Flightless Bird

It was a Saturday night, and the Howl & Thistle was brimming. It had been worse over the summer, but even in late September, the pub was still packed with groups of friends pre-drinking before their night out in the next town over, where there actually were such things as night-clubs. He, Marlene, and Frank had been working flat out since eight, and his feet were aching as he pushed his way through the crowds to collect the dirty glasses.

As he made his way back behind the bar and wedged open their cramped dishwasher with his foot, he caught a glimpse of a familiar face out of the corner of his eye, narrow shoulders and fine cheekbones that he knew. Sirius was here, in a vivid purple leather jacket and dark jeans – Remus watched carefully as Frank leaned to ask him for his order, but he could not hear Sirius’ reply over the music and the chatter. He forced himself to focus back on the dishwasher, loading up the glasses. 

“It’s fucking loud in here,” said a voice. Sirius’ voice. Remus glanced up to find him standing right across the bar, and quickly averted his gaze, his stomach twisting uncomfortably – as it always seemed to do these days.

"Aren't you going to say something?" He asked.

Remus looked at him for a brief second, and then continued to stack the glasses. He could hear Lily in his head, telling him to just rise above it, but he couldn’t help himself. He said, "Your jacket is ugly."

Blinking down at his leather jacket, Sirius’ brow crumpling into a frown, "It is not. "

“You told me to say something. I said something.”

“You’re wrong, though.”

“It's my opinion,” Remus shrugged, “The jacket is off-putting.”

“Off-putting?”

He offered a saccharine smile, “Yeah. Almost as off-putting as your face.” 

"I don't believe you." 

He finally raised his head properly, "Don't believe what?" 

Mouth twitching, unreadable, Sirius's heavy gaze settled on him like dusk, picking him apart, darting from his jaw to his neck to his chest, along his arms, until Remus felt like shrinking away. 

Then Sirius said– "I don’t believe that you think my face is ugly."

Remus swallowed, "Believe whatever you want.” 

Sirius drew in a sharp breath through his teeth, still smiling, "Whatever I want?”

“Yes,” replied Remus, tightly, slamming the full dishwasher closed again and jabbing blindly at the start button.  

“Don’t you think that’s a bit dangerous? Believing is a very tricky thing. There’s endless possibilities. You never know where my mind might wander,” his eyes followed Remus as he moved back and forth behind the bar, “I really couldn’t be held responsible for all the different things I could believe about you and how you feel for me.”

“Do you ever stop talking?”

“The thing is,” Sirius continued, leaning his elbows against the counter-top, “I know I’m not ugly, Lupin.”

He could have laughed out loud– as if anyone could call Sirius Black ugly and mean it, “I never said you were ugly. I said you were off-putting.”

“It was implied.”

Remus sighed, “Are you going to order a drink or not?” 

“Yeah. A lime soda.”

“Lime soda?” He repeated, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice. It was the first non-alcoholic drink he had ordered from him. 

“That's what I said,” Sirius replied. Rolling his eyes, Remus turned and fetched a glass. When he turned back a few minutes later with the lime soda, Sirius took it but still didn’t leave.

“Can I get you anything else?” He flicked a cloth over his shoulder, chewing the inside of his lip.

“No,” Sirius muttered. He didn’t stay much longer at the bar before getting up and leaving again.

.⋆｡⋆☂˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆.

“It may be pink and frilly,” Frank remarked, “But no one can deny Madam Puddifoot’s sells the best coffee.”

“I can excuse pink and frilly, but I can’t excuse that many kinds of cat paraphernalia,” replied Remus, stirring a spoon through his coffee. 

Marlene pouted, “It’s cool! I like that it has its own thing.”

“Why can’t its thing just be good coffee?”

They were sitting outside Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop, on one of the rickety patio tables, bundled up in coats and nursing their cups. It was a busy Saturday, and there was no room inside, which Remus did not mind, because it spared his retinas from the interior decoration.

“Look who it is,” said Marlene, “Your favourite customer.”

