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hp fic: The Only Thing
Title: The Only Thing
Pairing: Remus/Sirius
Rating: PG
Words: ~1,100
Summary: James has been different since Lily walked out on him, angry and reckless, often unpredictable.
Notes: Written for Day Two of![[personal profile]](https://www.tumblr.com/favicon.ico)
winterwolfstarwank. I was on Team Erecto, and the prompt was Modern AU; 2000-present.
The Only Thing
Sirius comes home late, well after supper has gone cold, soaked with rain and dripping on the carpet, his hair hanging in his face. He smells like damp wool and stale cigarette smoke, has a nearly spent fag drooping from the corner of his mouth. His face is pinched and tired and grey, and he grumbles as he kicks off his boots and Banishes his overcoat.
"You look rough," Remus says, waving his wand at their Muggle telly. It's an episode of Sherlock he's already watched. "Long night?"
Sirius grunts as he heads for the kitchen, kills his fag in the ashtray and lights another before saying, "James quit his job."
"What?" Remus sits up on the couch, the blanket over his legs slipping to the floor. James has been different since Lily walked out on him, angry and reckless, often unpredictable, but he had a good job, designing new brooms for Nimbus, seemed to enjoy it. "Why would he do that?"
"Why the fuck does James do anything?" Sirius snaps, pouring himself a long shot of Ogden's old. He drains it in one go, stares at the empty glass for a few minutes. Then: "He says he's leaving. He's booked a Portkey and everything."
"Where?"
"Los Angeles."
"What's he going to do out there? Besides starve to death, I mean."
"You remember Fenwick, yeah? From school? Played Chaser for Ravenclaw?" Sirius takes a deep drag from his cigarette as Remus nods, stubs it out with a quiet snort. "Well, Fenwick's got a cousin in Hollywood. Works for one of those fancy Muggle film companies. James thinks this bloke can get him a job."
"James wants to make Muggle films?" Remus asks, shaking his head. What Muggles call special effects and CGi is really just magic, Transfiguration fine-tuned to create monsters and backgrounds and change an actor's appearance. James is brilliant at Transfiguration, but he doesn't have the patience for detail work, never has. "That's ridiculous."
"Of course it is."
"What about Peter?"
"Peter's going. He's already listed his flat."
Remus isn't surprised. Peter's family is nearly as fucked up as Sirius'; James has been the only constant thing in Peter's life for years. "What about you?"
Sirius narrows his eyes, taps his fingers on the counter. He lights another fag and pours himself another drink, frowns out the kitchen window for nearly a full minute without saying a word. The silence is heavy, pulls at something at the back of Remus' neck; James has been careful all these years, has never tried to make Sirius choose, but now that Sirius is in that position, Remus isn't sure he wants to hear the answer.
"It depends on you, I guess," Sirius says, smoke trailing from his nose in thin streams. "I don't fancy living in America, but it's not like -- I don't -- there's nothing keeping me here." He sighs, pushes his hair out of his face with an irritated flick of his hand. "There's nothing keeping me here but you."
+
They take an early Portkey, huddling around a broken coffee pot in the cramped Magical Transcontinental Travel Department, James jostling Remus' shoulder and Peter standing on Remus' foot. It dumps them at LAX a little before midnight, in a dusty storage cupboard behind at set of luggage carousels, and Remus stares once they get outside -- at the heavy, concrete buildings, at the murky California sky. Remus was raised more or less Muggle before he went to Hogwarts, but he still feels like he's been shuttled to another planet.
"This is going to be brilliant," James says, but his smile is tight, doesn't quite reach his eyes.
+
Los Angeles's Wizarding District is large and loud and sprawling, full of flashing signs and Art Deco buildings and shops that are open twenty-four hours. It takes the same currency as Diagon Alley, Knuts and Sickles and Galleons, but the money seems to spend faster than it did back home, doesn't go as far or buy nearly as much. They end up letting a two-bedroom flat in an ugly, nine-storey complex across from an all-night apothecary; Remus lies awake half the night, brushing his fingers through Sirius' hair and staring up at the ceiling, worried they've all made the biggest mistake of their lives.
