Flightless Bird

Remus had only replied to Benji once. 

Hi Benji. This is Remus. 

He hadn’t much to say. Since then, he had received several texts back, none of which he had replied to. Mostly because they were all tinged with Benji’s true intentions, which were, most likely, to have sex. He wasn't stupid. And maybe Marlene was right, and what would be the harm, except somehow he just couldn't bring himself to pick up his phone. 

Something was stopping him. He didn't know what it was– which pissed him off. There was nothing worse than realizing you don't know yourself quite as well as you thought. 

Not that it was relevant, but he had only seen Sirius a handful of times over the last few weeks. It was getting closer to Christmas now, and much colder; a freeze was coming. Town was busier, full with people dragged back home for the holidays, people who had once lived here and managed to escape. Remus envied those people. He was trying and failing not to be bitter. As usual. 

Sirius had not come into the bar, or found some new, miraculous way to piss him off, but Remus had caught a glimpse of him in the grocery store. 

They had ended up in the same aisle. Sirius looked up at him with dark, soft eyes, saying nothing, and Remus looked down at Sirius’ basket. Two cans of tomato soup. A packet of microwave popcorn. 

“Exciting night in?” asked Remus, eyebrows inching upwards. Uncharacteristically, Sirius shifted on the spot. 

“Sure,” he murmured. 

“You know there's a good Chinese takeaway around the corner,” Remus tells him, “If you want something other than soup.”

Sirius cast him a cutting glance, “Did I say I wanted something other than soup?”

Blinking, Remus said, “No. Was just a suggestion.”

“I don't need your suggestions,” Sirius retorted, and he turned back to the shelves, snatching at a box of crackers. 

“Alright. Well. I better be going, I've got plans to terrorise the woman in aisle three by proposing she tries the fish and chips on the corner.”

Pressing his lips together, Sirius looked over at him again, “You’re not funny,” he said, and then he sighed, “Whatever. I just want soup, okay?”

“Okay.” 

“There's nothing wrong with soup.”

“I agree.”

“It’s my brother's favourite food.”

Remus paused, “... Soup?”

“Tomato soup. And crackers. He has it whenever he's sick.”

“Oh,” Remus frowned down again at Sirius' basket, trying to imagine what Sirius’ brother would look like; all he could come up with is a smaller, perhaps less grumpy Sirius, “Is he visiting?”

Sirius’ hand tightened around the handle of his basket, fingers flexing, metal creaking. He closed his eyes, too long to be a blink, opened them again. 

“No,” he said. 

He walked up the rest of the aisle towards the counter. Remus stood there and watched him pay, keeping his distance. He knew by now when Sirius Black was in one of his moods. 

He wondered what else Sirius did all day, alone in that ginormous maze of a house. Maybe he read all those beautiful books from the library. Maybe he sat down and stared at the ceiling. 

Remus also wondered, again, why Sirius was still here. Why resign yourself to a place like this? 

He and Marlene had worked a lot of shifts together that week. Honestly, he couldn't wait until the pub closed for Christmas. He was counting down the days. At least Marlene was a saving grace, despite her insistent and intrusive questions. 

“Are you and Benji hooking up?” she asked as she poured whiskey into a glass and slid it across to the bar. 

Flushing, Remus glanced at the waiting customers, but thankfully it was too loud and no-one cared enough about them to pay any attention anyway. 

He scowled at her, reaching across her to retrieve the card machine from someone, “Shut up, and no.”

“No? But I gave him your number!” She pouted. 

“IPA,” grunted a man at Remus, and he turned to pull the pint. 

“I have no interest in Benji,” muttered Remus as Marlene slipped past him to fetch something from the fridge. She jabbed her fingers into his side, snickering. 

“Who do you have interest in then?”

“No one.”

“Ugh! Remus!” 

“What?” He slammed the IPA down in front of the man, and jabbed in the price for him to pay into the machine, before looking back at Marlene, who was casting him an unimpressed glare. 

“You need to live a little,” she told him. 

“I live plenty.”

And then, ten minutes later, when it was a bit quieter and Remus was scrubbing at spilled beer on the countertop, Marlene breezed past him and said, “You know who I haven't seen recently?” 

“No.”

“Sirius Black.”

Remus faltered for a moment, before lowering his head a little, “Hm.”

“Have you?”

“Have I what?”

She leaned her hip against the bar, staring at him, “Seen Sirius Black?”

“Why would I have?”

“Come on. You guys are like magnets.”

He straightened up, his stomach clenching, and asked, “Excuse me?”