Remus twisted in his seat, head snapping towards the door of the cafe, where Sirius now stood, cradling his own mug of something steaming. He brought it up to his lips and sipped; Remus stared at his mouth, blinking, and then quickly looked away again.

“I heard people talking about him,” Frank whispered, “In the pub last week. Arthur Weasley said that it’s just him in that big house all by himself.”

“Really?” Marlene glanced over at Sirius, “But he's so young! I wonder why he moved here.”

“I don't know, and I don't care,” Remus said. 

Frank leaned back in his chair, scrunching his nose, “What's with you?” 

“They don't get on,” Marlene responded, patting Remus on the arm. 

Remus frowned, “That's an understatement.”

“How long do you think he'll be here for?” Frank said.

Marlene steepled her hands together, a mischievous glint in her eye, “Why don't we just ask him?”

“No–” Hissing, Remus grabbed at her arm, but it was too late; she was turning in her seat. 

“Hello!” She called over to Sirius, “There aren’t any free seats, so. Would you like to sit with us?”

“Uh,” Sirius' eyes darted over to Remus, lowering his cup, “Sorry?”

Frank repeated, waving a hand, “Come sit with us.”

“He doesn't want to,” Remus said through gritted teeth, “See?” 

“I didn't say that,” Sirius replied quickly, a grin growing over his mouth, and to Remus’ dismay, he walked over and sat down in one of the metal chairs at their table. 

“You’re new around town, right?” Marlene leaned forwards, propping her chin up on her hands, “I would remember if you went to our school.”

“I'm not a local,” Sirius replied, “I'll just be staying here for a while. Nothing permanent.”

Frank squinted at him conspiratorially, “You working here or something?”

He snorted, “I don't think my degree would do me any good in this town.” 

“You're telling me you didn't take Town Square Decoration studies?” Remus muttered, and he did not miss the flutter of a smile at Sirius’ lips.

“No. I did consider it though.”

Frank asked, “What’s your degree?”

“I'm sure Sirius has a very busy day,” Remus interrupted, sure to coat his voice with sarcasm as he met Sirius’ eyes, “We wouldn't want to bore him with all our questions.”

“My day’s wide open,” Sirius shot back at Remus, before turning back to Frank, “I studied Engineering.”

“Wow,” Marlene said, slowly, her expression contorting into one of apprehension, “So you… like engineering stuff?”

“No.” 

“Oh,” She paused, squinting at him, “Then why did you do it?” 

Sirius shrugged, “I didn't have a choice.” 

“Did you go to one of those artsy London universities?” Frank asked, eagerly, "You give me artsy London vibes."

“Uh,” He ran his thumb along the rim of his mug, looking down into the dregs of his coffee, “No. I studied at Oxford.”

Marlene’s blonde eyebrows shot up into her fringe. Straightening, Remus said, “ You went to Oxford?” 

“Yes,” Sirius replied, although his reply was somewhat stiff, and Remus suddenly didn’t know why he was surprised; Sirius was the epitome of the spoiled wealthy children he had always heard stories about.

Marlene nudged Remus with her pointed elbows, “He might know Lily!” 

“Who's Lily?” asked Sirius, his eyes snapping back to Remus again, bright and dangerous. 

“No one,” Remus replied, quickly, at the same time that Marlene replied–

“Remus’ other half. She’s in her second year at Oxford.”

“My best friend,” Remus elaborated, and when Marlene cleared her throat loudly, he added, “ One of my best friends.”

“What's her last name?” 

“You wouldn't know her,” replied Remus, “She wouldn't– well, you just wouldn't know her.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow, leaning forward across the table, “You were going to say that she wouldn't be seen with someone like me, weren't you?” 

Taking a slow sip of his coffee, Remus murmured, “At least you're self-aware.”

“She's called Lily Evans,” Frank supplied unhelpfully, “She's studying, um– English.”

“History,” corrected Remus. 

Sirius shrugged, “Don't know her.”

“Thought so.” 

For a moment, Sirius sat back in his seat and studied him, until Remus was shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Then, Sirius pushed back his chair, the metal scraping against the ground.  

“I have to go,” He muttered, and threw a quick smile at Marlene and Frank, “Thanks for inviting me to sit.”