"We can always go back," Sirius says, when Remus is anxious, frazzled from a long day of trying and failing to find a job of his own. Werewolf employment is more restricted here than it was back home, and Muggle jobs are nearly impossible to find, made scarce by the poor economy.
Fenwick's cousin doesn't remember James at all, isn't interested in helping James get a job, but James finds one on his own about two weeks after they arrive, doing background effects for a company called New Line Cinema. The hours are long, and James' boss is a perfectionist, bitching about sizing scales and color gradations and a hundred other things Remus doesn't quite understand, but the pay is very good, and he seems to enjoy it, looks happier than he's been in a long time.
He drinks too much, doesn't always remember to eat, but Peter pretends not to notice, and Sirius just shrugs whenever Remus brings it up.
+
"Have you read The Habit?" Sirius asks one morning, poking listlessly at his off-brand oatmeal. Remus still hasn't found a job, and Alphard's inheritance is quickly running out. "It's a Muggle book."
Remus hum and spoons sugar into his tea. "I don't think so. What's it about?"
"Some titchy fellows that do a lot of walking. Something about a mountain."
"I think you mean The Hobbit," Remus says. He grabs the newspaper, opens it to the Classifieds. "I read it years ago. Why?"
"I guess they're doing it into a film. You know, James' people."
Remus smiles. "He'll like it. It's a good book. Has a dragon in it and everything."
Sirius pushes his oatmeal aside, lights a cigarette with a lazy flick of his wand. He shifts in his chair, puffing grey clouds of smoke toward the ceiling, tapping his fingers on the table in a way that feels anxious; Remus just lets him fidget, sips his tea as he waits Sirius out.
"Are you happy here?" Sirius asks, his mouth tilted with a frown.
"Why? Do you want to go back to London?"
"Maybe." Sirius shrugs, but his voice is thick, edged with guilt. "Now that James is sorted, I thought -- I don't know."
"We can go back tonight if you want," Remus says, pushing the Classifieds away. James isn't really sorted, probably never will be without Lily, but Remus hates it here, would've gone back weeks ago if he hadn't worried that it would mean leaving Sirius behind. "The only thing keeping me here is you."
Pairing: Remus/Sirius
Rating: PG
Words: ~1,100
Summary: James has been different since Lily walked out on him, angry and reckless, often unpredictable.
Notes: Written for Day Two of
Sirius comes home late, well after supper has gone cold, soaked with rain and dripping on the carpet, his hair hanging in his face. He smells like damp wool and stale cigarette smoke, has a nearly spent fag drooping from the corner of his mouth. His face is pinched and tired and grey, and he grumbles as he kicks off his boots and Banishes his overcoat.
"You look rough," Remus says, waving his wand at their Muggle telly. It's an episode of Sherlock he's already watched. "Long night?"
Sirius grunts as he heads for the kitchen, kills his fag in the ashtray and lights another before saying, "James quit his job."
"What?" Remus sits up on the couch, the blanket over his legs slipping to the floor. James has been different since Lily walked out on him, angry and reckless, often unpredictable, but he had a good job, designing new brooms for Nimbus, seemed to enjoy it. "Why would he do that?"
"Why the fuck does James do anything?" Sirius snaps, pouring himself a long shot of Ogden's old. He drains it in one go, stares at the empty glass for a few minutes. Then: "He says he's leaving. He's booked a Portkey and everything."
"Where?"
"Los Angeles."
"What's he going to do out there? Besides starve to death, I mean."
"You remember Fenwick, yeah? From school? Played Chaser for Ravenclaw?" Sirius takes a deep drag from his cigarette as Remus nods, stubs it out with a quiet snort. "Well, Fenwick's got a cousin in Hollywood. Works for one of those fancy Muggle film companies. James thinks this bloke can get him a job."
"James wants to make Muggle films?" Remus asks, shaking his head. What Muggles call special effects and CGi is really just magic, Transfiguration fine-tuned to create monsters and backgrounds and change an actor's appearance. James is brilliant at Transfiguration, but he doesn't have the patience for detail work, never has. "That's ridiculous."