Marlene raised an eyebrow, “You’re, like, always together.”

Remus scoffed, and resumed furiously scouring, “We are not. We may– bump into each other now and then–”

“But you talk. I've seen you.” 

“Unwillingly, yeah.” 

“How unwillingly can it be?” 

“Marlene,” he gritted his teeth, and finally gave up on trying to clean the mess, stepping back to massage his wrist, “Stop asking me questions, please.”

She rolled her eyes, “Fiiiine.”

Remus slipped his phone out of his pocket to check the time. 10.30. 

Maybe he was a little on edge. Yeah, he was a lot on edge. His stomach was a tangle of horrible, wrenching knots, and the familiar throb of his temple was sharpening by the minute. 

Remus had agreed to meet his dad after work. He knew he could not avoid his texts and calls much longer without running into him, either around town or at his flat; and if anything, he would prefer to meet Lyall in a neutral environment with minimal opportunity for surprise. 

After yet another message asking where he was the evening before, Remus had replied.

Hi. I can meet at 11pm tomorrow. Outside Madam Puddifoots.

His dad had texted back within ten minutes.

See u there. 

Dad. 

Twenty-five minutes later, Remus was calling his goodbyes to Marlene, following the last few customers out the door. He shivered as he stepped out onto the street, his breath misting in the air. 

Footsteps echoed against the cobbled stones, and a figure melted from out the shadows, passing him by down the pavement. Dark curls. Dark eyes. Speak of the Devil.

“Black,” Remus blurted out before he could disappear, and Sirius paused, turning towards the sound of his voice. 

“Lupin,” he said. 

Remus frowned at him as he pulled on his coat and gloves, wary, “What are you doing here?”

“Amicable as always,” he replied. He seemed in a better mood than the last time they had seen each other, drifting nearer under the yellow streetlight, “Just passing through. Late night stroll.”

“Oh.”

“Not closing today?”

“No,” Remus said, “Got somewhere to be.”

“Unusual for you,” Sirius replied. He closed the space between them, tugging at the tangle of Remus’ wonky scarf. It fell loose around Remus’ neck as Sirius straightened it, and Remus found himself holding his breath, “What’re you doing?”

“Meeting someone.”

Sirius began folding the scarf into a surprisingly elegant knot, “Yeah? Anyone interesting?”

“No,” Remus murmured. 

“Couldn’t be more interesting than me,” Fingers drifting away from his throat to instead graze Remus’ shoulder, Sirius' voice was warm and low and sent a hot shudder through him. As did his eyes, which looked up at him through the dark, wide and glinting, “Right?”

“Right,” Remus’ gaze traced down his face, “I can't imagine anyone more interesting, actually.”

“You have a way of making that sound like an insult, you know,” A smile pulled at Sirius’ mouth. 

“It was.”

“Shocking.”

“I've really got to go,” Remus admitted, eventually. 

“Really?”

“Truly.”

“Alright” he took a step down off the curb, and the air grew a little colder, “Go.” 

Maybe Remus looked back as he walked away. Maybe he caught Sirius watching too. Maybe he was so distracted by this fact that he nearly forgot where he was going in the first place, and by the time he reached Madam Puddifoots, he was around five minutes late. 

The cafe was closed, of course, but they always left their rickety metal tables and chairs out overnight. It was a relatively crime-free town, and besides, they were painted a hideously gaudy pink colour. 

Lyall Lupin was sitting in one of these chairs, but he got up when he saw Remus. They did not hug. It had been a while since they had last done anything like that. Instead, they both stood there for a moment, on either side of the table, and the writhing, raw muddle of Remus’ nerves resurfaced. 

“Hi,” his dad said finally, “Remus. You alright?”

A little unsteady, Remus slid down into a chair, “Yeah. You?”

Lyall sat back down as well, “Could be worse.”

Remus pressed his lips together, and tried not to sound too blunt when he asked, “What's this about?” 

“Uh,” his dad rubbed a palm across his head. Even in the thin light, he looked sweaty and pale, “Shit, I– I don't know where to start.” 

“The beginning is a good place.” 

It was something his mother had always used to say. He had almost hoped that it would make his dad smile. But it didn't. 

“I screwed up, Remus,” Lyall said, his voice hushed, urgent, “I don't know what to do.”

“Dad, come on,” Remus frowned, his knee beginning to bounce; it jolted the table, metal scraping against stone. “What's going on?” 

“I owe some money. Alright?” 

A chill crept down Remus’ spine, “For what?” 

His dad’s mouth twisted, “It's not– for anything. I– I lost it. In a bet.”

