Flightless Bird

“How was Coventry?” Remus asked. The morning was crisp and full of yellow light as Marlene and Remus walked down through winding, cobbled alleyways of the town towards the centre.

Marlene’s face was partly submerged in a scarf, but it did not stop her from conveying her disgust, “It wasn’t just Coventry. It was Leicester as well.” 

“Not a fan?”

“No. They were both ugly.”

“Well, did any of the courses seem good?”

“Fuck if I care. I just don’t get it. Why would I waste my time and my parents’ money by sitting around in lectures anyway? The whole place will be packed with sycophantic snobs.”

He chewed at the inside of his mouth, glancing over at her, “Mm.”

“What’s wrong with you?” She asked, squinting at him as they made their way across the town square. A clanging noise pealed through the air,  the church bells ringing for midday. 

“When are they going to get rid of those stupid bells?” Remus wrinkled his nose. 

“You’re deflecting,” She pointed out. 

“It’s nothing,” He muttered, “Just– nothing.” 

“Alright. But clearly there is something.”

He let out a sharp breath, “I just don’t think you should take your chance to go to university for granted. I get that you don’t want to go, but some people, um– can’t.”

“Oh,” She blinked, and reached out to take his arm in her own, “I’m sorry, Remus. I wasn’t thinking.”

“No, it’s fine, I’m just being sensitive,” He rubbed at the back of his neck, and smiled softly, “I would love to waste my time sitting around in lectures.”

Marlene squeezed at his elbow, “I know. And you will!”

He snorted, “Right. Yeah. Sure.”

They veered left, and rounded the corner towards Ollivanders, the town’s vintage book shop, and Remus’ deepest weakness. He steered Marlene inside, and strode immediately for the Classics section, delicately flicking through the volumes on the shelf. Garrick, the shop-keeper, nodded at him from behind the counter, peering over his thin, foggy glasses. 

Remus ran his finger down the leather spine of a book, “Didn’t you say Frank was coming?”

“He’s supposed to be,” Marlene rolled her eyes, “When has he ever been on time for anything?”

Twenty minutes later, Remus had picked up around ten different books he was desperate to have, even though he was well aware that his bank account could only support the one. He stared at his curated collection for so long contemplating which to choose that Marlene groaned and sat down in the middle of the bookshop’s wooden floor. Garrick frowned down at her, but as usual, said nothing.

Eventually, Remus settled on a very beautiful copy of The Wind in the Willows, with an intricate illustration of a toad on the cover.

“You are the worst to go browsing with,” Marlene told him as they stepped outside the shop, “I forget it every single time and every single time I make the same mistake and I end up dying from boredom.”

He snorted, shoving at her shoulder, “Books are the one remaining source of joy in my life, Marlene. Have some pity.”

“Remus! Sweetie!” 

It was Molly Weasley, hurrying up the lane, her tangled red hair flying behind her as she flapped a stained tea towel at him. He turned and, grinning, waited for her to catch up to them.

“Alright?”

“Got a delivery,” she huffed, blowing out her pink cheeks. Her shirt was coated in flour. “For the Fenwicks, up at Grott Farm. Was wondering if you’d be a dear and take it for me.”

Marlene tugged at his arm, groaning, “Remus, come on. It's supposed to be your day off.”

He grimaced, “No such thing.”

“You need to relax!” 

“Why don't you just come with me? It's only a half an hour walk to the Fenwicks.” 

Molly frowned between them, “Is that a yes? Otherwise I'll just send Arthur out on the bike.” 

After staring pointedly at Remus for at least five more seconds, who didn’t budge, Marlene relented with a sigh, “I guess.”

Beaming, Molly disappeared back into the bakers for a minute, and then rushed back out with a brown paper bag. She dropped it into Remus’ open arms, and the warm, buttery smell of fresh bread wafted upwards. His stomach rumbled. 

“You’ll find your payment in there too, dear. Don't eat any,” She added, jabbing a stern finger at Marlene, who clutched at her chest and gasped out loud. 

“I wouldn't!”

“Yes, you would,” Remus smirked, “Don't worry Molly, I'll keep it safe.”

