Fic: This lovely land is you and yours for laroseminuit
Title: This lovely land is you and yours
Author/Artist: lyras
Recipient: laroseminuit
Rating: PG-13
Contents or warnings (highlight to view): * None*
Word count: 1,800 words
Summary: Through school, war, Azkaban and beyond, Remus and Sirius manage to spend Christmas together.
Notes: Dear laroseminuit, happy holidays, and I hope you enjoy this! As per your requests, this one ends up as an "everyone-is-randomly-alive" AU. Thank you to onehundredmoons for beta-reading.
At school following mild cases of dragon pox, Remus and Sirius spend their first Christmas together. It's not the first time Sirius has been away from home at this time of year; last December he went to the Potters', and vowed he'd never waste another holiday at home. But waking in the dormitory with Remus and nobody else sets a different tone for the festivities: they are a couple, not a foursome, whether opening presents and laughing over Lily's influence on James's gifts, pulling crackers at lunch or charming mistletoe to follow McGonagall like a lost lamb.
She refuses all Sirius's kisses, but after lunch she reverses the charm so that the mistletoe follows him. "Since you seem so desperate, Mr Black," she remarks as Remus laughs himself silly.
He doesn't mind. It's good to see Remus laughing again; good to see the sombreness leave his eyes for the first time since he almost killed Snape.
Since I almost killed Snape, he corrects himself. He will not blame Remus for a deed that was entirely his own.
Enough of that. It's Christmas, and they are free. Remus jostles him outside the Fat Lady's portrait, carefree and happy, his long limbs so tempting under those school robes.
They would have done it sooner or later. It's not as if he hasn't watched Remus watching him recently. It's not as if he hasn't found every excuse to touch him. But this Christmas, with its privacy and time out of life, seems like a gift of its own making.
So it makes perfect sense when, as they prepare for bed, Sirius looks up at the mistletoe, grabs Remus, and kisses him. Remus's lips are surprisingly soft, but the arm that slides around Sirius's back is strong, and as they pull away to stare at each other, Sirius knows that he has been indelibly changed by this.
Christmas will never be the same again.
***
Although it sometimes feels as if his whole life has been a war, Remus always thinks of the first year after school as the War Year. It's such a shock, although he volunteered for it, to find himself duelling to the death; to enter a house and find its occupants dead; to know the terror of finding the Dark Mark over the home of a friend. He turns inward, and perhaps, he realises later, he should not be surprised that Sirius does likewise.
They spend Christmas on a beach in Sydney, Sirius having blown what's left of his uncle's money on the plane tickets. They deserve a proper holiday, he says, without scrambling across Europe via Apparition.
Remus doesn't know where he gets his ideas from. There's a war on. More to the point, there's another war, undeclared between them but ever-present, driving them farther apart however much money Sirius throws at it, and however fervently they hold each other like drowning men in the dark. The trust that once bound them together has eroded, leaving them islanded with a sea of guilt in between.
Still. They find a grassy bowl behind one of the quieter beaches, with a kind of permanent stove installed. They eat grilled sausages for Christmas lunch, washed down with some weak Australian lager. They swim in the ocean, and Sirius's shoulders peel in the sun, and they play at being tourists. Let's be lovers, not fighters, Sirius says with a smirk.
They can work things out. Or at least, he hopes they can after a few cold beers, with Sirius's arm around his shoulders and the sun-warmed grass at his back.
***
It's December by the time the shock wears off, leaving Sirius prostrate on what passes for a bed in Azkaban. Once he understands, he wishes he could retreat into madness again, but it's too late. He can't unknow what has happened. He can't bring James and Lily back to life, or resurrect Remus's love for him.
The Dementors gather around him, absorbing every happy memory that he offers up in lieu of a Patronus. He is naked, despairing, agonisingly alone.
"Merry Christmas," Remus says gently, and kisses his forehead.
"Moony." Sirius reaches for him, but no one is there. Only a moonbeam arcing onto the stone wall, holding off the darkness.
***
Remus is halfway along the path above Hogsmeade, cloak pulled tight against the wind, when a dark shape emerges from the hillside. He might have known that Padfoot would smell him.
He checks the path carefully before proceeding. This is meant to be a gift for Sirius, not a betrayal of his whereabouts.
The dog bounds down the slope and Remus bends to greet it, grateful for this wordless first meeting. It's easier to rub the black ears and embrace the dog than it is to face Sirius, much as he longs for him. This is not the way he would have liked to meet.
When Sirius transforms, he is thinner than he used to be; a nearby scatter of bones attests to his meagre food supply. His hair straggles across his shoulders and his features are pinched, as if he's spent too much time clenched against the cold.
"Merry Christmas," Remus says, and pulls out the lager.
Sirius raises his eyebrows, but there's no telling whether he remembers the last time they drank this particular brand together. Details like that have slipped under the Dementors' cloaks along with Sirius's happiness.