"Of course it is."
"What about Peter?"
"Peter's going. He's already listed his flat."
Remus isn't surprised. Peter's family is nearly as fucked up as Sirius'; James has been the only constant thing in Peter's life for years. "What about you?"
Sirius narrows his eyes, taps his fingers on the counter. He lights another fag and pours himself another drink, frowns out the kitchen window for nearly a full minute without saying a word. The silence is heavy, pulls at something at the back of Remus' neck; James has been careful all these years, has never tried to make Sirius choose, but now that Sirius is in that position, Remus isn't sure he wants to hear the answer.
"It depends on you, I guess," Sirius says, smoke trailing from his nose in thin streams. "I don't fancy living in America, but it's not like -- I don't -- there's nothing keeping me here." He sighs, pushes his hair out of his face with an irritated flick of his hand. "There's nothing keeping me here but you."
+
They take an early Portkey, huddling around a broken coffee pot in the cramped Magical Transcontinental Travel Department, James jostling Remus' shoulder and Peter standing on Remus' foot. It dumps them at LAX a little before midnight, in a dusty storage cupboard behind at set of luggage carousels, and Remus stares once they get outside -- at the heavy, concrete buildings, at the murky California sky. Remus was raised more or less Muggle before he went to Hogwarts, but he still feels like he's been shuttled to another planet.
"This is going to be brilliant," James says, but his smile is tight, doesn't quite reach his eyes.
+
Los Angeles's Wizarding District is large and loud and sprawling, full of flashing signs and Art Deco buildings and shops that are open twenty-four hours. It takes the same currency as Diagon Alley, Knuts and Sickles and Galleons, but the money seems to spend faster than it did back home, doesn't go as far or buy nearly as much. They end up letting a two-bedroom flat in an ugly, nine-storey complex across from an all-night apothecary; Remus lies awake half the night, brushing his fingers through Sirius' hair and staring up at the ceiling, worried they've all made the biggest mistake of their lives.
"We can always go back," Sirius says, when Remus is anxious, frazzled from a long day of trying and failing to find a job of his own. Werewolf employment is more restricted here than it was back home, and Muggle jobs are nearly impossible to find, made scarce by the poor economy.
Fenwick's cousin doesn't remember James at all, isn't interested in helping James get a job, but James finds one on his own about two weeks after they arrive, doing background effects for a company called New Line Cinema. The hours are long, and James' boss is a perfectionist, bitching about sizing scales and color gradations and a hundred other things Remus doesn't quite understand, but the pay is very good, and he seems to enjoy it, looks happier than he's been in a long time.
He drinks too much, doesn't always remember to eat, but Peter pretends not to notice, and Sirius just shrugs whenever Remus brings it up.
+
"Have you read The Habit?" Sirius asks one morning, poking listlessly at his off-brand oatmeal. Remus still hasn't found a job, and Alphard's inheritance is quickly running out. "It's a Muggle book."
Remus hum and spoons sugar into his tea. "I don't think so. What's it about?"
"Some titchy fellows that do a lot of walking. Something about a mountain."
"I think you mean The Hobbit," Remus says. He grabs the newspaper, opens it to the Classifieds. "I read it years ago. Why?"
"I guess they're doing it into a film. You know, James' people."
Remus smiles. "He'll like it. It's a good book. Has a dragon in it and everything."
Sirius pushes his oatmeal aside, lights a cigarette with a lazy flick of his wand. He shifts in his chair, puffing grey clouds of smoke toward the ceiling, tapping his fingers on the table in a way that feels anxious; Remus just lets him fidget, sips his tea as he waits Sirius out.
"Are you happy here?" Sirius asks, his mouth tilted with a frown.
"Why? Do you want to go back to London?"
"Maybe." Sirius shrugs, but his voice is thick, edged with guilt. "Now that James is sorted, I thought -- I don't know."
"We can go back tonight if you want," Remus says, pushing the Classifieds away. James isn't really sorted, probably never will be without Lily, but Remus hates it here, would've gone back weeks ago if he hadn't worried that it would mean leaving Sirius behind. "The only thing keeping me here is you."