Nov. 27th, 2010 09:17 pm
Comment Fic (r/s)
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fox_confessorComment fic that I wrote when I was supposed to be writing something else. It's here for safe keeping and because I added to it and I might do that again.
Sirius moved his fingers over the piano keys mechanically, a command performance for his mother though she barely took notice, her voice loud over the music, as she and her friends lingered over dessert. He hated being put on display, another jewel like those that lined her fingers. Regulus, the second born, was no doubt already off to the beach with his friends. He had no talent to speak of, Sirius thought uncharitably, and was never missed. There were no speeches ringing in his ears about responsibility and family honor; those belonged exclusively to Sirius. They came with the inheritance, with being the first born, and he hated it all but still he played on. He was never sure what else he could do.
The piece was one that he had played many times before and he had no need for the sheets of music in front of him or the girl who dutifully turned the pages. He played without thinking, his eyes moving blandly over his mother and her friends, the tea room where they’d had lunch, the high windows and the gardens beyond. It was all so familiar, the same things and the same people he saw every summer, that he almost missed the boy half-hidden in the shadows behind the door, his hands filled with stacked dishes.
Remus Lupin, Sirius remembered, a disaster in potions though he rivaled Sirius in Defense against the Dark Arts for top marks. A Gryffindor. It occurred to Sirius that perhaps he was listening to the music, Sirius' music--that he was enjoying it. The concept was so novel that Sirius' fingers tripped on the keyboard, sounding so loudly on a sharp note that Remus jumped, his eyes opening (had Sirius noticed they were closed?) and met Sirius' for a moment before he scurried away back towards the kitchens.
For the rest of the evening, Sirius watched for Remus, only catching sight of him once more when it was Sirius who was the one hiding behind the heavy curtains separating to the vast dining halls from the dance hall. He could overhear some girls from where they stood in the door, whispering as Remus helped to clean up from that night’s dinner.
Muggle born, they said. Gryffindor.
Beneath their notice, they didn’t say but Sirius knew. Remus would be considered forbidden fruit, and if making that point, Sirius could hear one of the girls breath out delicious. Another laughed, made brave in their little group by entitlement to act as though Remus wasn’t there, as if he couldn’t hear, though his cheeks burned red as he ignored them.
Not as handsome as your Sirius, Natasha.
But he’d do, she answered, at least for a night.
Sirius watched Remus, too, at how even in the ill fitting uniform of the servants, Remus stood out. He was tall, his hair golden in the last remnants of sunlight slanting in from the high windows. His nose was a bit too big for his thin face but his lips were full and cherry pink and his eyes deep brown like the most expensive Honeydukes. Sirius could see the attraction and his own cheeks burned as he thought about maybe more than a night, more than a turn because Remus was all the things that Sirius wasn’t and wouldn’t his parents hate that, as the girls did. He was overwhelmed by the sudden desire for the boy who had actually listened to his music, the rush of possessiveness and twist of disgust in his guts for the girls and what he saw of himself in them.
***
The book was second hand and bought with part of Remus’ first pay, the rest hidden away where neither his mother nor her boyfriend could find it. They wouldn’t want it, its spine broken and several pages marked in a cramped hand with words he could barely make out. It was about bull fighters in Spain, a place he’d never been, about unrequited love, and loneliness.
He'd already read it once and now just his favorite bits, and those of the previous owner, with his feet buried into the warm sand, his knees pressed against his chest, his book opened on the ground in front of him. The sun was warm on his back, he knew he’d be burnt, could feel the skin stretching tight across his shoulders but didn’t care. It was better than being in the tiny, dark cottage where he was unwanted, or the sprawling hotel where he was only wanted for his ability to obey orders and keep quiet. Here it was warm but there was a breeze off the sea, and he was alone, with nothing but the wind and his own thoughts. Or rather, he had been alone for the first two weeks of the summer before someone else had discovered his cove.
At first, Sirius Black had merely stood on the bluff, his hands settled deep into his pockets, and watched the horizon, Remus had supposed. After a few days, Remus had begun to believe that maybe he couldn’t be seen after all but had checked the vantage point himself and discovered that there was nothing else to see beyond the horizon and Remus. Then Remus thought maybe Sirius was plotting revenge for some prank that James had probably masterminded, House pride prevailing enough that the fact that Remus was rarely involved matter little. No revenge came, though, and Sirius seemed content enough to keep his distance and watch and Remus relaxed enough to let him get on with it and not spare another thought for the strange proclivities of Slytherins.