"Merry Christmas, Moony." He takes a swig and shivers. Not exactly the ideal drink out on this hillside.
Remus reaches into the bag once more, bringing out the little propane heater. "You can start it without a wand," he says, demonstrating. "It's a Muggle thing."
Sirius dips his face close and looks up, his pallid skin warmed in the light. "Perfect," he says. "Thank you."
The heartfelt tone wrings Remus's heart. "I wish I could take you back with me," he says, and Sirius shakes his head.
"They'll be watching you. Anyway, I have to stay close to Harry, in case he needs me."
I need you. He doesn't say it. "You've got a lot of godfathering to make up for." He tries to smile, but Sirius's answering nod is serious.
"I do."
They swap news over lunch, mainly about Harry. Remus has brought half a turkey, some overcooked vegetables, home-made stuffing and pigs in blankets. He forgot the cranberry sauce but Sirius doesn't seem to mind; he falls on the feast like a starved prisoner -- which, Remus supposes, isn't so far from the truth.
"Thanks," he says when everything's gone. His eyes drift to the bones. "There's a good stream up yonder for a bathroom, but the food in this place is awful."
Remus doesn't laugh. When Sirius reaches out, they hold each other for as long as they can.
***
They wait for the others to go to bed, smiling at each other between social niceties. Sirius is still a little delirious at Harry's presence, even if it means entertaining the Weasleys, as well. That's a price he'll gladly pay.
This evening, as the others chatted around the tree, trying out their various gifts, a new feeling has grown inside him. It's been so long that he took a while to recognise it as arousal, plain and simple. Of course, he's felt it plenty of times in the past few months; most of his pleasure these days comes from time with Remus. But that stems from external inducements: Remus's lanky body, his wiry arms and warm mouth.
This time, it arises from his own happiness.
Remus senses that something's up; the glances he sends Sirius's way are by turns quizzical and smouldering. Sirius's heart beats faster, and he forgets to laugh when Harry says something droll. It's all right; Harry doesn't notice. Remus does, though.
Finally, they are alone in his childhood bedroom; finally, he can unwrap Remus's clothes and touch his lips to the flesh underneath. Finally, they have each other. Harry's presence has been an unexpected pleasure, but it is Remus who holds him steady: Remus with whom his life rests.
"You're my home, Moony," he murmurs between one kiss and the next. "I don't care where I am if I've got you."
For a moment, Grimmauld Place be damned, it is true.
***
Sirius is in his element, handing out gifts with grand gestures and a joke for everyone. Remus leans back in his armchair, smiling.
Teddy's voice grows ever-higher as he dashes between his own pile of presents and everyone else's wrappings, unsure which to be more excited about. It's good to be around children at Christmas, Remus thinks.
Dora is curled up on the sofa, her hand in Emmeline's, but her eyes never stray far from Teddy. She catches Remus's gaze and smiles.
The war feels far away today. And although Remus's war with his own body will probably never end, he is reaching a modicum of peace with the world. It helps to know that Teddy hasn't inherited his own little problem; that the curse stops with him. Instead, he has the more interesting metamorph magic to deal with, and Dora to help with that.
At a table in the corner, Ted is opening a bottle of bubbly while Andromeda leans away, anticipating an explosion. They have been kind to him since his split from Dora, but he knows they're relieved. Who wants a werewolf living with your daughter and grandchild?
He sips his tea and inspects the gadget that Teddy thrusts under his nose. "A spaceship -- wow!" His eyes drift to Sirius, the person responsible for this gift.
"It goes woo! Waaaargh! Kiiiiillll!" Teddy rushes away, firing the spaceship at Harry, who collapses dramatically onto the carpet.
It's good to see Harry clowning like this -- almost as good as it has been to watch Sirius's shoulders straighten, his body fill out, and his air of gloom lift. They've both seen too much darkness to ever really recover, but on the good days, in the bright moments, they forget more easily than he could have imagined.
Ted is sending sparkling glasses whizzing over everyone's heads; Remus plucks his out of the air and places it out of Teddy's reach.
"And what have we here?" Sirius is still delving behind the tree, ignoring the champagne flute hovering near his head. "Aha! 'Dear Remus, Merry Christmas from Santa.'"
Remus raises his eyebrows. Sirius does like to insist on this charade, and perhaps -- Teddy gasps in anticipation -- it's a good tradition.
The gift is spiky, already poking through the paper at several points. Remus unwraps it gingerly and holds up his prize: a sprig of mistletoe.
Sirius is on the arm of the chair suddenly, reaching for it. "I think maybe Santa got muddled up," he says. "I think that might be for me."
Remus shakes his head. "Come here."
The kiss is gentle, quick, but Sirius's eyes are like stars when he pulls away. "Merry Christmas, Moony," he murmurs, turning back to the tree.
