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hp fic: And Our Memories Defeat Us
Title: And Our Memories Defeat Us
Pairing: Remus/Sirius
Rating: PG
Words: ~1,000
Summary: It felt good to laugh again, like something was warming inside him, easing the tightness in his chest.
Notes: Written for Day Four of![[personal profile]](https://www.tumblr.com/favicon.ico)
winterwolfstarwank. I was on Team Erecto, and the prompt was Post-Azkaban.
And Our Memories Defeat Us
"Do another one," Sirius said, cradling his tea with both hands. Remus' cottage was just two rooms on a cluster of rocks overlooking the sea, and it was draughty as anything, the kind of cold that was unimpressed by Heating Charms.
Remus shifted on the couch, turning his back against the arm and tucking his bare feet under Sirius' thigh. "Absolutely not. I've better things to do than tell you stories."
"Go on."
"I've still got that bloody grimoire to deal with. Dumbledore wants it sorted by the end of the week."
"You've had all morning," Sirius pointed out. He sipped his tea, wincing as it burned the tip of his tongue. "I slept until noon."
"Of course you did. You always were a lazy sod."
"Tosspot." It felt good to laugh again, like something was warming inside him, easing the tightness in his chest. "What's it in, anyway? The grimoire, I mean."
Remus sighed quietly, wrinkling his nose. "French. I'm not sure I'll ever get it done. The parchment is far too old for a modern Translation Charm, and my French is limited to la salle de bain and s'il vous plaît."
"Really, Moony? All that time you spent travelling, and that's the best you can do?"
"Va te faire foutre."
Sirius snorted. "That's not polite." He shivered as a gust of wind rattled the cottage, pulling the blanket in his lap up over his shoulder. "Just leave it there. I'll look at it in the morning."
"Since when do you speak French?"
"I don't speak it, because my accent is shit. But I can read it well enough." The cottage sighed into another burst of wind, the walls groaning and the shutters creaking, louder than the constant, lulling roar of the waves. "All the fancy pureblood children learned French and Latin growing up. Sometimes Greek. Noble and most ancient, and all that rot."
"And you can, um," Remus paused uncertainly, his mouth tilting with a frown. "You still -- "
"Yes, yes. It's mad, innit? The things I still remember," Sirius said, tapping his forehead. His thoughts were full of holes and vague images and half-recollections that didn't always make sense. "I only remember half of second year, and I've no clue what we did the first six months out of school, but I can picture my language tutor like she's standing in the room. Wretched old besom. She smelled like cabbage or worse, and she doted on Regulus." Remus huffed out a laugh, and Sirius tucked his hand under the blanket, slid it over Remus' shin. "Well? Where's my story, then?"
"All right, all right." Remus was quiet for a moment, his face turning thoughtful; the silence was easy, far more companionable that Sirius could've hoped for, after all the time that had passed. "How are you on seventh year?"
Sirius shrugged. His school years were the hardest to place; with Hogwarts as a constant backdrop, everything seemed to just bleed together. "I've still got most of it. I remember James finally getting in with Lily, and just about everything after that, right up until NEWTS."
"Right. We'll do something from sixth year, then." Remus paused again, taking a long sip of his tea. "So one night, James decided -- "
"Well of course, James."
"Oh, you were the guilty party often as not. You've just forgotten," Remus said, pinching at Sirius' thigh with his toes. "Anyway, James decided to plant Dungbombs all over the Potions Corridor."
"Dungbombs? In sixth year?" Sirius shook his head, whistling through his teeth. "I'm disappointed in us. That's firstie stuff."
"It is, rather. But James was naffed at Snape, because he'd -- well, I don't remember exactly, something about -- "
"Doesn't matter, really. Slimy git probably deserved it."
"Look, now. I thought you wanted a story."
"I really do," Sirius said, patting Remus' leg. He set his tea on the table, then twisted around to stretch out with Remus, his head on Remus' shoulder and his mouth against Remus' jaw. "Go on, then," he said, tugging on the blanket until it covered both of them. "I'm listening, I swear."
"So James planted these Dungbombs in Potions, all up and down the corridor," Remus continued, brushing his fingers through Sirius' hair. "Everything went off all right at first, but then Filch came along, and he nearly nabbed James and Pe -- he nearly nabbed James going through the Trophy Room. We were meant to be looking out, but we were -- well, um. We were -- "
"Snogging."
"Right. In that broom cupboard by the stairs back to Gryffindor. Anyway, James hid behind a suit of armour. All the way behind it, I guess, because Filch walked right past him. But then -- and I don't know how, James never did tell me the whole story -- he did something to put the suit of armour in a snit."
"Merlin's balls. Tell me he didn't duel it."
"Of course he did. When we came out of that cupboard, James was right at the foot of the stairs, waving his wand around, shouting Locomotor Mortis like that would ever work on a heap of metal."
Sirius laughed quietly, turning his face into Remus' neck as the sound split and cracked around a yawn. "Bloody James. I'll never know how he got through school in one piece."
"It was a very close thing. Between Lily and McGonagall, he nearly got peeled like a shrivelfig several times." Remus ducked his head, pressing his lips to Sirius' temple. "You can't tell me you're tired again."
"Habit," Sirius said, his eyes sliding closed. "Not much else to do in Azkaban."