“Thank you, sweetie,” Molly patted him on the shoulder, but before they could walk off, she added, “Oh– you haven’t seen Sir Winklefoot anywhere, have you?”

“Sir Winklefoot?” Marlene repeated, slowly, her eyebrows creeping upwards.

“Her gnome,” Remus muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

“What?”

“My favourite gnome, dear,” Molly perched her hands atop her hips, frowning, “He’s a little fellow, wears sunglasses and an orange hat. He’s gone missing from our front garden.”

“I’m sorry, Molly, we haven’t seen it–” Remus said, and hastily corrected, “Him. We haven’t seen him.”

“Alright then. Well. Keep an eye out, will you?”

Marlene nodded, “We will,” and then wheeled Remus away by his arm, throwing him a wide-eyed glance as they walked back up the street, basket of baked goods swinging between them. 

“Sir Winklefoot?” She repeated once they were out of earshot.

Remus couldn’t fight back his grin, “We’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto.”

Grott Farm was a stretch of fields, and a tall, brick house smothered in thick ivy. Benji Fenwick answered the door caked from head to toe in mud, from his pair of heavy duty boots to his overcoat. Two sheepdogs came shooting out from in between his legs, yapping as they ran in circles around Marlene’s ankles. 

“Woah,” He blinked, shaking his blonde hair out of his eyes, “I didn’t know I was having company otherwise I would have– tidied up a bit.”

“Jesus, Fenwick,” Marlene smirked, “Did a swamp monster throw up on you?”

“I was out in the fields. It’s been raining.” Benji said, his gaze flicking over to Remus and lingering there, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“We have your order from Molly,” Remus said, holding the paper bag aloft. The smaller of the dogs sniffed at it hopefully, but when Benji clicked his tongue, it sighed and slinked back inside. 

“Cheers, Remus,” Benji Fenwick said as he took the bag from him and tucked it under his arm, but before Remus could turn around again, he added, “You still working down at the bar?”

“Yeah.”

“And also taking deliveries?” Benji asked, leaning against the doorframe.

“Now and then.”

“Well,” said Benji, his eyes raking across Remus’ face, and then down the length of his body, “In that case, maybe I should order a delivery more often.”

Frowning, Remus met his stare just in time to catch Benji wink. He paused, opening his mouth without any idea how to respond, and eventually settled on, “Thanks, Benji.”

“No problem,” Benji nodded at them, his grin widening, “Gotta go. I’m in the middle of insulating a coop. I’ll see you around, soon. Right?”

“Right,” echoed Remus and Marlene, and he disappeared back into the house, the mud-spattered door banging shut behind him.

“He winked at you,” Marlene hissed into his ear as they went back down the lane, “Did you see that?”

He rolled his eyes, “I saw it.”

.⋆｡⋆☂˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆.

That Saturday the Howl & Thistle was packed with the usual locals; mostly drunk men swaying together in corners. Remus had not had a moment to rest from pulling pints or mixing drinks, and the whole pub stunk of beer. The floor was slippery with spilled alcohol and everytime the door opened, a strong gust of freezing wind washed over him. His head was throbbing. 

He was pouring out a line of tequila shots for a group of newly-turned eighteen year olds when he saw Sirius walk in. His face clouded over when he saw Remus, but he waited his turn in the queue of people, leaning up against the bar to the far left. Remus took his time pouring drinks for the other customers, steadily ignoring Sirius watching him. After ten minutes of serving every other possible drunken idiot, Remus eventually dragged himself over to where Sirius stood.

“What can I get you?” He asked, brusquely. 

“Do you live in this pub or something?” Sirius replied. For once dressed appropriately for the autumnal weather, he was wearing a black knitted sweater, gaping with holes.  

“No.” Remus said. He folded his arms across his chest, “It’s called having a place of employment.”

Sirius’s eyes darted upwards in a stroke of annoyance and he jerked his head sharply towards the taps, “Guiness.” 

Remus yanked down a glass and pulled him a pint. He gritted his teeth and tried not to look at Sirius. He's a customer, he reminded himself, pull yourself together. 

