Title: Set
Author: trickssi
Pairing: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Warnings: None this time.
Dedication: To my wonderful Remus. This is written for the fourth anniversary of her living in a different state. It's also for any lonely hearts out there because it really sucks to be on the outside, ne? Okay. Read, you!
Set
Fifth-year Remus J. Lupin collected things. Openly among his collection were quills, books, and random muggle objects. He received a pocket watch last Christmas from his father, who had received it from his own father by tradition of the family. But he never looked at it; he kept time stuffed in a box in the corner of his closet. The books on his shelf were not philosophical suggestions, and he liked to make sure no ounce of existentialism hit the dusty mahogany. As far as quills, he almost had a rainbow—purple, dull burgundies, greens, white plucked from Lily's owl. It seemed he only lacked normal tints, like brown and grey. He wanted so badly a new raven's feather to replace the cracked one he used so often. Perhaps he'd ask for it on his birthday, or on some other menial celebratory date.
These possessions were characteristic of an aesthete boy of any particular era. They were normal. Maybe The Picture of Dorian Grey, A Separate Peace, and Shakespeare's sonnets were odd additions, but magic folk knew nothing of them anyway.
If one were to open the bottom drawer of Remus J. Lupin's armoire at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, one would find a much rarer collection than the aforementioned. This is where he hid his most treasured belongings. Behind the parchment supplies on the right side, behind his beloved stash of quills, even. He figured anybody daft enough to get on his knees to view the drawer's contents wouldn't bother to get past the bottles of ink. It was clever to hide them in plain sight, knowing his oblivious mates wouldn't search for secrets in the parchment drawer. Because, you see, buried beneath the mess were his five treasures.
One. It was a green leather-bound journal sans lines. Inside, Remus, when he could, poured his efforts into free verse with a BIC ballpoint pen (he liked the texture of the page after he'd covered both sides; something of satisfaction). He tried to trace his creativity through the moon phases. But most of it ended up being poetry concerning or alluding to or for Sirius Black, against Remus's will. Flourish of handpicked adjectives in hopes that his heart wouldn't hurt too much after writing words that nobody would see. Actually, he thought about leaving one of his six sonnets in the library under a stolen nom de plume. That would provide anonymity, but Sirius might see it…
Not that he would care. Sirius wasn't the type to scour poetry, especially the soppy, rhymed kind. Surely anything he'd say would be deprecating to the author. Then again, masochism was bearable in comparison. One day, he thought. One day he'll show Sirius some of his tamer poetry and tell the truth.
Two. Wrapper from some box of Ice Mice he'd eaten when he and Sirius first went to Hogsmeade. Peter stayed behind to study that day and James had wandered off in search of the new flavor of Bertie Bott's. Sirius was intent on having his Ice Mice, however. As was his policy, he asked Remus if he cared for some, too; which he did, because he was famished. Sirius wouldn't let him pay for it—"Come on, Moons. It's just one sweet. Lemme get it." Remus wouldn't give up without a fight for the bill. But, oh, well. The candy became a gift as Sirius searched for the proper funds in his wallet. So, it was kept like a gift, box and all, which Remus would save until the label completely wore away.
Three. "Remus—" Sloppy handwriting with hooked g's. "Is there something wrong with you lately? Family members don't usually die spaced a month apart. I mean, if that's what's really happening, I'm terribly sorry, but I have a hunch it's more than that.
"Are you… How can I ask this. Tell me, Remus, are you a werewolf? It's okay to say so. By all means, please. I kind of figured it out a while ago. I always thought you looked a little pale from time to time. But that's just me—I'm sure nobody else cared to notice. I won't tell James or Pete.
"This doesn't change anything, I hope you know. We're still mates, right? So… I wanted to know if I can help. If living with lycanthropy is half as humiliating as having to live with my mother, I fully understand how you feel.
"Listen, if you ever want to talk about it or you need protection when you're at the Shack, I'm your man. I mean, I swear on Merlin's beard I won't tell a soul or fuss about it. 'Cause, you're like a brother to me. I don't want you to feel left out. Hey, write me when you get this.
"Sincerely—Sirius."
The creases were soft from constant folding, and more than a few of the lines had ink etchings around them. Remus's script added to Sirius's loops; doodles or half-formed thoughts, kind of how he felt when he thought about the letter. No matter the situation of the day, he could return to his drawer and read the real words of Sirius, each time unlocking some desperate hope for affection. But only sometimes did he even bother to take it out. Only when there was a fight or when he felt lonely after a full moon. He wasn't—that sappy. Honestly, now. But would Sirius ever say his real words to his face? Ah… not exactly.
And number Four. Remus was smart enough to observe Sirius's routine for showering, and noticed that he often left his shampoo unattended. He emptied a travel-sized bottle of his own boring solution, and one day, filled it with some of Sirius's. It smelled sweet, but something stinging, too. Promised to make his hair "shiny" and "rejuvenated," sure. Who cared? It was the most invigorating smell. In the summer when Remus went to his parents' house, he'd bring the bottle and wash his hair once or twice with it. Every toss of his head evoked a unique scent memory. He was engulfed in Sirius again.
Sometimes he was convinced he could detect the scent on a passing student. It was a mildly common shampoo for the time. That was good because it was enjoying Sirius guiltlessly; it was bad—well, disadvantageous—because Sirius was not actually there, and he clung to a memory that faded in and out with the breeze.
In about a month he'll have to refill it.
Five at last. Five, the glorious crown jewel of his hopeful collection. James borrowed a camera from a friend of his, one that instantly printed a picture of its subjects. They had been hanging around the Whomping Willow that day to avoid studying for a Potions exam. Though, of course, Remus had brought his notes anyway for when the fun of the camera ended. Which it didn't.
Peter had swapped the camera as James offered to make a ridiculous face. In a flash, the moment was captured, and the four of them stooped over Peter's shoulder to see James's face in constant silly motion. They chucked that one to the side. Then, James asked Peter if he would take a picture of Sirius, Remus, and him. That particular photograph was later given to Peter on his birthday in a card. With all but one photo wasted on their boyish games, the four of them gave up the camera and laid on the grass to look at the sky. White squares of scenery littered the area.
Then at some point, Remus got up to fetch his notes. He didn't see, but Sirius leaned over to James and said, "Hold on. Get the camera. I've a brilliant idea…" In a moment, James was pressing the button, and Sirius ran and tackled Remus.
The photo now had yellowed edges and dulled colors. However, it still shows Sirius smiling and laughing as he knocks an unsuspecting Remus to the ground. After that, he smiles at Remus with an unbroken gaze. There's playfulness in his grey irises, but something else barely perceptible. Sirius blamed James's shaky hand. It was—well, it was something Remus liked to think of as one of those flirtatious glances. He liked to pretend that Sirius fell in love with him at that moment (no pun intended). Most of the time, he kept this photo underneath his pillow so he could have happy dreams.
It wasn't impressive, but Remus's horde was the most important thing in his young life. It kept him hoping past all of those lonely, abusive full moons that something or someone could save him from himself. That someone could care for him as he cared for them. That it would be Sirius.
Until he knew for sure, he only had his collection of things to love him back.
Thanks for reading. Kind of depressing, I know. I blame it on the pairing! (j/k, OTP, you should know). Please leave me a nice comment so I'm not bored when I'm dragged to the school library.