“A bet,” repeated Remus, and then he straightened in his seat, “You're gambling again?”

“Not again. It was just a one-time thing–”

“You said you'd stopped.”

“I screwed up. Is that what you want to hear?” Lyall retorted, but he cleared his throat quickly, his tone evening out, “Alright. I know. I know. I was drunk, and I screwed up.”

“You're always drunk.” Remus pointed out, coldly, and his dad opened his mouth again, but he cut him off before he could say another word, “How much is it? How much do you owe?”

“Six grand.”

No. Remus squeezed his eyes closed, “Fucking hell. Fuck.”

“And I haven't got it, okay? I haven't got it. I don't know what to do. This guy, he's given me until the end of the next month to do something about it but I–”

“Why are you here, dad?” Remus asked. 

“I…” he trailed off, averting his gaze to his own wringing hands. 

“I'm a fucking idiot,” murmured Remus, more to himself. His stomach coiled in on itself. He really could empty the contents of his stomach onto the cobblestones any moment. “You know, I had actually told myself that maybe, just maybe, you wanted to see me because you wanted to get better. Because you wanted us to be better. But you're here for money. Aren't you?”

“Remus…”

“Aren't you?”

Lyall, finally, looked up at him, leaning across the table with round, sunken eyes, “The guy won't let it go, Remus. What do you want me to do? He'll beat the living shit out of me, even if he doesn't take everything from the flat–” 

“Dad. Six grand is– that's nearly all my savings,” Remus swallowed, his voice breaking, “That's everything I've got.”

“But you've got it?”

Shaking his head, Remus pushed his chair back from the table, and stood up, and his dad scrambled to his feet, his face drained of colour. God. Just seeing him now– he looked like an old, faded photograph of a father Remus had once had. Almost bleached right out of existence. 

“Remus, please,” he said, quietly, “I'm still your father.”

“Now you're my father,” snapped Remus, and Lyall flinched, “Now, you're my father? You haven't been my father since the day mum-- You have been nothing. I've been–”

Remus turned away then, pressing his arm to his mouth, his nose, smothering the break in his voice. Lyall’s hand clutched at his jacket, but he tore himself away. 

“Let me go. I need to– I need to fucking think about it, okay? Just let me go.” 

And Lyall did let him. He didn't say another word, not that Remus would have heard it through the frenzied noise chorusing through his head as he strode back through the little alleyways to home. 

In his flat, sitting on the edge of his bed, staring into the dark, cold blue of the room, Remus thought about his father. Who he was. Who he had been. 

His had-been dad was simple. His had-been dad liked tea with too much sugar and he put his socks on the radiator every morning to keep them warm. He would take Remus out fishing, and Remus hated it. He was normal. He was a dad. 

Maybe Hope had just been the other side of his coin. The thing keeping him tethered. Remus had not realized exactly how much until after his mum had gotten sick, after months in the hospital, after they were sitting down at a strange, quiet funeral, and Remus caught a glimpse of his dad swinging from a flask in his jacket. 

He had made excuses for him. Grief changed people. It had changed Remus. 

Fuck. Remus buried his head in his hands. For a long time, he sat like that, until sleep was merciful, and for once allowed his eyes to shut. 

It was only two days later that Winnie found him. 

Although Marlene had asked him if he was free, he did not know if he could bear to talk to her about his conversation with his father. And she would ask questions. He had made the mistake of letting slip that he was seeing Lyall, and she had looked at him as if he had confessed to being on a reality TV show. 

In an effort to avoid social interaction while taking advantage of a non-rainy day, Remus had hidden himself away in a quieter part of the town; a small, overgrown stretch of gated grass and trees that made up a poor attempt at a park. The people of Godric's Hollow always forgot about it. He took a seat on the only bench, and under the weak glow of the winter sun, opened his book. 

He was not sure how Winnie had ended up there, but when he saw her coming through the park towards him, he still waved.  

“Hello sunshine,” she said, and she sat down next to him. 

“Hi,” he replied, quietly. She wasn't usually the sort of person who made him want to pretend to be okay, but he still tried to shove a smile onto his mouth. 

Winnie studied his expression as if she could see right through it, “You down?” 

“I'm fine,” he shook his head, “I'm just tired.”

“Too tired to work?”

He squinted at her through the sunshine, “At Grimmauld House again?” 

“There's a freeze coming,” Winnie told him, stretching out her arms across the back of the bench, and tipping her face up to the blue sky. She closed her eyes, “The garden needs some love to keep it going through Christmas.”