Remus blinked, startled by his sudden lack of usual venom, watching as he yanked on his jacket and weaved his way between the tables and out onto the street. 

“He seems nice,” Frank piped up. Sighing, Remus buried his face in his arms. 

.⋆｡⋆☂˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆.

Remus was tired and he was freezing, but at least he was on his last delivery of the day. He was taking another brown paper bag of baked goods from the Weasley’s Bakery across the town. It smelled amazing; he was pretty sure it was some sort of birthday cake. 

He was also on the last chapter of his book, Gone With the Wind, and he was completely unwilling to detach himself from it, let alone put it down. He gripped the bag in one hand and held his book open with the other as he walked down his street, forcing himself to glance up now and then. 

My dear, I don't give a damn, said Rhett Butler. Enraptured, Remus flicked to the next page, swerving to avoid a lamp-post, and his shoulder collided with another body. He stumbled, and in his haste to rescue the cake, the book slipped from his hand and fluttered down onto the pavement. Cursing, he stooped to snatch it back up, but someone else had gotten there first. He straightened, and found himself face to face with Sirius.

“You should really watch where you’re going,” Sirius said, but he handed the book back to him. His hair was inky halo around his face, his high cheek-bones flushed in the brisk air. The navy blue jumper he wore was the same colour as the darkest parts of his irises, where the grey deepened. 

“Maybe you should,” Remus replied, suddenly feeling a little breathless, and pushed past him.

Sirius huffed out a laugh, his breath misting in the cold air, “You’re the one going around with your head in a book. I watched you walk into a bush the other day.”

Flushing, Remus shifted his feet, “Well. Stop watching me then.”

Pausing for a moment, Sirius only frowned at him, and then he said, “You know you’d get your deliveries done faster if you had a bike.”

Remus glanced at him in surprise, “What?”

“I saw you cross the town square like ten times today carrying stuff,” He shrugged, “Can’t be that easy to do on foot.”

“Since when did you pay attention to what I do?”

“It’s hard not to,” Sirius said, and Remus’ chest tightened sickeningly. 

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” He replied, briskly, “You're just so–”

Remus narrowed his eyes, “So…?”

Sirius grinned, wide and sharp, “Behemoth” he said, and kept on walking. 

.⋆｡⋆☂˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆.

Halloween was in two weeks, which, naturally, meant that Godric’s Hollow lost its mind. 

The town committee took the celebration very seriously, and Remus was sure they must spend at least one third of their budget on pumpkins, lights, and fake spider-webs; the other two thirds went towards the Christmas decorations. 

From the small window in his flat, he could see familiar ornaments. The carved jack o'lanterns perched on each pilaster of the wall encircling the square, the shops strewn in golden fairy lights, and his favourite– the straw scarecrow protruding from one of the flower boxes, dressed in an elaborate pointy hat and tattered suit. 

That night, Remus fell asleep earlier than usual. The darkness that crept over him was close and hot and heavy, the mattress hard beneath him as he turned. He dreamed. He dreamed he was running down a shadowed, endless corridor, his bare foot slapping against wet stone. 

Behind him, he could hear heavy footsteps, the rattled breathing of something, but he did not dare look back, or to stop. The walls were closing in on him, pressing into his shoulders, squeezing until he swore he could feel a crack, feel the tremor of pain snap down his spine– and then the ground vanished– he was falling, falling, his stomach swooping–

Remus’ head smacked against the ground. He was coated in sweat, and as his eyesight adjusted in the dim light, he saw he was on the floor next to his bed. He must have fallen right off the side of his mattress. Heart still thrashing, he fought his way out of the twist of his blankets, his flushed skin stinging in the freezing air. 

“Fuck,” He buried his head in his hands, raking his fingers through his tousled hair. Struggling to his feet, his hands shook as he yanked on a pair of oversized jeans and a woollen jumper. He couldn’t be in this room anymore, in this flat. He grabbed his keys, tucked a book into his inside coat pocket, and walked out into the street. 