It was only three days after Remus let his guard go that Sirius ventured down, scrabbling down the steep path on his bottom and then picking his careful way through the sand to where Remus sat and Remus wished he hadn't left his wand hidden beneath the loose floorboard in his bedroom. Remus had to fight the very unGryffindor-like urge to run away as he remembered Sirius’ skill when they’d learned to duel. He’d bested James that day, though Remus’ sense of fair play wouldn’t let him forget that Sirius had never used more force than necessary to disarm James and had returned his wand immediately. It was that memory that let Remus sit still and quiet while Sirius came to stand a few feet away, waiting it seemed until Remus looked up.
When he finally did, Sirius dropped to his knees and crawled forward, startling Remus though he only sat up straighter, his mouth falling open slightly as if he might warn Sirius off but thought better of it. Sirius sat cross-legged next to Remus and pulled out a lumpy package from his pocket. He took his time unwrapping it and Remus couldn’t help but watch, leaning forward a bit, thinking about curiosity and cats and any number of other warnings that his mother had drilled into him when he was still young enough to listen and be frightened by them.
Finally the package was unwrapped and Remus could see they were biscuits, thick, moist, almond flavored biscuits sprinkled with icing sugar. Remus had offered plates and plates of them at lunches and teas at the dining room in the hotel, never allowed to have one for himself. When he didn’t take one right away, Sirius picked one up and held it out for Remus. For a moment, he had a vision of Sirius leaning over his cauldron, potions and poisons at his ready, and looked at Sirius for a long time before he finally took the biscuit, his breakfast a distant memory, and nibbled on the edges, savouring it, his eyes on the horizon. When he was finished and had licked his fingers clean, Sirius held out the second biscuit and after a beat, Remus took it, too. Sirius shoved the napkin into his pocket and dusted his hands of icing sugar, his lips quirking up into a half smile. For a while, they sat still in silence, looking out over the water, until Sirius looked at his watch and picked his way back up the bluff, gone without a word.
Sirius moved his fingers over the piano keys mechanically, a command performance for his mother though she barely took notice, her voice loud over the music, as she and her friends lingered over dessert. He hated being put on display, another jewel like those that lined her fingers. Regulus, the second born, was no doubt already off to the beach with his friends. He had no talent to speak of, Sirius thought uncharitably, and was never missed. There were no speeches ringing in his ears about responsibility and family honor; those belonged exclusively to Sirius. They came with the inheritance, with being the first born, and he hated it all but still he played on. He was never sure what else he could do.
The piece was one that he had played many times before and he had no need for the sheets of music in front of him or the girl who dutifully turned the pages. He played without thinking, his eyes moving blandly over his mother and her friends, the tea room where they’d had lunch, the high windows and the gardens beyond. It was all so familiar, the same things and the same people he saw every summer, that he almost missed the boy half-hidden in the shadows behind the door, his hands filled with stacked dishes.
Remus Lupin, Sirius remembered, a disaster in potions though he rivaled Sirius in Defense against the Dark Arts for top marks. A Gryffindor. It occurred to Sirius that perhaps he was listening to the music, Sirius' music--that he was enjoying it. The concept was so novel that Sirius' fingers tripped on the keyboard, sounding so loudly on a sharp note that Remus jumped, his eyes opening (had Sirius noticed they were closed?) and met Sirius' for a moment before he scurried away back towards the kitchens.
For the rest of the evening, Sirius watched for Remus, only catching sight of him once more when it was Sirius who was the one hiding behind the heavy curtains separating to the vast dining halls from the dance hall. He could overhear some girls from where they stood in the door, whispering as Remus helped to clean up from that night’s dinner.
Muggle born, they said. Gryffindor.
Beneath their notice, they didn’t say but Sirius knew. Remus would be considered forbidden fruit, and if making that point, Sirius could hear one of the girls breath out delicious. Another laughed, made brave in their little group by entitlement to act as though Remus wasn’t there, as if he couldn’t hear, though his cheeks burned red as he ignored them.
