The Friction Between Us
Remus/Sirius Drabble Collection
Several drabbles strung together to make a story. Some sections were written for continuation, but most are original.
Before
Remus Lupin had once sprinted the length of the corridor just to catch his rustling sleeve. He had looked with terrified eyes into the wicked, teasing grin of a young Sirius Black: sorted into Gryffindor, not Slytherin, and therefore the talk of the entire school.
"I—" Then, after reconsidering, he had tried instead, "please be nice to me."
You're like me. You're different. You don't belong here either.
"I'll be friends with you, if you want." Sirius had glanced around to make sure no one else was near by, then had whispered into his ear: "I'm scared too."
Remus hadn't let go of his arm until they had found their way to their first class.
Trousers
"—Sirius, are you even listening?"
Sirius' bed is next to his own, and he lies there with his arms and head dangling upside-down over the edge. He answers him with obvious reluctance.
"What?"
"I'm asking if you've seen my trousers. You didn't take them, did you?"
Sirius pretends to heave a heavy sigh.
"Yes, Moony, I took your trousers. I did it just to spite you."
"Well, I don't see them," Remus explains, and he shuffles about at the bottom of his trunk, where the threadbare robes and stray socks with long lost partners lurk. "So either you or James took them. Which one of you was it?"
"And just what would we do with a pair of your trousers?"
"Wear them, obviously."
"Wear them?"
From the look on his face, he's trying to come up with a proper insult—'as what, a circus tent?' perhaps, or maybe he'd rather make a stab at his height, or how ratty his things are. The possibilities are seemingly endless, all equally tempting, none exactly true.
"What exactly did you do to them," Remus begins, "if not wear them?"
Sirius grins broadly.
"They might have used them for their flammable qualities," he says, beginning to cackle, and Remus knocks him to the floor, not missing a beat.
Not Tonight
The werewolf does not understand concepts such as detentions, but he does know of the bizarre absence of his friends—his pack. He paces anxiously, feeling the influence of the moon more strongly than he has in many months.
Then, he hears the pattering of feet against the ground, and Padfoot arrives at last. His tail wags back and forth; he comes forward to sniff at him.
Moony, he knows he's trying to say, I'm sorry I'm late.
The beast nudges him in the side and whines.
What about James and Peter? is what he wants to ask.
Padfoot's nose is cold and moist. It twitches.
They couldn't get off. We can't go out like this, but I can be here with you at least.
The werewolf considers him for a second, then licks the side of his face.
Thank you.
There would be no adventures for this month, but Padfoot's presence would make the evening more tolerable. The werewolf lies down on the frayed hearthrug, his head lying against the ground, and Padfoot curls up right next to him. They wait out the night.
Good Advice Is Often Ignored
At the edge of the grounds, there is a relatively secluded area where the delinquents go and bum cigarettes off each other. Sirius can be found there on occasion, his favorite brand hanging from the side of his mouth, held there by the pinch of his lips.
"You really shouldn't smoke," says Remus, who finds himself with Sirius by accident, as he often does.
When Sirius breathes out again, the smoke billows out over his lip like steam.
"I can do what I like," he tells him, his voice low and smug.
Remus mutters, "you'll give yourself cancer."
"You sound like my mother," he says, and the next line of smoke blows into his face.
Butterscotch
They stay up studying long after the fire has gone out, and Sirius has brought down a blanket from his bed.
"Just a little more," Remus says, and he stifles a yawn. In an attempt to share the blanket between them, they have somehow ending up leaning against one another, their shoulders side by side. Neither has made the effort to pull away.
"Can't this wait?"
"You know it's the full moon tomorrow. We've got to get this chapter done."
But Sirius isn't going to make it, and this is obvious from the way he sinks ever deeper into the sofa, drowsy and content. Remus notices that he smells like his blanket does—like the soap he uses, mixed with something musky and human. And also a bit like dog.
"What's the primary ingredient in a calming draught?"
"Butterscotch."
"Oh, so close."
Remus smiles slightly, and Sirius just yawns and shuffles downward a little further. He falls asleep.
It Could Be Different
The first thing he does when he sees him is casually report, "you've got something on you," and Sirius just rolls his eyes at him.
"Mary really ought to learn to control her temper," he says, looking distastefully at the orange stain on his front. For Remus' benefit, he adds: "she threw her pumpkin juice on me."
Ah, yes, Remus thinks. Mary Macdonald. Girlfriend of the week, is it?
He has no idea where this bitterness comes from.
"What did you say to her?"
"Just asked her how many other blokes she'd had in her mouth before. She got all in a huff about it."
"You know," Remus says calmly, "you could always just tell these girls you want to break up. It would mean admitting the problem is always you, of course, but—"
Sirius doesn't answer him. He instead grabs fistfuls of ruined shirt and yanks it over his head in a single movement—Remus sees the chain around his neck and the pendant that lies against his breastbone before quickly dropping his eyes back to his book.
