(no subject)
Title: Epiphany
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Sirius/Remus
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Subtle blasphemy. "Cute."
A/N: Written for the public transporation challenge at contrelamontre. Also, Shad can go get fucked. And I mean that in the nicest way possible.
It'll probably happen that the reality of the situation-the unreality, rather-will come back to him later and he'll wonder if he dreamed it. The Knight Bus will lurch around tight corners and they'll grip their respective headboards so as not to find themselves facedown on the filthy floor, and he'll remember it as strangely sublime. The inlaid candles will continue to burn with an underwater glow, and Sirius will talk about nothing, and the woman in the opposite aisle, two beds down, will pretend not to be listening to every word they speak. And the ungodly hour will play into it, too-half past two. ("Happy Christmas," Sirius had said the second his watch struck midnight.)
"When did you get my owl?" he asks now.
"Around eleven, I think." He had not immediately recognized it as Sirius', but the spindly handwriting in the note the owl carried gave itself away immediately. Lucky, too, because the note (citing Sirius' exact location and the command Come as soon as you can, if you can) was unsigned. "But I had to wait forever to leave. My parents take ages to get to bed," he concludes.
"S'okay," Sirius says.
The long-suffering conductor, Laurence, trudges up the staircase then with a steaming mug in each hand. "Hot chocolate," he says gruffly. "Special Christmas rate. Drink up." He dispatches the mugs with little ceremony and takes a cursory walk around the floor, presumably checking that his passengers are still alive.
"Dear God, that is the most depressing thing I've ever heard," Remus says when he's gone.
"What?"
"The special cocoa rate. Don't you think?"
"I think it's funny. The whole season." Sirius gingerly takes a sip. "This is horrible."
"What's so funny about it?"
"Everything," Sirius says. "Fellow performs advanced charms on Muggles and they still piss themselves over him two thousand years later. What's not funny about it?"
"That's not funny, it's cruel. That's why we have laws against it now." Remus sniffs the hot chocolate. "It looks like mud."
"Tastes like it too."
They sit in silence for minutes with Sirius discreetly emptying his mug, ounce by ounce, onto the floor underneath the bed, despite Remus' warning glances. He seems unusually restless with a hectic sheen in his eyes, and even sitting perfectly still he seems to shake with mirth. "I didn't tell you something, before," Sirius announces. "But I'll tell you now."
"What?"
"I left."
Nothing more, but Remus understands the full meaning of these words. "For good?" he asks.
"Yeah," Sirius says. "Yeah, for good."
"Why? What happened?"
"Nothing!" Sirius breaks then, and laughs, smothering it under a hand before sobering. "Nothing happened at all. We'd all gone to our rooms after dinner and I was just...I just knew. Packed my bags, wrote you the note, snuck out the window, nearly fell to my death, and I left."
"Why'd you ask me here?" Remus asks cautiously. "Where are we going?"
"Well." He's reticent, and digs at the battered quilt spilling stuffing on his lumpy bed. "All right, I'm actually going to James', now."
Remus gapes. "What am I supposed to do?"
Sirius shrugs. "I guess...I guess you could come too?"
"I can't!" he hisses. "What do you think this is? I could barely come meet you here, I mean, it's Christmas, are you insane? I've got to get back home as soon as possible. What'd you need an escort for?"
"You keep good company. No, really." Completely straight faced. "And yeah, I guess that might not be the best of reasons but I told you, remember? Before we got on. I said I just wanted to go for a ride, and you could've said no. I said it wasn't imperative or anything, didn't I? I said that, on a scale of importance, from one to ten, this ranked at about-"
"I remember," Remus says. "Oh, God. I'm fucked. I'm so fucked. I thought you needed me here, I'd've had an excuse."
"I'm sorry."
"Yes, well."
Twenty miles of silence, and then the bed shifts slightly under Sirius' added weight.
"That woman in the pink nightcap is staring at us again," Sirius whispers. Peace offering. "I can't imagine why."
Remus half shrugs, indifferent.
"I lied. So, uh, I did ask you here for a reason."
"Which is?"
Sirius laughs nervously. "Well, it's not exactly the sort of thing you can just say right out, you know. I mean, that's one hell of a spot you're putting me in. Well, okay, not you, but you know what I mean, right?"
"No, I don't now know what you mean. You know?" Remus says mockingly. No, he does not want to make this easy for Sirius, newly declared orphan or not. His fragile emotional state can go fuck itself.
"The thing is..." Sirius pauses. "Oh, screw it."
Warm, Remus thinks, and the only other thing he's really aware of is the strain in his neck because it's hard to kiss at this angle, and from now on every neck ache he gets will be positive bliss. Sirius cups his jaw and he kisses back in earnest. Tender and not, definitely not the pillowy chaste kisses he's had with Gryffindor and (he might as well admit it) Hufflepuff girls. But only seconds later they hear the same heavy footsteps again and separate audibly.
Laurence the Mood-Killer says they've reached Sirius' stop.
"So," Sirius says, all business. "That was what I wanted to, ah, say. I thought it seemed...important. That I tell you. Now," he adds, slightly lame.
"Right." Remus remembers something. "You said four."
"I said what?"
"You said it was a four on a scale from one to ten."
"Oh. Well, that was a lie too. It was at least an eight."
Laurence the Despicable Sneak is looking at them funny.
Later, while surveying the passengers, Remus came to the stunning conclusion that he was one of them now, not some wannabe kid rebel breaking curfew. He was one of them, with an actual destination, even if that destination was two furious parents and the possible denial of holiday festivities. At that point he usually dreamt up elaborate yet credible alibis, but he decided to take a nap instead.
