Written for QLFC Season 5, Final Round 1
Team: Wigtown Wanderers
Position: Beater 2
Prompt: Set story in Horizont Alley
Additional Prompts: 4. (word) obsession, 14. (quote) 'Money is the root of all money.' ~ Unknown
Words: 1490
Thanks to Aya and Lynne for betaing!
"Now, what's a clean-cut guy like you doing in a place like this?"
The man's voice is silky smooth, though he's obviously putting on a show, because Remus can hear the roughness—either from smoking or frequent yelling—behind it. He raises an eyebrow at the bartender who's spoken.
"A place like this?" Trying not to draw attention to himself, Remus makes a small show of looking around. "It's not the Leaky Cauldron, I'll grant you, but this is hardly the Hog's Head. There's barely anyone here."
The bartender sighs. He's been leaning on the bar, and now leans in further so they're barely apart. "Alright, so it's a hovel. But how old are you, twenty? Nah, it's the cardigan… twenty-four?" At Remus's nod, he continues: "It's not like we're crawling with customers, as you've so nicely pointed out earlier. All the strapping young men like yourself have something better to do at this hour."
"You're here," Remus points out; the man seems to be about his age. "And I don't mean to be rude, but don't you have something better to do than talk to me? As you said, all the other young men are having fun, and there's a reason I'm here away from it all."
The bartender nods understandingly. He's not laughing, nor hiding his mirth, but looking at Remus with serious grey eyes. "Give me a yell if you need me, then, for reasonable Firewhisky refills."
Remus nods. "Thanks."
"Not a problem." The bartender steps away from him with a gentle smile, and, before turning away, grins. "I'm Sirius."
Remus stares after him, too stunned to say his own name back. With his shabby robes, worn cardigan, and scarred face, he's not used to such introduction—though Sirius is just being friendly, Remus knows himself to be a very lonely and very gay werewolf. He downs his shot of Firewhisky and resolutely says nothing but "Thanks" when Sirius comes to refill his glass.
He's not used to actual Firewhisky, either. He can't usually afford it, but he considers himself to be miserable enough to have earned it. Just the two shots, though. Anymore and he won't be able to pay for another week at the Leaky Cauldron—everyone's loud and happy there, and he can't stand it, but it's a roof over his head now that his old one's gone.
He covers the top of the glass; wanting it to last.
Remus screws up a fist with his right hand, the hand that's not on the glass. He wants to yell. To rage. To cry, almost, for the unfairness of it all.
He should be able to afford more than two drinks, for Merlin's sake! He should have somewhere to live. He should have a job. He's a damn good wizard, he knows, despite being homeschooled—he's good enough to teach at Hogwarts. He was good enough.
"You alright?"
The voice startles him.
Remus opens his eyes, surprised to do so; they're slightly wet, he's surprised to feel, and his hand is sweaty when he unclenches it.
Remus blinks. Swallows. Clears his throat. Blinks again. "Yes, I… I think so."
"Refill?" Sirius asks. "You knocked it over."
Remus stares at the glass, which is lying on its side. He didn't notice it fall over, just like he didn't notice his eyes close. His hand is shaking. Money, gone. Someone called it an obsession once—his counting of money—but it's not. It's a necessity.
"No, thanks," Remus says. He licks his lips. "Thanks."
"Yeah."
Sirius keeps their eye contact. His voice isn't smooth now, but rough, just as Remus suspected it was. Rough from yelling, he decides, noting the Muggle band shirt he's wearing.
"Are you Muggleborn?" he asks.
Sirius laughs. "No. Not even half-blood. Not that I'm prejudiced!" he adds quickly, then proudly states: "I'm disowned. Parents are horrible, see, and I've got no patience for that sort of bullshit—you're not one of those, are you?"
"Half-blood," Remus says. "And not at all; I was just admiring your shirt."
"Ah." Sirius looks down happily. "Good band, right?"
"Right." He's not a fan, exactly, but he loves the songs' rage: he needs to listen to it to drown out his own rage.
"So why the question—" Sirius suddenly frowns. "Huh. Forgot I don't know your name. Anyway: why the question?"