“Oh.”

“You don't have to take it. You were asked for, that's all. And it's double the pay–” 

“Sorry?” Remus leaned forwards a little, and she opened one eye carefully. 

“The oldest son of the family that owns the house is staying there at the moment,” she replied, “You might have seen him around town.”

“Uh,” Raking a hand through his hair, Remus resisted a grimace, “Yeah. Maybe.” 

Winnie said, “He asked me to hire you to do the garden.”

“Did he?” muttered Remus.

Sirius fucking Black. Never ceased to amaze. What new play in their endlessly confusing little game was this? 

“If you're too tired–”

“I'm fine, Winnie,” he said, again, a bit sharper than before. When she raised an arched eyebrow, he sighed, and asked, “Did you say double the pay?”

“That's right.”

Frowning, he twisted at his moon-ring, turning it over, feeling the ridge of the metal dig into his skin. The quiet sat between them for a few moments. He could feel Winnie watching him. He made a decision. 

“Okay,” he told her, “Thanks, Winnie. Sure, I'll do it.”

Winnie nodded, once, succinct. She said, “Your mum used to take you to this park when you were little.”

Remus blinked, his gaze flickering around at the overgrown grass, the winter-stripped trees, the rusted gate. He replied, “Not much of a park now.”

“Hope saw good in everything,” Winnie lifted a shoulder in a light shrug, “Even parks.”

Remus thought about that for a long time, even after Winnie had heaved herself up and left. His book sat untouched next to him on the bench.  

He didn't see good in anything. Maybe he wasn't much like his mother at all. 

Winnie had told him to go over to Grimmauld House that weekend and start his work on preparing the garden for the winter freeze. He did so with as little fanfare as possible, opening and closing the gate to the property quietly, careful as he rummaged in the shed for the right equipment. 

He was in a foul mood. An encounter with Sirius Black would only end in catastrophe. 

His dad had texted him twice the day before. 

Remus. i think we need to finish our conversation. 

Dad. 

Pls do not ignore. 

Dad. 

His sleep that evening, was not only painfully sparse, but infested with horrible, vivid dreams about falling and running and flying and being crushed by one of the gutter-clearing machines that sometimes whirred through the town. He had started awake several times, sweating and sore and trembling. 

After clearing the weeds and dead plants, Remus headed over to the tap on the wall by the conversatory. It was rusty and stiff, but he twisted it until he could hear the rush of the water. The sprinklers started up on the left flower-bed, spraying across the pale pansies and primroses. There was at least something mind-numbing about this work. 

Picking up the spade, he headed over to the other patch of browning, leafy stems. In summer, this had been a colourful bed of dahlias, soft pinks and dusky oranges, but now with the encroaching frost, it was little more than roots and leaves. 

As he gently dug the spade under the first bulb, the door to the conservatory swung open, and Sirius came out into the garden. Remus’ eyes darted up towards him as he stood there on the top of the path. Only a few minutes into watching Remus dig up the tubers, did Sirius walk over to where he was working.

“It’s a bit cold to water the flowers, isn’t it?” Sirius said, nodding his head towards where the sprinklers were sputtering away.

“Didn’t realise you were an expert,” Remus murmured.

“Touchy.”

“The temperature is going to drop in the next few days,” he told him, evenly, “I’ll only have the sprinkler on for a bit, it’s just to protect the plants from the dry air. Keep them warm.”

“Right,” Sirius paused, “How do you know so much about this stuff anyway?”

Remus prodded the spade under the next bulb, squinting at the tangle of roots; this tuber had been planted particularly deep, “My mum taught me.”

“Oh,” he was chewing down on his lip, still following Remus’ movements as he worked, before he added, “I kill every plant I touch. Sometimes I don’t even need to touch it. I can just look at it and it just withers away. Think I learned that from my mother too. That, and a constant, all-consuming sense of shame.”

Remus glanced at him, “Shame?” he repeated, and at the same time, he felt the tip of his spade hit something hard– too hard to be a bulb. He swore, and wrapped a hand around the pole to keep the shovel steady.

Sirius frowned down at the soil-bed, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” muttered Remus, “I think it’s just stuck, but I should probably– Black, no!”

Sirius had reached over, wrapped both hands around the spade’s handle and given it a hard wrench. A crack, a sharp hiss, and a white jet of water came shooting up into the air. It only took seconds for it to soak through Remus’ thin jumper and to his skin. 

“You. Idiot!” yelled Remus, the shock from the cold sending him stumbling backwards over the patch of dirt. 

