nekare

Well, why_me_why_not's beta-ed version hasn't come back to me yet, but if I don't finish posting all of the gifts before saturday I won't be able to do it until just before christmas. So I'll just correct it afterwards, and people, try and not be horrified by my pitiable prepositions. Crossposted all over the place... (remusxsirius and starcrossedmoon.)

Title: Skeletons in my Closet
Raiting: PG-13
Pairing: Remus/Sirius
Word Count: 1,166
Author Notes: Written for the squishable and lovable moonix, whose promt was flared jeans and interests cats and the 70's. Hope you like it, and I whish you a stress-free happy, happy holidays XD (Summer 1995, Grimmauld Place.)


Harry finds Sirius’ old wardrobe two weeks before the summer ends, and the children entertain themselves with the old clothes that bring forth so many memories to Remus, even after all of this time. There’s dust everywhere, dancing in the dim sunlight that filters through heavy curtains, turning Hermione’s hair grey in an almost prophetic way that makes Remus ache. Children shouldn’t have to live with this kind of war going on; children should laugh and flirt and be free to enjoy life without having to worry whether they would survive this year.

The flared jeans are buried beneath piles of elegant dress robes, and Ginny giggles as she takes them out, in all of their hippy magnificence. “I can’t believe you ever wore this, Sirius!” she says, and draws everyone attention to the ragged denim Remus remembers so well.

“Well, I was once a teenager too, believe it or not,” Sirius says as he magically cleans one of the drawers. He turns to the kids, his face relaxed with the homey atmosphere he always has a hard time to fit into the house of his nightmares as a child. His eyes stray to Ginny, and he’s suddenly glowing, beaming as he takes the flared jeans, and Remus doesn’t want to think, doesn’t want to need as Sirius caresses the coarse fabric with eyes alight (doesn’t want to remember those fingers against his skin). “These were my favorite! I had them on when I first kissed R-”

Remus’ eyes move to Sirius’ immediately, and he avoids looking at him while he fidgets in the middle of the room, blushing slightly in the semi-darkness. Remus doesn’t know whether to smile or cringe, so he just looks back to the old photograph book he’s holding in his hands, swallowing hard as the children start their onslaught of questions about the mysterious girl (how mistaken they are, he thinks ironically) that Sirius still remembers so well.

Sirius changes the subject abruptly (“Erm, look! This is where a cat – treacherous creatures, Crookshanks isn’t included, Hermione – scratched me until I bleed!”), but he stays along with the children as Remus talks about their school days and gives them the tuned out version; the one that doesn’t have him getting Sirius off against castle walls, the one that doesn’t have Sirius leaving him without a word the day before a full moon, suspicion in his eyes and blood on Remus’ chest the next morning.

The story about the time the four of them set the Potions classroom on fire by accident (the only detention in their seven years they actually didn’t deserve ) makes them all laugh, and Harry is silent for a few seconds before he speaks, with his voice unwavering. “I really am different to my dad, aren’t I?”

“Yes,” Remus and Sirius say at the same time, somewhat sharply, and they turn to look at each other until Sirius smiles lightly. “But that’s not a bad thing, Harry,” Remus continues, meaning every word. Sirius may think he got his best friend back from death, but Remus knows better; Harry is Harry, and nothing can change that. And deep down, he knows he wouldn’t be able to talk to him with such a straight face if he talked like his father, if he kept messing his hair in the way that drove Lily mad. It’d be too painful.

His looks are painful enough as it is.

“Oh, all right then,” Harry says, and as Remus is so gratifyingly surprised when both Ron and Hermione inch closer to him in silent support, unconsciously, by the look of their faces. “I just wouldn’t want to let him down.”

“And you haven’t,” Sirius says before he can open his mouth, and he feels so proud of him that he puts his hand for a moment on top of Sirius’ shoulder, warm touch and warm feeling. Harry smiles brightly, in a way he hasn’t since he first came to Grimmauld Place, and the afternoon flies by with jokes and stories and companionable silence at times.

“I’m proud of you, you know,” says Remus after everyone has gone to bed, and he’s alone with Sirius in the mashed potato-smelling kitchen with a bottle of firewhiskey set between them on the table. They’ve been doing this for a while, getting drunk together after one of Remus’ most dangerous missions; a way to celebrate they’re both still alive. “you're a great godfather.”

“Thanks,” says Sirius animatedly just before he downs a glass, and Remus tries hard (and fails) to keep his eyes away from Sirius’ throat as he swallows. “It was nice, actually, getting to remember all of those nice things.” Instead of the ghastly memories of my childhood, goes unsaid.

“It’s amazing you still remember all that stuff.” Now they’re both thinking of the jeans and Sirius’ almost slip of the tongue, Remus knows Sirius is, and Sirius must know Remus knows he knows, and- he takes a long swig, because suddenly his mind is running ahead of him.

“I would never forget it,” Sirius says with his head tilted to the left, the innocent look he had wore daily before any of them knew the real meaning to the word war and betrayal. Now he can only afford to wear it on special occasions.

“Oh,” is Remus’ intelligent retort, and he wants to kick himself for it. He has another shot as a punishment.

Sirius looks away for a moment, and when he looks back, he’s smiling, with that expression in his face that has always managed to make his knees weak and that make the washed out grey of the kitchen disappear to the background. “Believe it,” Sirius says, and before Remus can have a say in it, he lifts himself off his chair, practically lays on top of the table, and kisses him softly.

Remus feels quite drunk by now, so he just opens his mouth and kisses back mindlessly, grabbing Sirius’ long hair between his fingers. Sirius laughs against his mouth, and they part just a fraction of an inch, both looking dreamy and with their stomachs hurting from where the table was digging into their skin. “What was that?” Remus mumbles, lips brushing against Sirius’ with every syllable, without any kind of inquiry in his voice.

“A new beginning, if you don’t mind.”

“You know I don’t,” Remus says as Sirius finally crouches on top of the table with his knees denting the thin wood and legs apart, and cups Remus’ jaw with his hands. Remus’ neck aches with the position, but he keeps on kissing him regardless. “Now you’ll have to keep these jeans, though.”

Sirius laughs again, and Remus starts to believe there’s hope for all of them, a future for when the war is finally over and life can keep on flowing, instead of this horrible pause everyone’s been forced to.

Then there’s Sirius mouth on his scars, and Future fades to nothing against Present.