Author/Artist: lyras
Recipient: laroseminuit
Rating: PG-13
Contents or warnings (highlight to view): * None*
Word count: 1,800 words
Summary: Through school, war, Azkaban and beyond, Remus and Sirius manage to spend Christmas together.
Notes: Dear laroseminuit, happy holidays, and I hope you enjoy this! As per your requests, this one ends up as an "everyone-is-randomly-alive" AU. Thank you to onehundredmoons for beta-reading.
At school following mild cases of dragon pox, Remus and Sirius spend their first Christmas together. It's not the first time Sirius has been away from home at this time of year; last December he went to the Potters', and vowed he'd never waste another holiday at home. But waking in the dormitory with Remus and nobody else sets a different tone for the festivities: they are a couple, not a foursome, whether opening presents and laughing over Lily's influence on James's gifts, pulling crackers at lunch or charming mistletoe to follow McGonagall like a lost lamb.
She refuses all Sirius's kisses, but after lunch she reverses the charm so that the mistletoe follows him. "Since you seem so desperate, Mr Black," she remarks as Remus laughs himself silly.
He doesn't mind. It's good to see Remus laughing again; good to see the sombreness leave his eyes for the first time since he almost killed Snape.
Since I almost killed Snape, he corrects himself. He will not blame Remus for a deed that was entirely his own.
Enough of that. It's Christmas, and they are free. Remus jostles him outside the Fat Lady's portrait, carefree and happy, his long limbs so tempting under those school robes.
They would have done it sooner or later. It's not as if he hasn't watched Remus watching him recently. It's not as if he hasn't found every excuse to touch him. But this Christmas, with its privacy and time out of life, seems like a gift of its own making.
So it makes perfect sense when, as they prepare for bed, Sirius looks up at the mistletoe, grabs Remus, and kisses him. Remus's lips are surprisingly soft, but the arm that slides around Sirius's back is strong, and as they pull away to stare at each other, Sirius knows that he has been indelibly changed by this.
Christmas will never be the same again.
***
Although it sometimes feels as if his whole life has been a war, Remus always thinks of the first year after school as the War Year. It's such a shock, although he volunteered for it, to find himself duelling to the death; to enter a house and find its occupants dead; to know the terror of finding the Dark Mark over the home of a friend. He turns inward, and perhaps, he realises later, he should not be surprised that Sirius does likewise.
They spend Christmas on a beach in Sydney, Sirius having blown what's left of his uncle's money on the plane tickets. They deserve a proper holiday, he says, without scrambling across Europe via Apparition.
Remus doesn't know where he gets his ideas from. There's a war on. More to the point, there's another war, undeclared between them but ever-present, driving them farther apart however much money Sirius throws at it, and however fervently they hold each other like drowning men in the dark. The trust that once bound them together has eroded, leaving them islanded with a sea of guilt in between.
Still. They find a grassy bowl behind one of the quieter beaches, with a kind of permanent stove installed. They eat grilled sausages for Christmas lunch, washed down with some weak Australian lager. They swim in the ocean, and Sirius's shoulders peel in the sun, and they play at being tourists. Let's be lovers, not fighters, Sirius says with a smirk.
They can work things out. Or at least, he hopes they can after a few cold beers, with Sirius's arm around his shoulders and the sun-warmed grass at his back.
***
It's December by the time the shock wears off, leaving Sirius prostrate on what passes for a bed in Azkaban. Once he understands, he wishes he could retreat into madness again, but it's too late. He can't unknow what has happened. He can't bring James and Lily back to life, or resurrect Remus's love for him.
The Dementors gather around him, absorbing every happy memory that he offers up in lieu of a Patronus. He is naked, despairing, agonisingly alone.
"Merry Christmas," Remus says gently, and kisses his forehead.
"Moony." Sirius reaches for him, but no one is there. Only a moonbeam arcing onto the stone wall, holding off the darkness.
***
Remus is halfway along the path above Hogsmeade, cloak pulled tight against the wind, when a dark shape emerges from the hillside. He might have known that Padfoot would smell him.
He checks the path carefully before proceeding. This is meant to be a gift for Sirius, not a betrayal of his whereabouts.
The dog bounds down the slope and Remus bends to greet it, grateful for this wordless first meeting. It's easier to rub the black ears and embrace the dog than it is to face Sirius, much as he longs for him. This is not the way he would have liked to meet.
When Sirius transforms, he is thinner than he used to be; a nearby scatter of bones attests to his meagre food supply. His hair straggles across his shoulders and his features are pinched, as if he's spent too much time clenched against the cold.
"Merry Christmas," Remus says, and pulls out the lager.
Sirius raises his eyebrows, but there's no telling whether he remembers the last time they drank this particular brand together. Details like that have slipped under the Dementors' cloaks along with Sirius's happiness.
