just as the door to the kitchen opened and Kreacher trudged out, balancing several trays on his lanky, grey arms. Remus politely said it looked delicious as the house elf nudged the plates onto the table, though Sirius asked in a whisper if he knew what 'arctic char' meant. Remus only shrugged.
Brave faced, Sirius helped himself, passing the plate of venison to Remus. "I won't tell Prongs if you don't."
Remus tried not to laugh too obviously, as he served some onto his plate, with the uncomfortable stillness of someone trying extremely hard to be unobtrusive. Despite the fact that it was Sirius's birthday and they had all assembled for him, Remus seemed to be the guest of honor. He found himself the subject of many questions, such as where he was from, what his parents did, how did he do in school, what did he want to do after Hogwarts. He answered each question with both deference and clumsiness, as he struggled to find a balance between chewing and speaking.
"He's Gryffindor prefect, did you know?" Regulus piped up suddenly, amidst the scraping of cutlery and crackle of the fireplace. Sirius stared at him quizzically, while his parents congratulated Remus, and asked how he enjoyed his duties.
"It's fine, yeah. Bit hard keeping Sirius in line, but apart from that," Remus chuckled, until he saw a look of severity spread over the faces around him, and backtracked quickly. "No, I'm only kidding. That was just a joke."
There passed another moment of stillness, before Walburga spoke tersely, "Even so, that wouldn't surprise me. He's always been hard to handle."
"He's sitting right here," Sirius mumbled, though the comment went unnoticed. Sirius, in general, seemed to be largely unnoticed, despite this being his birthday dinner.
"And the other prefect? Do you get along with her?" Orion asked.
Remus said that he did, that Lily was excellent at her job, and a brilliant student. He very much enjoyed doing rounds with her.
"Your mate Potter fancies her, right?" Regulus chimed in. "Muggle born, isn't she?"
Sirius all but growled at his brother, tensing as he glared across the bowl of steamed vegetables. Beneath the table, Remus placed his hand on Sirius's leg, giving his thigh a gentle, reassuring caress. He could feel Sirius relax slightly at his touch, though his body maintained a ready-to-fight rigidity.
"She's still clever as anything. One of the brightest at Hogwarts," Remus replied quickly, hoping to diffuse the situation, or at least prevent Sirius from exploding and saying something regretful.
Walburga tutted with derision. "We can't expect you to fully understand, Remus. I always said, didn't I? That the Potters wouldn't stay pure for much longer."
Sirius was beyond livid, his knuckles white as they clenched around his fork. Discretely, Remus removed Sirius's knife from beside his plate, tucking it gently out of his reach as Orion agreed with his wife and commented that it was a shame, what so many wizards had come to.
"Why am I here?" Sirius finally demanded, when the topic of the blood purity and the Potters had continued far beyond his liking.
Orion cleared his throat, setting down his knife and fork with a sense of significance that could mean nothing good. "You're sixteen now, Sirius, and your mother and I thought it was about time we discussed your prospects."
"Prospects?" Sirius repeated, ripping savagely at a piece of venison. Only Remus, who had seen the canine in Sirius, could tell the threat in the gesture.
"You're old enough now, and we should be thinking about the witch you will marry."
Sirius spat a large wad of half-chewed food squarely in the middle of the table, which prompted shrieks from Walburga and several comments of disgust from Orion. Sirius paid them both no mind. "You brought me here to talk about marrying me off? To some girl you pick out?"
"That's the way it's done in this family," Orion said sternly, "And if you wish to continue to be a part of it, I suggest you acquaint yourself with the idea."
"Your father and I had an arranged marriage, and so did both your grandparents. Bellatrix is getting married in a few months to the man her parents chose," Walburga continued, making it clear that the matter was not up for discussion.
"Well I'm not interested," Sirius said flatly.
Regulus laughed. "Yeah, good luck finding a girl Sirius would want to marry." Rather suddenly, his smile turned to a grimace, giving the distinct impression that Sirius had kicked him under the table.
"You don't have a choice, Sirius," Walburga said firmly, eyes narrowed as she stared at Sirius and Remus. He had the distinctly uncomfortable feeling that she understood what Regulus meant. "This is how we operate. She'll be a perfectly respectable girl, good breeding, good family. Better than you'd pick out, at any rate."