The time on the tall clock tower read that it was nearly midnight. Many of the shops still glittered with fairy lights, and although the glow from the carved pumpkins was fading, it didn’t feel that lonely. 

A flicker of movement across the square. He turned his head towards it, his breath misting, just in time to see Sirius Black, dressed in a dark jacket and jeans, walk up to the church, shoulder open one of the heavy doors, and disappear inside.

At first, Remus stood there, and watched, waiting for him to come back out. When that did not happen, he made his way along the pavement, to where the soft light from the church’s open door spilled out onto the street. Then, he slipped through, and into the entrance-way. 

He did not know if he had expected to see Sirius sitting there in the pews. He wasn’t. He was at the far left of the aisles, ducking under a low arch that led into a dark passageway. Quickening his pace, Remus followed, making sure that his boots didn’t echo against the stone tile as he tailed Sirius down a corridor until they were at a winding staircase. It wasn’t until he took the first few steps, that Remus hissed– 

“What are you doing?” 

Sirius startled, smacking the top of his head into a jutting window ledge. Spinning around, his sharp eyes widened as Remus emerged from out of the shadows.

“What are you doing?” He snapped back, rubbing at his temple, “Did you follow me?”

“No,” Remus lied, walking closer, “Why are you here? It’s 2 in the morning.”

“I could ask you the same question.”

Remus scowled, “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Neither could I,” Sirius grinned, wickedly, his teeth shining white in the dark, and then spun around and continued up the stairs. 

“You’re not supposed to be in here,” Remus said, continuing after him. They reached the first stone landing, and he reached out to grab hold of Sirius' shoulder, but Sirius twisted to catch his wrist. Their chests collided, as his foot caught on the last step– Sirius pushed, and Remus’ back hit the wall. 

“Why don’t you just go back home?” Sirius asked, closing the gap between them as he neared, “Save your delicate sensibilities for tonight.”

“My sensibilities,” Remus said from between his teeth, his voice shaking with the rage he was struggling to push back down, “are not delicate. ”

“Aren’t they?” replied Sirius, his voice drowning in derision, “Don’t tell me. You're the type to like it rough?”

Remus leaned forwards, not breaking their gaze as he looked down at him, “Are you?” 

The smile lacing Sirius’ lips loosened as they parted, and Remus watched in the thin light as the dark pupils of his eyes dilated, and his cheeks pinked. He did not seem to find it so funny anymore. Edging back from Remus in the narrow space, he took to the stairs again, all at once quiet. 

“Are you going to tell me what you’re doing here?” Remus asked, breathless from the winding staircase as he followed. 

“Shut up,” Sirius snapped back, quickening his pace so that Remus had to take two steps at a time to keep up.

“How are you so fast,” Remus panted, “You. Have. Small. Legs.”

It was so dim that Remus did not see that they had come to the next landing, or that Sirius has stopped, but he felt it when he crashed into his back; Sirius whirled around, jabbing a finger at him. 

“I do not have small legs,” he snarled.  

Behind him, through the blackness, there was a wooden arched door. Remus squinted at it. He hadn’t been to this part of the church before. Mostly because he'd never been to church unless explicitly forced as a child. 

“What’s through there?”

Rolling his eyes, Sirius shoved his shoulder into the door and it creaked open into a narrow room, lit only by the sliver of a window set into the far brick wall. It was held up by broad wooden beams, and it smelled like damp and dust.

“This is the bell tower,” Remus murmured, ducking under one of the low rafters, “You’re breaking into… the bell tower?”

Wandering further into the room, Sirius’ hand slipped up to wrap around one of the long, thick ropes hanging down from the ceiling, that disappeared into the blackness above. 

Remus started, “You’ll wake the whole village–”

“It doesn’t work anymore, you prick,” Sirius fired back, and he tugged it, hard; nothing happened. “They replaced them with electronic bells six years ago.”

He pointed towards the upper corner of the room, and Remus followed his gaze to a pair of large horn-shaped speakers and a tangle of thick black wires. 

“How do you know that?”

“Because,” He replied, and began to pick his way around the beams and towards the speakers, the floor creaking beneath him, “My family donated them.”