“Shit pint.” Sirius muttered as he squinted down at his glass. 

“That’s what you're getting.” Remus said but Sirius didn’t say anything else. He just stood there, in his weird knitted sweater, with his arrogant, beautiful face, and it only irritated Remus further. His hands were trembling and he fumbled in ringing up the pint. This always happened when he was tired, when he pushed himself too hard. He drew in a deep breath.

“You’re shaking,” Sirius remarked, as if he were noting the shape of a passing cloud. 

“Mmm,” Remus acknowledged, but Sirius’ eyes were still pinned on him, so he continued, stiffly, “It’s been a long day.”

After a beat of silence, Sirius nodded down at his hands, and said, “You touch that a lot, you know.”

Blinking, Remus followed his gaze to where he had been unthinkingly twisting at the ring on his finger. 

He swallowed, “It was my mum’s.”

Sirius opened his mouth, as if he were about to say something, but then there was a hand on Remus’ shoulder, and Marlene was there, smiling at him, so Remus turned away from Sirius.

“Alright, Moo?” She asked, “Want to go on break? There’s a takeaway with your name on it in the back.”

Remus shook his head, “Not if you need me.”

Marlene fluttered her eyelashes at him obscenely, initiating a thick, southern American drawl, “Well I’ll always need you, sugar, I’ll need you till the cows come home.”

“Shut up,” Remus snorted. 

“Moo?” Sirius repeated slowly, and Remus glanced at him, his cheeks heating.

“Just a nickname for our lovely Remus,” Marlene told Sirius before Remus could say anything in his own defence, and she reached up to ruffle a hand through Remus’ messy hair, “Go on, go take your break.”

Remus relented, and stepped away from the bar taps. Marlene spun back towards Sirius, plastering on an even wider grin, although he did not return the smile. He leaned up against the bar, thumb running along the rim of his pint glass, his grey eyes flickering between the two of them.

“Can I help you?” Marlene said, and Sirius straightened, glancing away from them both.

“No,” He replied, shortly, and disappeared into the crowd. 

.⋆｡⋆☂˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆.

He saw Sirius again twice, and both times he felt like he was about to throw up. 

The first happened on a Wednesday afternoon, and Remus had been asked by Gus Fletcher to deliver a vintage vase to MacDonald's. It was on the edge of the village, and so Remus took his favourite short-cut through the backwoods. 

It was a lovely up and down maze of tall, cramped trees, their yellowing canopies only allowing the occasional bursts of sunlight through. There was a point where the terrain climbed upwards, and a crooked bench, where Remus often came to smoke weed or stare out at the horizon; from that height, he could see the faint blue stretch of the nearby sea. 

This time however, he circled around the hill, careful not to trip on the straggling roots of trees and drop the vase. He was picking his way over a fallen trunk when there was the crunch of footsteps along the path ahead. 

He squinted at the figure approaching, the dark hair and jean jacket. It was Sirius. 

As Sirius grew closer, Remus’ stomach lurched. And Sirius had spotted him, by the look in his eyes; but to Remus’ surprise, as they passed each other, he didn't say anything. He did glance down at the wrapped vase-shaped package under Remus’ arm, and raise his eyebrows. 

Even as he walked on, Remus couldn't ignore the furious burning in his throat, the way his shoulders tensed, how queasy he suddenly felt. He chanced a look back at Sirius’ retreating figure as he disappeared behind the trees, and the horrible, squeezing feeling worsened. 

Wow, he thought, what the hell is wrong with me?

It happened again on Friday night, after Remus in the village shop on Friday evening. It was turning out to be one of those nights; the nights when Remus turned over and over, his eyes heavy, waiting for sleep that would never come. All he could concentrate on was the monotonous dripping of the leaky tap in his kitchen. Tap. Tap. Tap. 

After an hour, he gave up, and dragged himself out of bed, not bothering to change out of his checkered pyjama bottoms and instead only tugging on a coat and a pair of scuffed trainers. He only had ten minutes before the shop closed, which was luckily only two streets over.

