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Tweak says, "Franklin was a cool guy"

woldy (woldy) wrote,
@ 2008-07-08 11:07:00

Entry tags:

hp slash, r/s games, remus/sirius

My R/S Games Round 1 fic - Of Comets & Counter-Examples
There haven't been many fics posted here of late, which is partly because I've been working on 2 fics for the Remus/Sirius Games , which has been great fun. Since the reveals for Round 1 are now up, I can provide the details of my entry:

Title: Of Comets and Counter-Examples
Team: Team Post-Hogwarts
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: very mild AU (deviation from the timeline in GoF)
Summary: If the past is a foreign country, can travel help to resolve a troubled history? Dumbledore assigns Remus and Sirius a mission to explore three European cities, or perhaps to find each other.
Prompt: Brothers on a Hotel Bed (Death Cab for Cutie)
Genre(s): Romance
Disclaimer: Not mine & not profiting
Notes: Many thanks to Team Post-Hogwarts, to the mods & to the wonderful maraudersaffair for beta-ing this fic.

Cut to the fic via R/S Games or...

“Even landlocked lovers yearn for the sea like navy men
’Cause now we say goodnight from our own separate sides
Like brothers on a hotel bed…”

Brothers On A Hotel Bed

The air was cold and saturated with the salty spray from the waves crashing against the shoreline. Remus was suspended perhaps fifty metres above the cliffs on a large, noisy and thoroughly insecure flying motorbike.

For the umpteenth time Remus thought, “This is a bad idea.”

Unfortunately, this was Dumbledore’s idea, so Remus had quashed his misgivings. His instructions were vague: a mission with Sirius to investigate the sites of three ancient magical battles.

In his usual, twinkly-eyed way, Dumbledore explained that they would be searching for unusual defensive magic or magical objects, particularly a ring or very powerful wand. Remus knew enough about wizarding folk-tales to recognise a wild goose chase when he was handed one.

Still, an all-expenses-paid foreign holiday with Sirius was not to be sneezed at. Remus might have protested at Dumbledore’s thinly veiled intrusion into his personal life, except that holidays were beyond his meagre income.

Besides, clearing the air with Sirius was…well, quite sensible. At some point Sirius would presumably return to England and it would be helpful to know where things stood. Advice columnists and etiquette books had nothing to say about relating to a close friend you’d believed a traitor and who had recently escaped from prison.

Nonetheless, Remus would have preferred a plan that didn’t involve this damned bike.

The land beneath him dwindled and then disappeared as he flew out over the dark expanse of the North Sea. Remus re-assured himself again that the bike would be fine. Sirius had designed the charms himself, it had even carried Hagrid once. Rationally, Remus knew he was secure.

Rationally wasn’t the problem, though, which was why he’d agreed to the trip: the bike was an extension of believing he could trust Sirius.

The roar of the sea faded and was replaced by the constant thrum of the motorbike’s engine. Remus took a deep, calming breath. “You’re safe,” he said, aloud. “It’s all right.”

Things weren’t all right, not really. He supposed this would have to be good enough.

“Point me,” he commanded his wand, and steered East, towards the Baltic, the city of Tallinn and Sirius.

Tedium replaced terror over several cold hours before the bike landed on a quiet road on the outskirts of Tallinn. Remus rode past ugly Soviet tower blocks until he reached the medieval buildings of the old town where their hotel was located.

Remus dismounted carefully, feeling extremely stiff, and parked the bike in a small stone courtyard. After some hammering on the hotel door, a woman appeared bearing the key to his room. He fell into bed and was asleep within seconds.

Remus was woken by loud knocking, and for a second believed himself to be back at Hogwarts. Instead, he opened his eyes to find a plain hotel room and, oddly, himself wearing trousers in bed. Sleepily, he opened the door and found Sirius – really, truly Sirius – on the other side.

Sirius looked very different to the last time Remus had seen him, when they were leaving the Shack. Now, Sirius’ face was tanned, clean-shaven, his hair was cut, and he looked almost relaxed. Remus thought that he’d filled out a bit, after spending time in human form eating proper, human food.

As if he could read Remus’ mind, Sirius said “Breakfast?”

“I’ll see you downstairs in a moment,” Remus replied, and went to get dressed.

Breakfast was fine: they talked about toucans, about Sirius’ cushy exile in Morocco and a range of other relatively inconsequential things. Neither of them said “Azkaban” or “trust” or “betrayal” but the words hung unspoken in the air between them.