"Have a little modesty for once," he says, irritably.
"Me? Modesty? Never. I am a Marauder, Moony."
He shakes his hair out of his eyes and lets it fall into an attractive mess over his forehead before wandering off to find a clean shirt—Remus catches himself still looking.
"I guess I'm single again, eh?" Sirius sighs. "Personally, I think it's a miracle that Prongs has been going out with Evans for so long. You would have thought he'd have gotten sick of her already. I know I get sick of them."
"Maybe it's different when you find the right person."
Sirius pauses in his search to look up and cock his head to the side, perhaps considering the validity of this statement. He shrugs.
"Maybe."
Boys Will Be Boys
They play-fight far more than they should, given that Remus is a prefect, and Sirius is larger, and also square and wide-shouldered, with brawny arms from Beater practice that hurt when they make impact. But even boys at the age of seventeen are prone to fits of immaturity, and the two of them tumble and hit and laugh themselves to tears.
It ends, finally, when Sirius snatches up one of Remus' thin wrists and thumps him onto his back. They are both out of breath when Sirius huffs out, wildly triumphant, "I win."
There is an odd moment where they simply look at each other, Remus with his shoulders pinned down, Sirius with the top button of his shirt undone, leaving his collar exposed and gleaming with sweat. One of his knees is nudging up against Remus' thigh.
He says uncomfortably, from the rug, "you should probably get off."
Sickness
Sirius sits up in bed when he sees Remus coming. To see him looking so pale and ill is very strange.
"What'd you bring?"
Sirius tries to see what Remus holds in his arms.
"What do you think? It's your books. And your homework."
"Homework?" he groans. "I thought you'd brought food, you wank. I've had nothing but carrot sticks, you don't think you could...?"
"Madame Pomfrey would be after me if I did that."
Remus notices that Sirius has his eyes on him, and he thinks, you shouldn't do that, but then he knows he's being ridiculous.
"Ah well. Give them here, Moony."
When Sirius takes his papers, his fingers brush against Remus' hands.
"This sucks," he babbles, trying to fill the silence. "Sirius Black, done in by a cold—if I'd broken a bone, or got dragon pox, I could be well in an instant… but no, I had to come down with the one thing a wizard can't cure. Why hasn't anyone figured it out yet? Honestly. I'm never sick, Moony, this is stupid… this'll teach me to never stay outside all night in the cold again, that's for sure…"
He distractedly smacks his lips as he searches around at his bedside table for a quill.
"What?"
Remus looks at him.
Sirius sneezes.
"Bless you," says Remus, automatically.
"Don't bother." Sirius dips his quill and begins to write. "I'm already going to hell."
The Crash
"Remember when Prongs first told us that he liked that Lily Evans?"
Remus, one leg stretched out and the other bent up to chest, says that he does. The Shrieking Shack's walls are creaking in a strong wind, and sometimes he wonders if the thin floors are ever going to break and send them all crashing into the basement below.
"I wonder how he knew."
"Knew what?"
He has no idea why he isn't asking James Potter himself—James is lying on the sofa nearby, and acts like he isn't listening as he takes a final swig from a knicked bottle of firewhiskey. Peter Pettigrew has already had enough celebrating Gryffindor's victory over Slytherin; he is on the ground with an arm tucked under his head, snoring lightly.
"Suppose you'd know it if you felt it? That different person?"
"You're not making sense."
Sirius' hand moves, trembling a little with the alcohol that runs through his body, and it touches at the place where Remus' jaw connects to his throat.
"Sirius," he says, disconcerted, but Sirius has already pressed a kiss to the side of his mouth.
The bottle slips from James' limp hand and rolls away across the floor.
"Poor Moony," he says.
It's a warning.
Undeserved
A chill settles over the common room. James merely sits with the letter in his trembling hands, and Lily is with him, rubbing circles into his back and crying quietly. But the rest of Gryffindors don't know what they can possibly say or do to help—Remus gives up on staring into the fire with a brooding Peter, and when he exits the room, no one notices.
He comes to the top of the staircase to the sixth floor, and he finds Sirius seated on a step halfway down, motionless and staring.
"Hi," says Remus.
"Hi," Sirius answers, roughly, and when Remus comes to sit on the step with him, Sirius hurries to rub at his eyes with his sleeve. He isn't quick enough.
"It's alright," attempts Remus, because there is no point in pretending he hadn't noticed. "You can keep on with it if you need to."
"Fucking hell," Sirius bursts out, and he sounds both angry with himself and the entire world. He continues to wipe his eyes. "What am I crying for? I should be up there with James… I'm his best mate, I should be there for him… fuck, they weren't even my real parents, why am I so—"
"It's alright," Remus says again, quietly. "They were the closest thing you had."