Not as handsome as your Sirius, Natasha.
But he’d do, she answered, at least for a night.
Sirius watched Remus, too, at how even in the ill fitting uniform of the servants, Remus stood out. He was tall, his hair golden in the last remnants of sunlight slanting in from the high windows. His nose was a bit too big for his thin face but his lips were full and cherry pink and his eyes deep brown like the most expensive Honeydukes. Sirius could see the attraction and his own cheeks burned as he thought about maybe more than a night, more than a turn because Remus was all the things that Sirius wasn’t and wouldn’t his parents hate that, as the girls did. He was overwhelmed by the sudden desire for the boy who had actually listened to his music, the rush of possessiveness and twist of disgust in his guts for the girls and what he saw of himself in them.
The book was second hand and bought with part of Remus’ first pay, the rest hidden away where neither his mother nor her boyfriend could find it. They wouldn’t want it, its spine broken and several pages marked in a cramped hand with words he could barely make out. It was about bull fighters in Spain, a place he’d never been, about unrequited love, and loneliness.
He'd already read it once and now just his favorite bits, and those of the previous owner, with his feet buried into the warm sand, his knees pressed against his chest, his book opened on the ground in front of him. The sun was warm on his back, he knew he’d be burnt, could feel the skin stretching tight across his shoulders but didn’t care. It was better than being in the tiny, dark cottage where he was unwanted, or the sprawling hotel where he was only wanted for his ability to obey orders and keep quiet. Here it was warm but there was a breeze off the sea, and he was alone, with nothing but the wind and his own thoughts. Or rather, he had been alone for the first two weeks of the summer before someone else had discovered his cove.
At first, Sirius Black had merely stood on the bluff, his hands settled deep into his pockets, and watched the horizon, Remus had supposed. After a few days, Remus had begun to believe that maybe he couldn’t be seen after all but had checked the vantage point himself and discovered that there was nothing else to see beyond the horizon and Remus. Then Remus thought maybe Sirius was plotting revenge for some prank that James had probably masterminded, House pride prevailing enough that the fact that Remus was rarely involved matter little. No revenge came, though, and Sirius seemed content enough to keep his distance and watch and Remus relaxed enough to let him get on with it and not spare another thought for the strange proclivities of Slytherins.
It was only three days after Remus let his guard go that Sirius ventured down, scrabbling down the steep path on his bottom and then picking his careful way through the sand to where Remus sat and Remus wished he hadn't left his wand hidden beneath the loose floorboard in his bedroom. Remus had to fight the very unGryffindor-like urge to run away as he remembered Sirius’ skill when they’d learned to duel. He’d bested James that day, though Remus’ sense of fair play wouldn’t let him forget that Sirius had never used more force than necessary to disarm James and had returned his wand immediately. It was that memory that let Remus sit still and quiet while Sirius came to stand a few feet away, waiting it seemed until Remus looked up.
When he finally did, Sirius dropped to his knees and crawled forward, startling Remus though he only sat up straighter, his mouth falling open slightly as if he might warn Sirius off but thought better of it. Sirius sat cross-legged next to Remus and pulled out a lumpy package from his pocket. He took his time unwrapping it and Remus couldn’t help but watch, leaning forward a bit, thinking about curiosity and cats and any number of other warnings that his mother had drilled into him when he was still young enough to listen and be frightened by them.
Finally the package was unwrapped and Remus could see they were biscuits, thick, moist, almond flavored biscuits sprinkled with icing sugar. Remus had offered plates and plates of them at lunches and teas at the dining room in the hotel, never allowed to have one for himself. When he didn’t take one right away, Sirius picked one up and held it out for Remus. For a moment, he had a vision of Sirius leaning over his cauldron, potions and poisons at his ready, and looked at Sirius for a long time before he finally took the biscuit, his breakfast a distant memory, and nibbled on the edges, savouring it, his eyes on the horizon. When he was finished and had licked his fingers clean, Sirius held out the second biscuit and after a beat, Remus took it, too. Sirius shoved the napkin into his pocket and dusted his hands of icing sugar, his lips quirking up into a half smile. For a while, they sat still in silence, looking out over the water, until Sirius looked at his watch and picked his way back up the bluff, gone without a word.