“What the fuck!” Sirius groaned, and he too was drenched in water. He was fumbling blindly for the discarded shovel as if this would somehow make the torrent stop, “Did you hit a pipe?”

“Did I hit a pipe?” Remus hissed back, exhaustion sending the hot flare of his temper soaring, “You and your lack of impulse control hit the fucking sprinkler system!”

“I was trying to help!”

“As if it’s not humiliating enough that you summoned me here–”

“Summoned?” interrupted Sirius, his eyebrows darting upwards, “I was doing you a favour. You need work!”

“Not from you,” Remus said, and he shouldered to walk past him to turn off the tap at the wall, but Sirius grabbed his wrist, swinging him back around. His jaw was set, his cheeks flushed an angry pink. 

“Why not me?”

“Because you make me feel like shit!” He snapped, “Because you fucking annoy me and you–” he drew in a breath, tumbling over his words, soaking wet and freezing and furious. He was being mean , and unnecessary, but he couldn't stop himself, “and you don't even like me. Do you? So why did you even ask me to come here?” 

“You have no idea how I feel about you,” said Sirius, his voice hard. 

Remus rolled his eyes, “Yes, I do. I heard what you said to James. Having me around makes you want to blow your brains out, right?”

“What?” Staring at him, Sirius put a hand to his head, threading fingers through his own dark, damp hair, “I… You weren't meant to hear that.”

“Well I did.”

“Christ. You've got that all wrong–”

“Sure,” bit Remus before he could even finish, that one word final, harsh, and Sirius recoiled a little, straightening up. The water was still bursting out of the earth. spattering the legs of their trousers. 

“You know what?” He said, “You might think I'm annoying, Lupin, but at least I'm not like you. You are a judgemental fucking twat who refuses to change your mind about literally anything! It is exhausting. I don't know how anyone can stand being around you!” 

Oh. Remus stepped backwards, his boot nearly catching on the discarded spade. His heart was hammering against his rib-cage, his throat tight. He strode across the sodden grass, cutting onto the path towards where he had locked his bike at the front gate. 

“Lupin!” Sirius shouted after him, and Remus could hear his footsteps following him, “Lupin, wait!”

He did not reply; he had reached the gate, and reached to twist in the combination to his lock, but a hand grabbed at his elbow and yanked him back around. 

Sirius said, “You don't get to just walk away.”

Remus looked at him, and– and Sirius had that look in his eyes again, that hard, hot, terrifying something, a strange panic, like he didn't know what he was going to say or do next.

So maybe it did not come as a surprise when Sirius seized a fistful of Remus’ shirt, white-knuckled as he pulled him forwards. 

But when Sirius kissed him, Remus almost stopped breathing. 

His heart dropped clean out of his body. His chest lurched, his stomach tightening. A car slamming on the brakes. Missing a step on the stairs. A beautiful boy kisses you. 

Everything that was not this, this split-second, fell out of his head. The tiredness creeping behind his skin, his dad’s pleading, the money, the frustration. It was nothing. He was empty. 

And then there was– 

Sirius’ mouth– hismouthhismouthhismouth… it was soft, just as soft as his fingers, the ones that were curled around his jaw, his throat. Unlike Remus’ calloused hands, the ones that slipped, like it was instinct, up the back of Sirius’ loose jumper. 

This was not emptiness. This was brimming over. 

This was Sirius’ grip on his nape. The blazing nudge of his hips through his jeans. This was how Sirius smelled, like coconut. How he tasted, like sweet black coffee. And Remus was committing it all the memory; his lips, his tongue, the press of his warm body and his wet clothes. 

The kiss grew fiercer, deeper, blazing through Remus’ blood, his heart loud in his ears. The gate was cold and hard against his spine as he was pressed backwards. 

The metal latch clattered, and everything– the kiss, the heat, the dark magic of it all– shattered. 

Sirius sprung backwards, like Remus had scalded him. Panting, Remus braced himself against the gate, staring at him. He didn't have much time to say anything before Sirius swore, fuck, vicious and loud, and he turned away. 

As Remus watched, Sirius sat down on one of the benches at the bottom of the pathway, his head in his hands, damp curls clenched between his fingers. His face hidden. 

Warmth bled across Remus’ cheeks. His eyes burned. To his horror, he realised that the sharp sting digging its way beneath his lashes, was tears. 

Hands shaking, he went back to his bike, unfastened the lock, and pulled it free. 

“I should leave,” Remus said, finally, when Sirius remained silent.

Sirius replied, and he still did not look up, “You should.”