There were a few other customers in the shop, but Remus kept to himself, weaving his way towards the familiar medicine aisle and grabbing a packet of the cheap, knock-off sleeping pills that barely worked. They were better than nothing. He also picked up a bar of chocolate for good measure, and headed for the counter to stand in the queue behind an elderly woman who was counting coins out of her purse.

“Remus,” said a voice. Remus craned his head around, his eyes widening when he saw who was standing behind him.

“Um,” he replied. Sirius tilted his head, a smile curling at his mouth.

“That is your full name, isn't it?” Sirius asked. “Remus. Remus Lupin.”

His gaze flickered to the two items Remus was cradling– sleeping pills and chocolate– and Remus flushed. He shifted on the spot, resisting the urge to drop everything and just run out of the shop, “What's it to you?” 

“Absolutely nothing,” said Sirius, and then nodded at the counter, “You're up.”

Once he had paid and was outside the shop again, he ducked down an alleyway, fumbled for his phone, and scrolled to his latest conversation, before clicking call. It rang twice, and then– 

“Hey pumpkin,” Lily spoke down the line, “I have ten minutes before dinner. What’s up?”

He opened his mouth, but then had no idea what to say or how to say it, so he closed it again, and shook his head, “Actually– It doesn’t matter.”

“If it didn’t matter, you wouldn’t have called.”

“It’s really unimportant.”

She clicks her tongue at him, “You know you could have told me by now?”

He sighed, and managed to spit out, “I– I’m having difficulties. With a frequent customer.”

“What sort of difficulties?”

“It’s this guy. He’s new to town. I think. He comes into the pub a lot. Drinks a lot. He’s kind of an asshole, actually. And…” He cut himself off, biting at his thumbnail.

“And?”

“And I– I hate him, Lily. It’s weird. I really cannot stand him.” 

“Seriously?”

“Seriously, Lily. I lose any sense of professional decorum around him. Or any decorum at all. I just saw him in the shop and I wanted to rip his head off.”

“Okay. Wow. Any idea why?”

He sighed, “He just– touches a sore point for me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Remus glanced up the alleyway, shuffling further down into the shadows, “He acts like he– he owns everything he sees.”

Lily snorted, “Sounds like the boys who go here. It's just an attitude problem.”

“Yeah, well,” murmured Remus, “With him it also comes with a drinking problem.”

“A drinking problem?” Lily repeated. 

Remus cleared his throat, “Something like that. Or, hey. Maybe he's just having fun. All I know is that he loves to come into the bar and make my life hell.” 

“He sounds like he needs a smack around the head.”

Remus laughed, and the warmth of it through his chest already made him feel a little better, “Jesus. Yeah. I wish. 

Lily asks, “You okay, Re? You sound tired.”

“I am tired.”

“You’re working a lot. Marlene told me you’re picking up extra shifts. Don’t you think you should have a break?”

He closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall behind him, “I can’t afford to have a break.”

“Remus. Come on.”

“I can’t.”

“Remus–” Lily’s voice faded out for a moment, and then she was back again, speaking faster, “Listen, people are heading down to the hall now. I have to go. But I’ll phone you after, okay?”

“Okay,” He said, and he waited there with the phone pressed to his ear, until the line clicked, and she was gone.

.⋆｡⋆☂˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆.

“Sometimes I miss school,” Marlene sighed. They were sitting up on a low wall by the park, swinging their legs and trying to enjoy the last few glimpses of sunlight from the day. She was looking at a few straggling children crossing the square, dressed in the hideous burgundy colour of the local school.

“You were allowed to have no sense of direction,” She continued, wistfully, “You could skip science to smoke behind the bike sheds.”

“You could do that if you weren’t caught,” Remus reminded her.

“Which I never was,” She said, triumphantly, and she glanced over at him, “I know I was a couple years below you, but I don’t remember you really.”

“Yeah, well. I was probably hiding. You couldn’t pay me money to go back to secondary school,” muttered Remus, closing his eyes and tipping his head up to the sky, “It was a fucking hell-hole.”

“Strong word choice.”

“Hey, I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Remus said, shrugging, “But personally I would rather not sit through another five years of merciless teasing.”