For a moment, Remus stood still, his eyes wide, trying to process that information, and then– “What?”

“My parents are staunchly Catholic. We came to the services here whenever we visited the town.”

“But… really?”

“There's a little plaque thanking us for our donation down in the chapel,” Sirius said, “if you don't believe me.”

“I believe you,” Remus muttered, “Congratulations on your plaque.”

Shaking his head, Sirius began to laugh, but then there was the scrape of foot against stone– there was someone coming up the stairs. 

Remus turned his head, scanning the room, and then seized a handful of Sirius’ jumper and dragged him towards a cupboard set into the far wall. The footsteps were growing louder, and came into the room just as Remus pulled Sirius inside and shut the door behind them. It was cramped and occupied mostly by cluttered shelves and cleaning supplies, which meant they were pressed together, chest to chest. 

“You smell like chocolate,” Sirius murmured, his breath burning hot against his neck. Remus shifted, trying to think of something unappealing, like slugs, or mould, something other than how soft Sirius’ hair felt against his cheek, how wide and bright his eyes were in the dark, the sharp press of his narrow hips. His lower navel was twisting dangerously.

“Quiet,” Remus hissed back. Outside the door, he could hear the person moving around, and he squinted through the crack in the door to see it was the vicar. 

He could have sworn that Sirius was moving closer, because he was acutely aware of every line and edge of his body. Remus was not a religious person, but he was praying for the vicar to hurry up and leave before he lost all sense of composure. 

Sirius’ voice came again, close to his ear, “Nervous?” 

“What?” He whispered. 

“I can feel your heart,” Sirius said, and Remus flinched as Sirius’ hand slipped up to press against his chest, his palm flat and warm. Remus looked down at him, and Sirius tilted his head, questioning. 

Remus said, “Stop talking.”

“It's very fast.”

“Are you trying to get us caught?”

Thankfully, Sirius fell quiet. Remus’ prayers were answered when the vicar turned back towards the stairs, humming, and disappeared back out of the door, shutting it behind him. Immediately, Remus reached past Sirius to shove open the closet door. They both stumbled outside, Remus immediately crossing to the other side of the room and drawing in deep breaths of safe, Sirius-free air. 

“Where is it…” Sirius murmured, wandering back off towards the corner. Sighing, Remus followed after him at a distance. Craning his head, Sirius crouched down; Remus squinted through the black, and saw that he had his hands on a chunky black box attached to the wall. Sirius stabbed his thumb at a button, and the display flickered to life, green light washing over his face. 

“What is that?”

He turned his head back to grin at him, “It's a digital bell system.”

Remus frowned at the box, and then at him, “How did you even get into this part of the church?”

“Your vicar let slip that he always leaves the doors unlocked,” Sirius replied, pressing experimentally at another button. The device beeped, loudly, and Remus flinched, glancing back towards the door. “He never bloody stops talking, actually. Wouldn’t confess to him if I were you.”

“I’m not religious.”

After rifling around in his inside coat pocket, Sirius pulled out a cylindrical shape with a flourish. He clicked, and the torch’s silver glare flashed out across the room, before he swung the beam over to where Remus stood. Raising an eyebrow, he asked, “But I bet you’ve got plenty to confess, haven’t you?”

“Yeah,” Wrinkling his nose, Remus shielded his face from the bright glow, “I’d confess that you're an idiot.”

“Not really how confessions work.”

“You would know,” he folded his arms, “So are you…”

“Do I seem Catholic?” Sirius flipped up the front panel, revealing more rows of buttons, and began tapping away. He bit down on his bottom lip as he worked. 

“Right,” Remus looked away, quickly, “Um. I haven't seen your parents around town.”

Sirius was silent for a few beats while he worked, and then he said, “That's because they're not here. They're in London.”

“London?”

“Where I grew up,” He cast him a disdainful glance, “You're chatty today. You usually just glower. And be tall.” 

“I don't do the tall thing on purpose,” muttered Remus, almost smiling.

“It feels on purpose.”

Remus scuffed his boot against the floorboards, “So your– house– in Godric’s Hollow is a– holiday home.”