"I know they were," Sirius tells him, brusquely. "I just… they looked after me, Moony, and that's more than my real parents ever did. I ran away from home and the Potters took me in, just like that. They looked after me and treated me like I was part of the family and didn't even ask any questions, or ask for anything back. It was like… like I was their son. I felt wanted for the first time…"
His shoulders begin to shudder, and he presses his hands to his face to ward off a fresh sob.
"They shouldn't have. They shouldn't have died. The Potters were the nicest people I knew—they didn't even care when I made trouble for them, or when I needed anything at all, or… Moony, I can't help but think… I-I can't even remember saying thanks even once, and now… now they're gone. They're never coming back, and they won't ever know how grateful I was… how much I—how much I just loved them and wished I could be their son for real…"
"I'm sure they knew," Remus whispers.
Sirius begins to cry again, his head buried in his hands.
So This Is Hell
"So what? What are you so fucking angry about? Who the fuck cares?"
Remus fist slams into the side of Sirius' face so hard that he feels one of his knuckles split open—but the sudden, unthinking violence leaves him with immense relief, and he cannot bring himself to care in the slightest.
Sirius stumbles backward, too shocked to react immediately, and touches the smarting red mark on his cheek. He still doesn't seem to comprehend why he's earned it.
This does not stop him from retaliating. A moment later, he grabs Remus by the robes and slams him up against the wall behind them.
"Don't—don't you ever—"
"You thought you were really clever, didn't you?" hisses Remus. Sirius is practically choking him, but he is supremely unafraid. "Telling Snape to come find me? It's lucky you haven't been expelled. It's lucky I haven't been expelled—I could have bitten him!"
"Who the fuck cares?" repeats Sirius, but this time, he shouts it into his face. "He would've deserved it!"
"Deserved it?"
"Yeah—yeah, that pile of shit deserves to be put through hell—"
"You don't know the first thing about what hell is," snarls Remus, and he throws him off with an almighty shove.
Running Out Of Time
"Here it is, gentlemen. We've done it."
They stare together at the Marauder's Map, finished at last after so many years of work. There is nothing left to be done but to stare and be amazed by their own efforts.
Peter says, "wow."
James sighs, "our crowning achievement."
And Sirius croons, "our baby."
"And we'll never even get to use it," says Remus, despairingly.
They have less than a week left at Hogwarts, and Sirius Black is still unobtainable, still impossible to capture and hold—he is like water, slipping through his hands.
The Last Laugh
The train rattles and pistons churn, and to Remus, at least, they drum along with the sound of the time that ticks by, each second coming closer to the moment when the days of the Marauders shall end. They assure themselves that they will see each other, as much as they like, that nothing will truly change, but none of them really believe it. It can't ever be the way it was before.
They are all out of time.
"Moony, let's get out of here."
He is grateful for it; he can't stand another moment of James and Lily and Peter bringing up fond memories of things that are all over now. He exits with Sirius and they travel down the corridor.
Twice, Sirius seems like he'd like to say something, but he doesn't say a word until they arrive at the end of the train, where they realize that they have nowhere else to go other than back the way they came. Remus starts to turn, but Sirius catches his sleeve.
"Moony," he says, hesitating slightly. "I should kiss you. Properly."
"A-alright," agrees Remus, and Sirius touches his cheek, looking uncertain. He's never kissed him sober before, and Remus shivers when Sirius comes close enough that he can feel his lashes blinking against his cheek.
"I'm really going to," Sirius whispers firmly, more to himself than anyone, and he does it. It is an oddly satisfying kiss, better than Remus had hoped for, even though it's both awkward and a little painful at first, with elbows colliding and teeth clacking. But it's good, desperate and exciting. Unyielding.
"Ow."
"Shut up."
Remus doesn't dare explain to himself how this happened or when it even began or why this feels so good, but he just knows that it does, he just knows that everything is right. When he clumsily weaves his fingers into Sirius' hair, he gasps and thinks to himself, yes. This is it.
Sirius pulls away, and for a few moments they allow themselves silence and room to breathe. Remus thinks that he's going to fall down, but Sirius has got him by the waist, and he's strong enough to hold him there.
"That was—"
Sirius neither meets his gaze nor looks away, but Remus can see that his eyes are bright and dilated. His chest heaves. He laughs shakily.
"That was… that felt—it was brilliant. Wasn't it?"
Remus nods feverishly and—because he doesn't know what else to do with them—he puts his hands on Sirius' shoulders. He still can't catch his breath, nor shake off the numbness in his brain. He doesn't see this as a bad thing, necessarily.
It's so stupid, Remus thinks.
We're so stupid, he amends.
"I think I get it." Sirius is trembling, but he smiles beautifully. "I think I finally get it."
Remus says, a little hysterically, "took you long enough."
Sirius is laughing again as he pulls open the door to an empty compartment and throws him onto one of the seats.
end.