“Was it that bad?” Marlene asked, but he was spared from answering by another voice interrupting them.

“Hello you two,” It was Winnie, the elderly but fierce woman that looked after the grounds of the Big House. She had brilliant silver hair and an incredible fashion sense which somehow revolved mostly around gingham. Today, she was wearing a full length black and white coat and a velvet bucket-hat.

“Winnie,” Remus grinned, pushing himself off the wall, “How are you?”

She shrugged her shoulders, “Can’t complain, love.”

“Love the hat,” Marlene remarked.

“Made it myself,” Winnie winked at her, and then turned towards Remus, placing a hand on his shoulder, “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Uh oh. Am I in trouble?”

Winnie chuckled, “I just wanted to know if you were still looking for work.”

“Always.”

“Well, I’ve got it.”

“Up at Grimmauld Manor?” He asked.

“That’s the one,” She nodded, “The garden needs some looking after again. You know the rate.” 

“Alright,” He said, thinking distantly with dread about how much his shoulders had ached after the last job. At least the money was definitely worth it. “Sounds good. I can come round tomorrow afternoon?”

“Perfect.” She said, and she tilted her head, studying his face, “Goodness, Remus. You do look so much like your mum sometimes.”

“Do I?” He replied, quietly.

“You’ve got her nose.”

“Oh, yeah,” He chewed down on his lip, “She always used to say that. Gave me her crooked old nose.”

“It’s wonderful,” Winnie told him, patting his hand with her warm palm, “Just like her. She was very wonderful.”

“I know,” Remus said, his voice coming out rather small. He glanced down at his hands, turning over the faded silver ring on his index finger, the ridge of the small moon. 

“Right. I’m off to get eggs,” announced Winnie, and she lifted her to pinch both of their cheeks, “Stay out of trouble, won’t you?”

Marlene watched her go, and turned back to Remus, beaming, “She’s so cool.”

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t know Winnie knew your mum.”

“They were best friends,” said Remus, and then cleared his throat, forcing a smile onto his face, “Want to go and get some food?”

.⋆｡⋆☂˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆.

Although the wind was biting in the afternoon of the next day, the garden of Grimmauld Manor needed so much work that by the time dusk was falling, Remus was sweating and stripping off his jumper. He had watered the fading lawn, dug over some of the vegetable beds, composted the dead plants, and now he was kneeling down on the path and pulling out the weeds that had crept between the flagstones. The gloves he had to wear were scratchy, and they were driving him crazy.

He was so preoccupied that he didn't notice he was not alone until a pair of bright yellow wellie boots came to stand in front of him. Pulling down his headphones, Remus looked up, squinting into the weak sunlight. 

Sirius was staring down at him. Remus’ heart fell through his chest and right out his feet, and he opened his mouth, before realising he had no words coming out. He was silent, and Sirius was silent, and Remus just wanted to disappear under the weight of his hard gaze. His eyes trailed down, from Remus’ face, across his chest and along his bare arms. 

“Do you happen to have a twin?” Sirius asked, “Bit of a tosser? Bartender?” 

Remus bit down on a traitorous smile, “No.”

Sirius raised a dark eyebrow, “Why the fuck are you weeding my garden, Lupin? ” 

Hearing his last name in Sirius’ mouth made the back of his neck prickle. Snorting, Remus sat back, “It's not your garden.” 

“Yes. It is.” Sirius folded his arms across his chest. 

“But–” Remus swallowed, “No one lives here. No one has ever lived here.”

“My family owns the house,” Sirius replied, “Some might argue that the garden is an extension of the house.”

“Oh.”

“So… why are you weeding my garden?” 

“Um, the housekeeper–”

“Winnifred.”

“I know her name,” snapped Remus, and he was suddenly struck with the absurdity of the fact that he was kneeling down in the dirt, sweaty and streaked in mud, and arguing with this idiotic, infuriating man; it made him feel pathetically small. “Winnie pays me to keep the garden in shape.”

Sirius narrowed his eyes, “But you’re a bartender.”