“I guess. If that's what you want to call it.” 

“You're telling me your family owns two houses.”

“Three, actually,” Sirius corrected, “There's also one in Paris.”

He bit down on the inside of his cheek, “Great. Well. Bully for you. Why stop at two?”

“That bothers you,” Sirius remarked. The digital bell system emitted a long, solemn noise, which summarised Remus’ feelings exactly. 

Narrowing his eyes, Remus told him, “I couldn't care less.”

“Sure, Lupin,” He murmured, swivelling back towards the rows of buttons, “Whatever you say.”

“Why are you here then?”

Sirius indicated towards the black box, as if it were obvious, “I'm tampering.”

“No, I mean– why did you come to Godric’s Hollow?” 

“I'm… visiting.” He replied, and after another shrill bleep, and then a flash from the green screen of the device, he got back up onto his feet, a satisfied grin tugging at his mouth. 

“Pretty long visit.”

“Lupin!” Sirius groaned as he weaved his way back around the rafters, “Either stop asking me questions or go back to bed.”

“That wasn't a question. It was an observation.”

As he walked closer, Sirius hissed, brandishing his makeshift weapon, “I will shove this torch so far up your–”

Remus cut in, “I'm not afraid of you, you know. You're not even a little bit intimidating.” 

“I'm not?” Sirius’ gaze flickered over him, slowly, “You are.”

“I'm what?”

“Terrifying,” He tilted his head, “You're terrifying.”

Unsure what to say, Remus cleared his throat, and nodded towards the speakers, “What is it you did to the bells, exactly?”

Sirius followed his gaze, and smiled, “I put my computer programming module to good use.”

“What does that mean?”

“You'll have to see tomorrow morning, won't you?” 

They were quiet as they hurried back down the winding stone staircase and out down the dark and empty aisles of the church. Outside, it was much colder than the heated pews, but Remus and Sirius stood there on the pavement, their breath misting in the air. 

The town square was aglow with strings of warm fairy lights, winding their way up the trees, along the crooked walls. A breeze tumbled along the street, stirring through their hair. 

“Better catch some sleep,” said Sirius, turning to look at him. He was so beautiful. Sometimes it was hard for Remus to believe he was real. Sirius added, “While you can.”

“It's alright,” Remus replied, “I won't be sleeping again tonight anyway.”

Sirius’ eyes traced over his face, “No?

He lifted a shoulder, “No.”

Huddling further into his coat, Remus walked away, passing down into the narrow alleyway that led to his flat. He glanced back once at Sirius’ silhouette, where he stood, still staring out at the lights of the town square. 

That morning, at five to eight, Remus shuffled to the edge of his bed, and hauled open the stiff window. He hadn't slept, just like he had predicted, but for once he wasn't feeling too bad. He'd already had his coffee, and he closed his eyes as the cold, fresh air washed over his face. 

Leaning his elbows against the window frame, he gazed out in the direction of the church. It was nearly eight.

When the first peal of the bells rang out across the square, high and clanging, Remus craned his head further out the window to listen. It was not the usual monotonous drone of the morning bells, although at first, the new melody meant nothing to him. 

It was only as it reached its climax that he realized what it was. A tune he knew from Sunday evenings of sitting on the sofa with his dad as a teenager and watching reruns of Han Solo running around with a lightsaber – The Imperial March. 

He laughed, out loud, shaking his head. Below him, a few of his neighbours had opened their doors, and were standing out on the street. 

“What the hell are they playing at?” demanded Mrs Figg, squinting in the direction of the church. 

Grinning, Remus ducked back inside and flopped down onto his bed, and listened to the bells until the final note rang out. 

He had that same day off from work, but he still somehow had a massive laundry list of things to get done; the most pressing, ironically, being laundry. There was no space for a machine in his tiny flat, so Remus hauled his clothes into his hamper, otherwise referred to as a plastic shopping bag, and tossed it over his shoulder as he stepped outside and headed towards the launderette. After shoving in his clothes and a few coins into the machine, he pushed himself up on top of it and rifled in his bag for his most recent read; War and Peace.