“Right,” Sirius said, eventually. “Best take a look at those notes.”

They spread Dumbledore’s notes on the breakfast table and, perhaps inevitably, the parchment got smeared with marmalade. Beneath the marmalade, Dumbledore’s looping script told them that the city had a fascinatingly dark and violent history, but regrettably no library. This news prompted a smile from Sirius, for whom books were never the preferred means of research.

“Best do it by foot,” Remus concluded, looking enquiringly at Sirius to see how many feet he wanted to employ.

“Bit chilly,” Sirius replied, picking up his cloak, which answered that question.

“It’s not much colder than Hogwarts,” Remus thought, but that wasn’t much help – doggy Sirius used to get cold at Hogwarts and must have frozen last winter.

Since grief and regret wouldn’t solve anything, Remus pushed those thoughts aside to focus on the task at hand: examining the city for unusual defensive magic.

Tallinn was all grey stone and stark white snow, a city made up of castles, walls and fortresses that blurred together to create one long, formidable city wall. It reminded Remus of Hogwarts, except that Hogwarts was friendly and joyful whereas Tallinn was steeped in sorrow.

Looming towers with barred windows punctuated the wall at intervals, and Sirius withdrew into himself each time they passed one. Remus could guess all too easily what Sirius was reminded of.

After a few hours of exploring they found a large, clearly man-made hole in the ground in the midst of a park. A lumos spell and some cautious steps forward revealed a tunnel about six feet high that angled steeply down. The entrance seemed newly excavated, but it was apparent from inside that the tunnel was much older, its stone walls matching those of the city’s medieval buildings.

Once they had descended several metres, the tunnel extended horizontally as far as Remus could see by wand light. Cautiously, Sirius and he walked along it.

The air in the tunnel reeked of magic, even though the spells were mostly centuries old. Remus found wards, defensive enchantments and some structural spells to reinforce the stones and mortar – “Against battering rams,” Sirius suggested.

They uncovered concealed exits and air holes that emerged several hundred metres from the tunnel’s entrance, and less pleasant surprises including the trip jinx which caught Sirius. After that, they were both more careful, dismantling spells that would have seriously inconvenienced an unwary wizard or Muggle.

“Good thing Dumbledore sent us, huh?” Sirius said proudly, as he finished disarming a suffocation curse.

“Mm,” said Remus, who was focused on a tricky Estonian rune that was etched onto one of the stones.

“Takes me back,” Sirius remarked, observing the damp walls in the dim wand light. “Like the passage to Honeydukes, except there’s no sweets. Just like old times.”

“Not quite,” Remus answered distractedly, as he copied the final strokes of the rune onto parchment. “I’m not the same person I used to be.”

Remus heard the mixture of bitterness and apology in his voice and went silent, worried that he might have opened a Pandora’s box.

“Nobody is,” Sirius replied evenly. “What’s the quote – ‘the past is another country, they do things differently there’.”

Remus rolled the parchment and looked up. “What?”

“I do read you know,” Sirius said, neutrally. “It’s what I thought about in Azkaban. I couldn’t stew on James and Lily or I would’ve gone mad in weeks, so I lived in books. I got years out of Shakespeare; Hamlet kept me going all through 1983.”

Remus stared.

“I couldn’t remember you properly. Dementors leave you with a dark caricature of your memories, so I could barely recognise people. But I thought about your books. I still prefer Hemingway, but you’re right that Joyce improves upon reflection.” Sirius gave an odd, twisted smile.

“I should have done something,” Remus said hoarsely. “I’m sorry. I should’ve known.”

“Everyone else got it wrong.” Sirius said, with only a trace of bitterness, “I acted like an idiot in the war and Mad-Eye filled us with paranoia everyday in Auror training. Then James went into hiding and I started suspecting you and… gave up on things. You shouldn’t apologise for failing to work miracles.”

“I was – am – your friend. It’s different.”

Sirius gave him a long look, eyes softening. “I forgave you a long time ago,” he said quietly. “But perhaps you need to make peace with yourself.”

“You never used to give good advice,” Remus commented, aiming for humour but hearing his voice waver.

Sirius smiled, genuinely this time. “Would’ve ruined my bad reputation,” he said, standing and brushing the dust off his robes. “It’s getting late, we should eat something.”