"Merry Christmas, Moony." He takes a swig and shivers. Not exactly the ideal drink out on this hillside.
Remus reaches into the bag once more, bringing out the little propane heater. "You can start it without a wand," he says, demonstrating. "It's a Muggle thing."
Sirius dips his face close and looks up, his pallid skin warmed in the light. "Perfect," he says. "Thank you."
The heartfelt tone wrings Remus's heart. "I wish I could take you back with me," he says, and Sirius shakes his head.
"They'll be watching you. Anyway, I have to stay close to Harry, in case he needs me."
I need you. He doesn't say it. "You've got a lot of godfathering to make up for." He tries to smile, but Sirius's answering nod is serious.
"I do."
They swap news over lunch, mainly about Harry. Remus has brought half a turkey, some overcooked vegetables, home-made stuffing and pigs in blankets. He forgot the cranberry sauce but Sirius doesn't seem to mind; he falls on the feast like a starved prisoner -- which, Remus supposes, isn't so far from the truth.
"Thanks," he says when everything's gone. His eyes drift to the bones. "There's a good stream up yonder for a bathroom, but the food in this place is awful."
Remus doesn't laugh. When Sirius reaches out, they hold each other for as long as they can.
***
They wait for the others to go to bed, smiling at each other between social niceties. Sirius is still a little delirious at Harry's presence, even if it means entertaining the Weasleys, as well. That's a price he'll gladly pay.
This evening, as the others chatted around the tree, trying out their various gifts, a new feeling has grown inside him. It's been so long that he took a while to recognise it as arousal, plain and simple. Of course, he's felt it plenty of times in the past few months; most of his pleasure these days comes from time with Remus. But that stems from external inducements: Remus's lanky body, his wiry arms and warm mouth.
This time, it arises from his own happiness.
Remus senses that something's up; the glances he sends Sirius's way are by turns quizzical and smouldering. Sirius's heart beats faster, and he forgets to laugh when Harry says something droll. It's all right; Harry doesn't notice. Remus does, though.
Finally, they are alone in his childhood bedroom; finally, he can unwrap Remus's clothes and touch his lips to the flesh underneath. Finally, they have each other. Harry's presence has been an unexpected pleasure, but it is Remus who holds him steady: Remus with whom his life rests.
"You're my home, Moony," he murmurs between one kiss and the next. "I don't care where I am if I've got you."
For a moment, Grimmauld Place be damned, it is true.
***
Sirius is in his element, handing out gifts with grand gestures and a joke for everyone. Remus leans back in his armchair, smiling.
Teddy's voice grows ever-higher as he dashes between his own pile of presents and everyone else's wrappings, unsure which to be more excited about. It's good to be around children at Christmas, Remus thinks.
Dora is curled up on the sofa, her hand in Emmeline's, but her eyes never stray far from Teddy. She catches Remus's gaze and smiles.
The war feels far away today. And although Remus's war with his own body will probably never end, he is reaching a modicum of peace with the world. It helps to know that Teddy hasn't inherited his own little problem; that the curse stops with him. Instead, he has the more interesting metamorph magic to deal with, and Dora to help with that.
At a table in the corner, Ted is opening a bottle of bubbly while Andromeda leans away, anticipating an explosion. They have been kind to him since his split from Dora, but he knows they're relieved. Who wants a werewolf living with your daughter and grandchild?
He sips his tea and inspects the gadget that Teddy thrusts under his nose. "A spaceship -- wow!" His eyes drift to Sirius, the person responsible for this gift.
"It goes woo! Waaaargh! Kiiiiillll!" Teddy rushes away, firing the spaceship at Harry, who collapses dramatically onto the carpet.
It's good to see Harry clowning like this -- almost as good as it has been to watch Sirius's shoulders straighten, his body fill out, and his air of gloom lift. They've both seen too much darkness to ever really recover, but on the good days, in the bright moments, they forget more easily than he could have imagined.
Ted is sending sparkling glasses whizzing over everyone's heads; Remus plucks his out of the air and places it out of Teddy's reach.
"And what have we here?" Sirius is still delving behind the tree, ignoring the champagne flute hovering near his head. "Aha! 'Dear Remus, Merry Christmas from Santa.'"
Remus raises his eyebrows. Sirius does like to insist on this charade, and perhaps -- Teddy gasps in anticipation -- it's a good tradition.
The gift is spiky, already poking through the paper at several points. Remus unwraps it gingerly and holds up his prize: a sprig of mistletoe.
Sirius is on the arm of the chair suddenly, reaching for it. "I think maybe Santa got muddled up," he says. "I think that might be for me."
Remus shakes his head. "Come here."
The kiss is gentle, quick, but Sirius's eyes are like stars when he pulls away. "Merry Christmas, Moony," he murmurs, turning back to the tree.