After twenty minutes, the door’s bell sounded, but Remus didn’t bother to look up until he was distinctly aware of someone standing a little too close to him. He caught sight of the boots first, and sighed.

“You can’t possibly need to do your laundry,” He said, looking up at Sirius, “Don’t you have a maid or something?”

Sirius eyed him, folding his arms across his chest. “I don’t have a maid. It’s not 1865 anymore. I have a washing machine.”

“Then why are you here?”

He asked, “Did you hear the bells this morning?” 

Remus smiled back down at his book, “Who didn’t?”

“Haven’t had any angry villagers with pitchforks at my door yet.” Sirius grinned, his eyes shining, and for a moment, Remus forgot it was his turn to say something. 

“So you’re a Star Wars fan?” He landed on.

“Not really,” Sirius said, his voice soft, “But my brother is.”

“You have a brother?”

Sirius pressed his lips together, and for a moment his familiar arrogant smile dropped away completely. He rolled his shoulders back and nodded down towards the novel Remus was holding, “Do you ever not have a book in your hand?”

“Not really,” Remus muttered.

“Isn’t War and Peace a bit dry?”

“It’s fun.”

“Oh yeah. Tolstoy is well known for fun,” Sirius’ smirk widened again, leaning on the machine next to him, “Let me guess. You studied English Literature?”

Resting his head back against the wall, Remus shook his head.

Sirius continued, “Classics?”

To save himself the agony of playing twenty questions, Remus sighed, and said, “I’ve never gone to university.”

“Lucky you.”

“Am I?” said Remus, sharply, tilting his head, “Am I lucky?”

Lifting his shoulders in a shrug, Sirius told him, “God knows I wasted my time at uni. Spent three years depressed and drinking myself to death.”

“Not that different from now,” Remus noted, and Sirius’ eyes narrowed. 

“I’m just saying,” He said, stiffly, “I wouldn’t have done it if my parents didn’t force me. The whole ordeal– it's fucking tedious.”

“You have that in common then, don’t you?” Remus snapped, his knuckles bleeding white as they tightened around his book, “Would you leave me alone?”

“Jesus Christ,” Sirius said, staring at him as if he’d just grown a second head, “What did I fucking say?”

“Nothing,” He returned his gaze downwards and turned to another page, blinking at the words, but they all just swam across the paper, devoid of meaning. A second later, a hand had been placed down across the page, pushing down the book, and Sirius was there in front of him, and he had no choice but to meet his eyes.

“All I mean is that I was dragged kicking and screaming into a degree I didn't even want to do,” He said, firmly, “and it was a shit time for me. So you made the right choice not to go.”

“I didn't choose not to go,” Remus said, softening a little, “I– whatever. It doesn't even matter.”

“Yes it does,” Sirius replied, “What do you mean?”

“You don’t care.”

“Why don’t you just tell me anyway?”

“I didn't go because– I can't afford it,” Feeling the colour rush into his face, Remus looked away from him and out the misted window of the laundrette, “Not because I didn't want to. I really– well, I just want to.”

“What about your parents? Can't they help?”

Remus flashed a bitter smile at him, “Haven't got a functioning pair of those.”

“Oh. Right.” 

“Yeah.”

Sirius was watching him closely, and then he said, suddenly, “Hey. That's why you're working all those different jobs, isn't it? You're…”

“Saving up?” Remus finished for him, “Yes. Or at least I'm trying to.”

“That's fucking shit,” Sirius said, bluntly, and Remus’ chewed down on his bottom lip, his brow crinkling in surprise.

“Um. Yeah,” He mumbled, “I guess.”

A loud beeping noise sounded from beneath him, and he set down his book, pushing himself off from the machine. Sirius had stepped back, and was still looking at him, so he felt extremely self-conscious as he yanked open the stiff door, and scooped up his damp pile of washing. After he had shoved his clothes into a dryer, he turned back around, only to see Sirius standing there and holding out something stripey in his hand.

“You dropped a sock,” Sirius said. 

Remus took it from him, and put it in with the rest, “Thanks.”