"Will she be my cousin, as well?" He snapped.
The argument continued, with Sirius's parents insisting on engagement before graduation, that it was tradition, that he better cooperate, that he had shown all sorts of poor judgment in the past and could not be trusted with such a decision. On all fronts, Sirius refused point blank.
"Sirius, I understand that you've seen fit to associate with all sorts up until this point." Walburga glanced at Remus for a split second, before continuing, "But that doesn't have to matter, you can fix it. There's still a chance for you to make something respectable of yourself."
A tense silence fell over the room. Sirius had his mouth open, but said nothing, as though he were too furious to even speak. Remus still had his hand firmly on Sirius's thigh, though he wished to be anywhere else in the world. But Sirius needed him, so he sat still, watched, and rubbed his leg gently, trying to ignore how sick he felt at the thought of standing off to the side— a groomsmen— at Sirius's wedding.
"I'm not that person. Sorry."
Sirius pushed his chair roughly from the table, getting to his feet. His father ordered him to sit back down and his mother told him to stop being dramatic. Sirius just put his hand on Remus's shoulder and muttered, "Come on."
"Thank you for dinner," Remus said hurriedly, before scrambling after Sirius, who led the way up two flights of stairs, to what was evidently his bedroom. Once the door was shut— slammed, actually— Sirius went into a tirade.
"I can't believe it, I can't believe a damn word of it! They made me come all the way out here, just to talk about marriage? I thought they'd given up on me! But I guess it doesn't matter if I'm a Gryffindor who cavorts with muggleborns, as long as they can force me into a respectable marriage."
He was pacing again, though with a frenetic energy that Remus rarely saw. Remus remained silent, standing by the door, just listening.
"They're ridiculous, they are. And did you hear them going on about Prongs? Never even met him, and they think he's a disappointment to the universe, just cause he fancies a muggleborn. How can anybody think like that? It's disgusting."
Sirius stopped abruptly and wheeled to face Remus, eyes wide. He looked terrified.
"What am I going to do? I can't- I won't let them. They don't even know that I'm— Doesn't matter, if they did know, they'd just want me married sooner," He said softly, gaze falling to the floor. Remus hurriedly took both of Sirius's hands in his, pulling him close. It hurt, to see him so dejected and scared.
"I don't want to get married, Moony," Sirius mumbled. He stopped, looking up at Remus quizzically, "Well, I might, not that we— I mean, I would, if you ever—"
Remus smiled softly, pressing their foreheads together. "Are you saying you want to marry me, Mr. Black?"
"That's Mr. Black-Lupin to you, actually," Sirius whispered, grinning. Remus laughed, kissing him and thinking, for a moment, how beautiful that last name would look painted on the letterbox of a quaint little house in the country.
Remus asked if they were returning in the morning, or if Sirius would feel more comfortable heading back to Hogwarts that night. Sirius rather deliberately glanced over his shoulder at his bed, and then back at Remus, and gave the sort of dramatic shrug that meant he was anything but indifferent. In answer, Remus reached behind him and locked the door.
"Happy birthday anyway," Remus said, leaning in to kiss Sirius once. And then again. And another fourteen times.
"What, no seventeenth for good luck?" Sirius protested with a smirk. Remus rolled his eyes as though this were some sort of chore, though granted Sirius another kiss with an eagerness that indicated otherwise.
"I made you something," Remus said, awkwardly. Fumbling in his pocket, he withdrew a rather crushed bundle, wrapped in parchment. "It was all I had on hand. And I'm not very good at it yet, but I tried, and I just thought, well— Ah. Here."
He thrust the small package into Sirius's hands, who slowly ripped the parchment away with the tip of his index finger, watching Remus the whole time.
"Is this—? Did you make me a prick cozy?" Sirius asked, turning the knitted bundle over in his hands.
"No, you idiot! They're mittens. Because you're too stubborn to do anything to keep your hands warm, and since I can't hold your hand in every situation— Well, they're for those times when I can't hold you hand."
Despite the fact that they were inside, in Sirius's warm bedroom, he pulled the mittens over his hands, cupping Remus's face with woolen fingertips. "You're too cute, Moony, you know that? Thank you."