Sirius reached out a hand and after a moment Remus took it, thinking of the dozens, perhaps hundreds, of times Sirius did that while they lived together. Sirius tugged him upright and then quickly dropped his hand, turning to retrace their steps through the tunnel.

“We’re not the same people,” Remus thought, feeling like a stuck record, “But that might be ok. We can build something new. Something different.”

They continued their task over the next two days, walking the remainder of the city walls, exploring dungeons and stone turrets with careful, inquisitive spellwork. Sirius grew tired and pale, “Nightmares” he said tersely, but brushed off further enquiries.

On the fourth day Sirius looked worse, his eyes dark and gloomy over the morning toast. Remus thought that the days behind walls, bars and arrowslits were stripping away Sirius’ humour and happiness piece by piece.

“I think you need a day off,” Remus suggested tactfully.

Sirius glanced up from the pamphlet he was reading. “In that case,” he said firmly, “we’re going to buy chocolate.”

It turned out that the flyer was advertising the biggest chocolate factory in the former Soviet Union, which was barely miles away and offered a tour for visitors. The factory tour involved a lot of Muggle chemistry which was similar to Potions - “Boring…” murmured Sirius - some chocolate tasting and finally, the shop.

What a shop. It was like Remus’ first trip to Honeydukes, except much bigger, much cheaper and he had more than a handful of pocket money. This was magical .

“Hey Moony,” Sirius said, appearing with his arms literally heaped with bars of chocolate, tins of marzipan and various unidentifiable boxes. “Dyou reckon Dumbledore’ll notice if we put this on expenses?”

Remus felt the corners of his mouth twitch. “We’ll call it medical supplies,” he suggested, and felt warmth blossom inside him when Sirius smiled. “Might help with your nightmares.”

“I’ll get some more, then,” Sirius decided.

They started eating the chocolate as soon as they left the factory, walking back to the motorbike across a snowy park. Remus realised, as he chewed chocolate-covered ginger, that the scene was rather beautiful: soft gleaming snow, dark trees, the light fading to pink – and was interrupted by the thump of wet snow against his shoulder.

“You did not just do that,” Remus said, turning slowly.

“Yep,” said Sirius, grinning around a mouthful of chocolate.

“You, Mr Black, are thirty six years old.”

“So?” Sirius asked, eyes crinkled with amusement. “Gonna let me get away with it?”

Remus answered by throwing a perfectly crafted snowball right at Sirius’ head, which unleashed a furious melee that left them both panting and taking cover behind trees.

“I propose a truce!” Sirius yelled, and Remus was glad to be here with him, even if they were both pretending to be fifteen.

That night Remus woke to the sound of Sirius whimpering in the neighbouring room, and he banged on the door until Sirius unlocked it. Sirius’ hands were shaking and his face was wet; Remus held him until the tremors stopped, his breath evened and they both slept.

On the final day they went to the largest tower, which was filled with layer upon layer of ancient Russian and German magic. They found a lot of unpleasant things: protective enchantments worked in blood, terrible curses and plagues, all of which were clearly the last-ditch efforts of desperate, dying men.

Remus never touched his own bed that night, curling against Sirius’ back to offer a comfort they hadn’t shared since school. Sirius radiated warmth through their layers of pyjamas, but he lay still and Remus could sense him gradually falling asleep.

War, Remus remembered, made cautious men reckless and turned reckless men cautious.

Moody gruffly told everyone this, but none of the Order believed it until the Death Eater killings produced a tide of unwise relationships and unplanned pregnancies.

After Harry’s conception was announced, James transformed into a responsible, risk-averse father. Peter gradually lost his quirky, devious sense of fun, and Remus – the supposedly sensible prefect – begun accepting the most dangerous missions without hesitation.

Sirius was the exception, of course, as if he were an unruly comet who’d set out to break every rule in the universe. When the war started, Sirius became sober, careful and a touch suspicious; he joined the Aurors, of all things, despite his notorious inability to follow rules.

Remus knew things had got really bad when Sirius grew reckless again, acting in ways only explicable by absolute despair or absurd overconfidence – he couldn’t tell which, because Sirius and he stopped talking months earlier.

Things were different now. James was dead, Sirius was hiding and last week Harry faced down a dragon, proving himself braver than any of them.

Remus wished he knew which attitude Sirius would adopt now, as if he were a barometer of the troubles. But Sirius just slept, his steady heartbeat drumming its admonitory message: keep faith, keep faith, keep faith…

Cut to Comets & Counter-Examples, Part 2