Remus made a soft noise in the back of his throat. "Well, have a nap, then. When you wake up, I'll tell you another one."
Pairing: Remus/Sirius
Rating: PG
Words: ~1,000
Summary: It felt good to laugh again, like something was warming inside him, easing the tightness in his chest.
Notes: Written for Day Four of
"Do another one," Sirius said, cradling his tea with both hands. Remus' cottage was just two rooms on a cluster of rocks overlooking the sea, and it was draughty as anything, the kind of cold that was unimpressed by Heating Charms.
Remus shifted on the couch, turning his back against the arm and tucking his bare feet under Sirius' thigh. "Absolutely not. I've better things to do than tell you stories."
"Go on."
"I've still got that bloody grimoire to deal with. Dumbledore wants it sorted by the end of the week."
"You've had all morning," Sirius pointed out. He sipped his tea, wincing as it burned the tip of his tongue. "I slept until noon."
"Of course you did. You always were a lazy sod."
"Tosspot." It felt good to laugh again, like something was warming inside him, easing the tightness in his chest. "What's it in, anyway? The grimoire, I mean."
Remus sighed quietly, wrinkling his nose. "French. I'm not sure I'll ever get it done. The parchment is far too old for a modern Translation Charm, and my French is limited to la salle de bain and s'il vous plaît."
"Really, Moony? All that time you spent travelling, and that's the best you can do?"
"Va te faire foutre."
Sirius snorted. "That's not polite." He shivered as a gust of wind rattled the cottage, pulling the blanket in his lap up over his shoulder. "Just leave it there. I'll look at it in the morning."
"Since when do you speak French?"
"I don't speak it, because my accent is shit. But I can read it well enough." The cottage sighed into another burst of wind, the walls groaning and the shutters creaking, louder than the constant, lulling roar of the waves. "All the fancy pureblood children learned French and Latin growing up. Sometimes Greek. Noble and most ancient, and all that rot."
"And you can, um," Remus paused uncertainly, his mouth tilting with a frown. "You still -- "
"Yes, yes. It's mad, innit? The things I still remember," Sirius said, tapping his forehead. His thoughts were full of holes and vague images and half-recollections that didn't always make sense. "I only remember half of second year, and I've no clue what we did the first six months out of school, but I can picture my language tutor like she's standing in the room. Wretched old besom. She smelled like cabbage or worse, and she doted on Regulus." Remus huffed out a laugh, and Sirius tucked his hand under the blanket, slid it over Remus' shin. "Well? Where's my story, then?"
"All right, all right." Remus was quiet for a moment, his face turning thoughtful; the silence was easy, far more companionable that Sirius could've hoped for, after all the time that had passed. "How are you on seventh year?"
Sirius shrugged. His school years were the hardest to place; with Hogwarts as a constant backdrop, everything seemed to just bleed together. "I've still got most of it. I remember James finally getting in with Lily, and just about everything after that, right up until NEWTS."
"Right. We'll do something from sixth year, then." Remus paused again, taking a long sip of his tea. "So one night, James decided -- "
"Well of course, James."
"Oh, you were the guilty party often as not. You've just forgotten," Remus said, pinching at Sirius' thigh with his toes. "Anyway, James decided to plant Dungbombs all over the Potions Corridor."
"Dungbombs? In sixth year?" Sirius shook his head, whistling through his teeth. "I'm disappointed in us. That's firstie stuff."
"It is, rather. But James was naffed at Snape, because he'd -- well, I don't remember exactly, something about -- "
"Doesn't matter, really. Slimy git probably deserved it."
"Look, now. I thought you wanted a story."
"I really do," Sirius said, patting Remus' leg. He set his tea on the table, then twisted around to stretch out with Remus, his head on Remus' shoulder and his mouth against Remus' jaw. "Go on, then," he said, tugging on the blanket until it covered both of them. "I'm listening, I swear."
"So James planted these Dungbombs in Potions, all up and down the corridor," Remus continued, brushing his fingers through Sirius' hair. "Everything went off all right at first, but then Filch came along, and he nearly nabbed James and Pe -- he nearly nabbed James going through the Trophy Room. We were meant to be looking out, but we were -- well, um. We were -- "
"Snogging."
"Right. In that broom cupboard by the stairs back to Gryffindor. Anyway, James hid behind a suit of armour. All the way behind it, I guess, because Filch walked right past him. But then -- and I don't know how, James never did tell me the whole story -- he did something to put the suit of armour in a snit."
"Merlin's balls. Tell me he didn't duel it."
"Of course he did. When we came out of that cupboard, James was right at the foot of the stairs, waving his wand around, shouting Locomotor Mortis like that would ever work on a heap of metal."
Sirius laughed quietly, turning his face into Remus' neck as the sound split and cracked around a yawn. "Bloody James. I'll never know how he got through school in one piece."
"It was a very close thing. Between Lily and McGonagall, he nearly got peeled like a shrivelfig several times." Remus ducked his head, pressing his lips to Sirius' temple. "You can't tell me you're tired again."
"Habit," Sirius said, his eyes sliding closed. "Not much else to do in Azkaban."
Remus made a soft noise in the back of his throat. "Well, have a nap, then. When you wake up, I'll tell you another one."
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