“Yeah, well,” Remus looked down at the soil, and yanked viciously at another weed between the paving stones. His cheeks were burning. “I do this too.”

“Right,” Sirius murmured, and when he continued to stand there, watching, Remus cleared his throat.

“Do you have a problem? Or should I continue?” He asked. 

Shaking his head, Sirius took one step back, and then another, before turning around. Remus’ gaze followed him as he walked away, his hands in his pockets, and lo and behold, through the open door to the glass conservatory. 

After he had wrenched all the creeping weeds from in between the flagstones, raked the leaves from the front lawn, and pruned the long hedges that ran across the length of the garden, he fought through the low hanging branches of a large willow tree to get to the shed. He had expected the lock to be as it usually was; rusted and difficult to prise open, but to his surprise, it was broken, hanging off at its hinges. 

Remus pushed lightly at the door and it swung open into the squat, dank darkness. He fumbled for the gutter scoop hanging against the far wall, and instead his hand hit something very hard and smooth. He crouched down, squinting through the blackness– and yelped, lurching back a step and tripping on the step to the shed. He grappled for something to hold, but instead found the world wheeling around him as he slipped onto his arse in the dirt. 

Once he had pushed himself up onto his elbows, he found himself face to face with a red-cheeked garden gnome wearing thick black sunglasses and a bright orange pointed hat. 

“Mr Winklefoot?” Remus muttered.

Remus’ trousers were covered in thick, wet mud, and he groaned as he heaved himself back up. He snatched up the gnome, tucking him firmly under his arm as he spun on his heel and marched towards the glass conservatory of the big house. 

The door was still ajar, but there was no one inside, only a faded chaise lounge, an old rocking chair, and a few straggling plants which seemed to be waging their own invasion. The soft chime of piano notes floated from deeper within the house. Remus stormed across the paved floor and into the adjoining room only to find himself in a massive living room. 

The walls, painted a dark green, were home to intricate portraits of people, vivid watercolour landscapes, and tall rows of crammed bookshelves. Embers flickered in a carved marble fireplace, the long windows were draped by thin emerald curtains, and at the centre of it all, a black grand piano. 

At the grand piano, sat Sirius, whose head snapped up at the sound of Remus’ heavy footsteps. His fingers stumbled against the keys, hitting a wrong note as his eyes swept across Remus’ spattered shirt and mud-encrusted trousers. 

“What the fuck is this?” Remus asked before he could get a word out, shoving forwards the gnome with both of his hands. 

Sirius’ gaze finally landed on the gnome, but a slight shift on the stool was the only indication of his reaction. He flicked over a page of his sheet music, and placed his hands back on the keys, “It looks to me like a garden gnome.”

“Why was he in your garden shed?”

“Why were you rifling around in my shed?”

“I'm working on your garden, that means I have to–” Remus cut himself off abruptly, shaking his head, “Why are you keeping Sir Winklefoot in your shed?”

Sirius made a distant choking sound, “Winklefoot? Sir Winklefoot?”

Flushing, Remus drew himself up a little taller, “That’s his name.”

“He’s a gnome.”

Remus narrowed his eyes, “You stole it. Didn't you?”

“What exactly did Winklefoot do to earn a sirdom?”

“Shut the fuck up and answer me,” Remus hissed.

He leaned back in the chair, his mouth twitching, “Which one is it? Should I shut the fuck up or should I answer you?”

“You're a thief,” Remus was staring at him, still holding Sir Winklefoot between them as if he were some sort of magical barrier. “You took him from the Weasley's yard. Molly Weasley has been looking for him all week, you know.”

“There are thirty-two gnomes in that front garden,” Sirius said, “Did you know that? I counted them.”

“So you did steal it!”

Sirius rose to his feet from the piano stool, grinning wickedly, “I didn’t say that.”

“You. Are. A. Dickhead, ” Remus told him, enunciating each word clearly, “And I’m returning the gnome.”

“Excellent customer service,” murmured Sirius, slipping his hands into his pockets, “Pay for a gardener, get a delivery boy free.” 

Something reared in Remus’ head, something deafening, like the crash of waves or the shriek of a train whistle through a tunnel, and he crossed the space between them in one stride. 

