A Literal Scrapbook

by Claire Whitmore

A scrapbook is messy, it's full of everything, an essence of what was. It has the smiles, the sadness and the moments when you laugh for no good reason and just want to be with someone loved. This is the Marauder's scrapbook, literally. It's a big bundle of warm fuzzy blankets, cheap wine and the comic section of the paper on a rainy day, just in the form of drabbles. R/S and J/L

37. Coat

"I've told y-you for the t-twelfth time, I'm not cold." Protested Remus in between his chattering teeth to his ever persistent boyfriend.

"Your lips are blue, just take my coat." He insisted with best interests at heart so his Remus didn't turn into an icicle in ten minutes. Hogsmeade was cold around Christmas, how come Remus didn't remember that? "Please." He added as an afterthought.

"Then you will be cold." Rationalized Remus.

"Touché."

"You don't even know what that means." Remus rolled his eyes.

"I do... not, but I'm sharp enough to know that you know what it means."

"So you're not just a pretty face." Teased Remus.

"You're flirting on your frosty deathbed."

"As are you."

"Engorgio." Muttered Sirius, pointing his wand at his coat, doubling its size. He slipped one of his arms out of its sleeve and (clumsily) put half of his own coat on his werewolf boyfriend. " A compromise." He smiled.