The last thing he remembered before drifting off was the old woman in pink winking at him.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Sirius/Remus
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Subtle blasphemy. "Cute."
A/N: Written for the public transporation challenge at contrelamontre. Also, Shad can go get fucked. And I mean that in the nicest way possible.
It'll probably happen that the reality of the situation-the unreality, rather-will come back to him later and he'll wonder if he dreamed it. The Knight Bus will lurch around tight corners and they'll grip their respective headboards so as not to find themselves facedown on the filthy floor, and he'll remember it as strangely sublime. The inlaid candles will continue to burn with an underwater glow, and Sirius will talk about nothing, and the woman in the opposite aisle, two beds down, will pretend not to be listening to every word they speak. And the ungodly hour will play into it, too-half past two. ("Happy Christmas," Sirius had said the second his watch struck midnight.)
"When did you get my owl?" he asks now.
"Around eleven, I think." He had not immediately recognized it as Sirius', but the spindly handwriting in the note the owl carried gave itself away immediately. Lucky, too, because the note (citing Sirius' exact location and the command Come as soon as you can, if you can) was unsigned. "But I had to wait forever to leave. My parents take ages to get to bed," he concludes.
"S'okay," Sirius says.
The long-suffering conductor, Laurence, trudges up the staircase then with a steaming mug in each hand. "Hot chocolate," he says gruffly. "Special Christmas rate. Drink up." He dispatches the mugs with little ceremony and takes a cursory walk around the floor, presumably checking that his passengers are still alive.
"Dear God, that is the most depressing thing I've ever heard," Remus says when he's gone.
"What?"
"The special cocoa rate. Don't you think?"
"I think it's funny. The whole season." Sirius gingerly takes a sip. "This is horrible."
"What's so funny about it?"
"Everything," Sirius says. "Fellow performs advanced charms on Muggles and they still piss themselves over him two thousand years later. What's not funny about it?"
"That's not funny, it's cruel. That's why we have laws against it now." Remus sniffs the hot chocolate. "It looks like mud."
"Tastes like it too."
They sit in silence for minutes with Sirius discreetly emptying his mug, ounce by ounce, onto the floor underneath the bed, despite Remus' warning glances. He seems unusually restless with a hectic sheen in his eyes, and even sitting perfectly still he seems to shake with mirth. "I didn't tell you something, before," Sirius announces. "But I'll tell you now."
"What?"
"I left."
Nothing more, but Remus understands the full meaning of these words. "For good?" he asks.
"Yeah," Sirius says. "Yeah, for good."
"Why? What happened?"
"Nothing!" Sirius breaks then, and laughs, smothering it under a hand before sobering. "Nothing happened at all. We'd all gone to our rooms after dinner and I was just...I just knew. Packed my bags, wrote you the note, snuck out the window, nearly fell to my death, and I left."
"Why'd you ask me here?" Remus asks cautiously. "Where are we going?"
"Well." He's reticent, and digs at the battered quilt spilling stuffing on his lumpy bed. "All right, I'm actually going to James', now."
Remus gapes. "What am I supposed to do?"
Sirius shrugs. "I guess...I guess you could come too?"
"I can't!" he hisses. "What do you think this is? I could barely come meet you here, I mean, it's Christmas, are you insane? I've got to get back home as soon as possible. What'd you need an escort for?"
"You keep good company. No, really." Completely straight faced. "And yeah, I guess that might not be the best of reasons but I told you, remember? Before we got on. I said I just wanted to go for a ride, and you could've said no. I said it wasn't imperative or anything, didn't I? I said that, on a scale of importance, from one to ten, this ranked at about-"
"I remember," Remus says. "Oh, God. I'm fucked. I'm so fucked. I thought you needed me here, I'd've had an excuse."
"I'm sorry."
"Yes, well."
Twenty miles of silence, and then the bed shifts slightly under Sirius' added weight.
"That woman in the pink nightcap is staring at us again," Sirius whispers. Peace offering. "I can't imagine why."
Remus half shrugs, indifferent.
"I lied. So, uh, I did ask you here for a reason."
"Which is?"
Sirius laughs nervously. "Well, it's not exactly the sort of thing you can just say right out, you know. I mean, that's one hell of a spot you're putting me in. Well, okay, not you, but you know what I mean, right?"
"No, I don't now know what you mean. You know?" Remus says mockingly. No, he does not want to make this easy for Sirius, newly declared orphan or not. His fragile emotional state can go fuck itself.
"The thing is..." Sirius pauses. "Oh, screw it."
Warm, Remus thinks, and the only other thing he's really aware of is the strain in his neck because it's hard to kiss at this angle, and from now on every neck ache he gets will be positive bliss. Sirius cups his jaw and he kisses back in earnest. Tender and not, definitely not the pillowy chaste kisses he's had with Gryffindor and (he might as well admit it) Hufflepuff girls. But only seconds later they hear the same heavy footsteps again and separate audibly.
Laurence the Mood-Killer says they've reached Sirius' stop.
"So," Sirius says, all business. "That was what I wanted to, ah, say. I thought it seemed...important. That I tell you. Now," he adds, slightly lame.
"Right." Remus remembers something. "You said four."
"I said what?"
"You said it was a four on a scale from one to ten."
"Oh. Well, that was a lie too. It was at least an eight."
Laurence the Despicable Sneak is looking at them funny.
Later, while surveying the passengers, Remus came to the stunning conclusion that he was one of them now, not some wannabe kid rebel breaking curfew. He was one of them, with an actual destination, even if that destination was two furious parents and the possible denial of holiday festivities. At that point he usually dreamt up elaborate yet credible alibis, but he decided to take a nap instead.
The last thing he remembered before drifting off was the old woman in pink winking at him.