This was written in response to a prompt my good friend PandaPens sent me. I just went with the flow so there isn't really a structure or a point to the fic but I hope you enjoy it anyway.
Disclaimer: I do not own, as you well know.
Hint: Read in the voice of Stephen Fry.
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I think it was Amos Diggory, the great amateur 'Minister' who pointed out how lovely I was. Until that time I think it was safe to say that I had never really been aware of my own timeless brand of loveliness. But his words smote me, because of course you see, I am lovely in a fluffy moist kind of way and who would have it otherwise?
Walk, and let's be splendid about this, in a highly accented cloud of gorgeousness that isn't far short of being, quite simply, terrific. The secret of smooth almost incomparable loveliness, of the order of which we are discussing, in this simple, frank, creamy sort of way, doesn't reside in oils, potions, balms, ointments, creams, pastes, draughts, moisturisers, solutions, lubricants, mixture or balsams, to be rather divine for just one noble moment, it resides, and I mean this in a pink slightly special way (though I would never actually admit it), in ones attitude of mind. To be gorgeous, and high and true and fine and fluffy and moist and sticky and lovely, all you have to do is believe that one is gorgeous and high and true and fine and fluffy and moist and sticky and lovely. And I believe it of myself, tremulously at first and then with rousing heat and passion, because, stopping off for a second to be super again, I'm so often told it.
That's the secret really.
*
I know what you're thinking. That I sound ridiculously pretentious and full of it. Well, maybe I am. But I tell you this, it's easy to be so confident as I when you are looking back on a life you had. Especially when that life included someone who loved you. And I loved him back. Very much so.
But the problem (I say problem, but that's not really what I mean), the problem with Sirius is that he thinks too much of me. Especially when we were teenagers. Sometimes, he would look at me and I knew that he could see the cure, the solution, the answer to everything. Even with such strong conviction of my own loveliness, I know that I fall tragically short of being all of these things as well. But then again, perhaps I understand how he felt about looking at me so well because I felt a similar disposition when looking at him. In my young, adolescent mind (albeit mature for my age, especially in comparison to some people's) I saw Sirius as some sort of hero, a brave knight in overpowering armour who could come and whisk me away to safety at any given time.
In my defence, I think a great deal of this view was largely given to Sirius' tendency to do just that - whisk me away. Though I flatter myself, my safety was the last thing on his mind.
But I'm not here to talk about that. Although I can appreciate you may be wondering what exactly my purpose here is; I have to admit to my own ignorance on the subject. So I hope it will suffice for you to listen to my ramblings just a little longer. I cannot promise a great insight on life or a gain in knowledge on your part but I can offer a little entertainment.
*
Perhaps I should introduce myself, as seems the cordial thing to do. My name was Remus. Remus because of my parents, was because I'm not anymore. I think I may be dead, in fact. But don't feel sympathy for me, this state of being - whatever it is - is rather enjoyable in one way or another.
I remember a time near to Christmas (or at least, I think it was) many years ago. I was a schoolboy then with no greater troubles than saving my friends from getting explained, which, at times, seemed like a full time occupation. This did not trouble me though, as a boy who had grown up with no friends, risking a mark or two on an exam because I was otherwise engaged seemed a fair trade.
I digress. It was near to Christmas and I once again found myself in the hospital wing recovering from my, ah, 'routine' nightly excursions. On account of my being a werewolf, I found myself isolated from my friends and in this particular area of the castle a lot. But, and I don't know how I knew it, this time around it was different. I was tense and uncomfortable, restless and agitated; I knew something was coming.
Just when my agitation seemed to be reaching it's peak, the doors swung open and my friends came in. I suppose I ought to divulge their names, or at least, what I remember them to be. They were James, Peter and Sirius. Of the latter, I am certain, the other two, though my heart loves them dearly seem… unimportant, I suppose. Again, this is not the word I mean but something prevents me from telling you the correct term.
Aforementioned friends entered as they always did but it was with a sense of foreboding that I received them. And, though I hate to sound bigheaded yet again, I had been correct to do so. Once the matron (I fear her name has escaped me) left the room, their faces fell heavy, their expressions grave. I knew they knew. Lycanthropy is not a popularly welcomed condition, what other possible reason could they have for such languid expressions?
They remained silent, seeming unsure how they could tell me what they had discovered, or perhaps to tell me that they could no longer be friends with me. To this day, I will never know because, being totally unlike myself for the time, I confidently began a conversation.
"I couldn't tell you," I said, or at least, that's what my mind is saying I said. I believe it to be accurate. The boys look rather nonplussed for a few seconds and I suppose we must have resolved the situation. It became clear that I still had my friends even though they knew about me, affectionately termed, 'furry little secret'.
I suppose I should really have given you more detail on our 'reconciliation', if you will, but I feel it unimportant as I'm sure you would were you in my position - you would know what happens next and, hopefully, would find the prior discussion rather inferior to what came next.
Peter and James left but Sirius stayed. I cannot claim to have known why this time, it intrigued me. I met his steady gaze and waited patiently for the enlightenment I was sure I should receive. After a few seconds, he opened his mouth to speak but no words could be heard having been lost somewhere on their route out of his lips. He emitted a defeated sigh and I found myself filled with an inexplicable frustration, a throbbing anger and rage at his inability to give me the answers I desired.
Something of my annoyance must have translated to him as I saw his chest fill with air in preparation for his Second Attempt. I feel the need to stress emphasis on the Second Attempt as it proved rather more successful than the first.
"Remus, I-" he began, before pausing. Feeling two words a much better achievement than none, I managed to keep my (irrational) anger in check.
"Remus, I think I should explain something to you," Getting better, I thought, trying to offer up an encouraging smile. The smile (assuming I managed to efficaciously present it) did not accomplish the desired effect and he faltered again. But something (to which I am very grateful) spurred him on.
"I think I love you," he said. I think there was probably some form of preamble in the middle of these pieces of speech but I can hardly contain my excitement for this piece of information which, I admit, had been something I had dreamt of, fantasized about, imagined the words coming from Sirius many, many times over.
Well, maybe now is not the time to explain the event properly. But, what I am trying to disclose to you, is the fact that, from then on, I always had him by my side, I think there may have been a time we were apart. But in my current state, I can't focus on it. I must conclude that it can't have been important. But Sirius and I, we were something else. Together we were gorgeous and high and true and fine and fluffy and moist and sticky.
In short, I was lovely.
We were lovely.