"I can hold your hand right now, you know," Remus pointed out, pressing his own hand over Sirius's.
With a suggestive wink, Sirius said that they could do a lot more than hold hands right then. He removed the mittens and placed them gingerly on his nightstand, thanking Remus again with a broad smile. He sat down on his bed, dropping onto his back. Remus curled up beside him, sideways, hooking a leg over Sirius's leg and an arm over his stomach. Sirius absently stroked Remus's hair.
"I still don't know what I'm going to do," Sirius said at last, softly. He never had anything to hide from Remus.
Remus could only pull himself closer to Sirius, holding him secure, as though his arms could shield him from the people downstairs. "You don't have to do anything. One more year till you're seventeen, and then they can't do a thing to stop you."
"I'm looking forward to it. If I never come back here, it'll be too soon," He grumbled. "Stop me from what, exactly?"
Remus shifted himself closer to Sirius, rubbing his thumb in small circles on Sirius's stomach. "Eloping with a halfblooded werewolf, of course."
"Only if I can plan the honeymoon, Moony. You'd take me to some boring, historic place, and then where would all the shagging happen?" Sirius teased. Remus muttered into Sirius's collarbone that they could probably manage to get away with a quick romp on Stonehenge. Sirius laughed, and said he could be talked into it. It still wasn't as exciting as, say, Mars— because after all, wouldn't a honeymoon in space be appropriate?— but Sirius was willing to consider Remus's suggestion.
"Thanks, Moony," Sirius whispered, craning his neck to kiss the top of Remus's head.
"For what?"
Sirius didn't answer, but rolled onto his side, so that he and Remus were face to face. He wrapped himself up in Remus's arms, burrowing his face in the curve of his neck, so that the world went dark and everything smelled of Remus.
They stayed like that, and reminisced, about when they first became friends, about the awkward way Sirius had first told Remus how he felt, and about that weekend they spent dressed as a mariachi band following around unsuspecting first years. They talked, about the things they would do in years to come. They playfully bickered over which color they would paint their future bedroom— Remus said a nice light blue, but Sirius thought that a deep maroon would be better. It was good to have a future they could both look to, a promise they could hold close.
They also didn't talk for long stretches of time, content to remain a mess of limbs, who only moved when an arm would start to go numb or a hand decided it would rather caress or hold or trace patterns on skin. Though Friday night in London bustled on loudly outside the window— punctuated by horns and the occasional drunken shout, sometimes a song from the blaring radio of a passing car— there was a sense of preservation between them, an infinite moment in the ever darkening room. In the quiet moments, they both felt the need to say something profound, vulnerable, and deeply romantic, but in the end, realized that the stillness said enough.
Remus was starting to doze, calm across his face. Sirius woke him with a soft kiss to the forehead, because they were still stretched diagonally across the bed, fully clothed.
"Wake up, it's time to go to bed, Moony," Sirius whispered and a sleepy Remus grumbled and half-heartedly pushed Sirius's face away.
"Do I get a complimentary toothbrush and pyjamas for staying at Hotel Sirius?"
Sirius sat up, pulling his shirt up and over his head and tossing it unceremoniously to the floor. "A toothbrush, maybe. Pyjamas, definitely not."
The clock on the nightstand read 12:31 AM. Sirius quickly stripped down to just his pants, and crawled beneath the blankets. Remus was gingerly removing articles of clothing and folding them neatly, before climbing into bed beside Sirius.
"This is nice," Sirius commented, instantly sliding up against Remus. "No Peter and James snoring. No trying not to wake them. And no risk of falling out of bed— I swear, they made them that narrow just to keep people from sharing."
"As far as bedfellows go, I consider you my favorite," Remus mumbled sleepily, fighting back a yawn that eventually overtook him, warping his words. He bent himself around Sirius— legs intertwining, stomachs flush, arms holding tightly. Remus wanted warm Sirius against every inch of his skin.
"I had a good birthday," Sirius said, circling his fingertips along the jutting bone of Remus's hip. With tired, heavy lids, Remus gazed up at Sirius, who grinned warmly. His face was half shadow, and half muddled grey light from the street outside. There were no stars in the city, just the light from twinkling street lamps and headlights creeping through the curtains and falling across their bed.
"Really?"
"Yeah. Anything's good if I have my Moony."