"Remus."
"What?"
"My name."
"Oh. Nice to meet you, Remus." Sirius drags a chair over and sits down on the other side of the bar; the Fountain of Fair Fortune is nearly empty, and his attention, Remus can see, is required nowhere else. "So why the question?"
"I'm…" Remus takes a deep breath. He can't hold on any longer, and he has no one to talk to—Sirius is friendly and willing, and Remus opens his mouth and can't stop the torrent of words that spills out. "I was thinking of moving to the Muggle world. It's cheaper, and I can't get a job here that I can keep, so I was thinking that maybe it could work out. Meet a Muggle, settle down, you know: no one needs to know that I spend more time unemployed than I do employed. 'Money's the root of all money,' as they say, and—"
"Who?"
"Pardon?"
"Who says?"
"I… I don't know. Someone does." Remus shrugs. "But it's true, you can't get a job unless you've got money already, or prestige, or something to say for yourself other than 'I'm a fucking gay werewolf, I—'"
Remus feels his breath stutter to a halt. His ears are ringing. Sirius—nice, smiling, pretty Sirius, who listened and even slightly cared—that Sirius is staring at him in shock. In disgust. Remus can't bear to look back at him, can't bear to see his eyes: he knows that look. He knows: Sirius will throw him out. He'll never be allowed in the Fountain of Fair Fortune again, and word will spread to the Leaky Cauldron, and he won't have anywhere to go.
"What happened?"
"I can show myself out." Remus shakily stands; he can't believe himself.
"I said 'What happened?' not 'Get out,'" Sirius says. "Come on. I can't make you stay, or anything, if you've got to go, but I don't care. Stay? There's a shot in it for you, if you want."
"I've had enough for tonight, but thanks." Tentatively, Remus approaches the bar. He eyes the pub's back corner, where a group of warlocks, the only patrons other than himself, are huddled around a table. "Did they—"
"No."
"Right."
He's still tense, but less so, and the welcoming look of Sirius's face coaxes his lips into a grin.
"So what happened?"
"When I lost all self-control and bared my life to you, or what made me do it?"
"Both, if you're offering." Sirius's hands inch over the top of the bar to Remus's, as if he's not a werewolf at all. "Neither, if you don't want to share. My mate James—best mate, actually—when I was disowned, he was there for me. All the time. Didn't care about what happened, just wanted to help. Did everything he could. I think you'd like him."
Remus's lips quirk up, and a laugh bubbles out. "Thanks."
"Anytime."
Another laugh; only two, yet Remus can't remember the last time he felt so alright. "You waste no time."
"With flirting? None at all." Sirius grins conspiratorially. "You're not the only queer around here. And story or no story, I like you. Sexy cardigan, nice eyes, secretly a werewolf… what's not to like? Not to mention your voice! You can either lecture or operate a phone sex line—"
"I'll stick to the lecturing!" Remus laughed again. Sirius is a joker, that much is obvious; he was probably one while at Hogwarts, too—him and his mate James; more than ever, Remus wishes Headmaster Dippet allowed him to attend.
"You a teacher, then?"
"Was a teacher, yes." Remus nods. "Not a teacher as of yesterday. Word got to some of the students that I'm… well… Headmaster Dippet was forced to sack me. One week into term. Bloody—ugh. Nothing new with him."
Sirius tilts his head curiously like a dog. "He's the reason you never went to Hogwarts?"
He thought that, being older now, Dippet would accept him—and he did—until the perfect opportunity presented itself. Remus sighs. "Yeah."
"Never liked him." Sirius nods in a self-satisfied manner. "James didn't either. You can meet him tonight, I'm visiting after my shift. He'll love you. Lily—that's his wife—will, too."
Remus, slightly dazed, can only nod. He can tell, somehow, that Sirius is the real deal—that under his boisterous exterior and Muggle punk shirt, he's open and caring, and not kidding at all. He doesn't care—doesn't give a fuck!—that Remus is a werewolf.
It's shaping up to be an interesting night, wherever it may end.