“What did you just say?” he said. 

Raising his chin, Sirius met his vicious glare head on, a glint in his eye. He leaned closer as if he were telling him a secret. 

“It's hard to take you seriously,” he replied, “when you're still holding Sir Winklefoot in your hands.”

Dark, bubbling heat stirred in Remus’ stomach, a sharp and delicious tug at his gut, and the flush of it rushed up through his chest, and into his cheeks. His grip tightened on the gnome’s stupid orange hat, and Sirius laughed; a real laugh, a noise Remus had never heard from him. 

He turned on his heel and walked out, out of the ornate living room and the abandoned conversatory, hoping the mud from his boots had stained the perfect carpet. 

.⋆｡⋆☂˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆.

On a dry afternoon, Remus was sitting, cross-legged on a bench in the park, and reading. He was supposed to be meeting Marlene, and although she was running extremely late, he didn’t mind the extra thirty minutes by himself beneath the weak autumn sun.

He stretched out his stiff back, and as he reached for his cup of luke-warm coffee, he caught a glimpse of Sirius Black walking up the path from the direction of the town.

Remus desperately pretended he was not there, staring down at his page without reading the words, even as he wandered closer. And then Sirius was standing right in front of him.

He tapped a heavily ringed finger against the worn cover of Remus’ book, Homer’s The Odyssey . His nails were painted a shocking, blood red. 

“Business or pleasure?” He asked. He was smiling; there was something sharp and delicious in it.

“Pleasure,” Remus replied, shortly, and returned his gaze to the chapter again. 

“So you are capable of experiencing joy?” Sirius’ smirk widened.

Remus pushed his tongue into his cheek, but did not look up, “Depends on the company.”

“What company? You can’t possibly have friends.”

Remus set down his book, and asked, “Is this fun for you?”

“Do you know,” said Sirius, leaning closer conspiratorially, “when you get annoyed, you scrunch up your shoulders all tight? It’s awful for your posture.”

“Leave me alone. I’m reading.”

To Remus’ horror, Sirius plucked up the book from the bench, and turned it over in his hand, “You’ve already read this.”

Remus shook his head, and reached for the book, but Sirius pulled it too far out of his reach. 

“You don't know that. You don’t know the first thing about me.”

“I could say the same to you.”

“You’re pretty easy to figure out,” Remus snapped, “Spoilt rich boy drinks himself to death every night and terrorises the locals. It’s a bit of a stereotype, isn’t it?”

Eyes glinting, Sirius tilted his head, and he was speaking, but Remus was too distracted by how close their faces suddenly were, by how he could feel the heat radiating off Sirius, and what he could smell; coconut-scented shampoo, his aftershave, and a dark lick of smoke.

“Am I terrorising you?” He whispered. 

Remus bit down on his tongue, “Yes.”

“How terrible,” Sirius tilted his head to the side, “Someone should stop me.”

He straightened, so that there was suddenly space between them, space to breathe, space for Remus to hear the agitated fluttering of his own heart. Sirius flipped over the Odyssey , inspecting the faded back cover. 

“Are you going to steal that too?” Remus asked, when Sirius looked up at him, smirking, he added, tightly, “I returned the gnome to the Weasleys,” 

“I bet you did,” Sirius murmured, “You're so very well-behaved, aren't you?”

“Fuck off,” Remus spat at him, rising from the bench, so that they were nose to nose. He was a good few inches taller than Sirius, and yet Sirius did not flinch, only studied him. 

He replied, softly, “Or what?” 

Remus said nothing, a burning, twisting living thing rising from within him again, like a flame or a frenzied animal, and Sirius was giving him another look over, as if he were appraising him, deciding his worth. After another few seconds, Sirius pushed The Odyssey into Remus’ chest, hard enough for him to stumble back a step. 

“I know you have read this before,” He said, “Because you’ve already annotated it.”

In the distance, Remus could see Marlene approaching across the grass, her long scarf flying behind her. Sirius glanced back, following his gaze, and then raised an eyebrow, before tucking his hands into his pockets and continuing down the path.