chiraldream (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lesyeuxverts) wrote2009-11-15 12:32 am
lesyeuxverts) wrote2009-11-15 12:32 am
Entry tags:
Fic repost: Christmas Ever After
Title: Christmas Ever After
Author:![[info]](https://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
lesyeuxverts00
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: "Thou canst hear though from the wild/ Thou canst save amid despair/Safe may we sleep beneath Thy care/ though banish'd, outcast, and reviled."
Summary: "What is Christmas? It is tenderness for the past, courage for the present, hope for the future. It is a fervent wish that every cup may overflow with blessings rich and eternal, and that every path may lead to peace." - Agnes M. Pharo
Any other notes, warnings, etc.: Thanks so much tosoftly_sweetly, raspberry, and bewarethesmirk for looking this over for me; and to L and S for being there for me as I wrote this.
This is canon-compliant, including canon character deaths, but has a happy ending of sorts.
Written forlaroseminuit in the 2008 round of rs_small_gifts.
Each year was worse than the one before. Sirius knew it was Christmas when the Dementors came.
They came every night, skulking through the long corridors like fiends from hell, sucking the memories away from Sirius – wisp by wisp, shredding them until all of the joy was gone. They came every night, but the worst night of the year was Christmas Eve.
Sirius huddled in the corner of his cell, his head pillowed on his forearms. He'd spent happy Christmases – years with Remus, years with the Marauders, childhood Christmases. Each year, they were taken from him again.
Chasing Remus around the apartment with a rolling pin, trapping him against the wall and kissing the flour off his nose – watching James and Lily kiss under the mistletoe for the first time – watching Regulus open presents under the tree, shaking out a new cloak that gleamed like the starry sky. Sirius had had happy Christmases. He pinched himself hard and made himself remember.
-----
Remus was there – not ten metres away – too far away for Sirius to touch. He skulked through the shadows, following Remus to his rooms; he ducked down low to keep out of the view of the portraits, and gave the suits of armor a wide berth. He'd spend Christmas with Remus and leave, with no one the wiser for it.
The password to Remus's rooms was Prongs, and Sirius whined a little at that – the sound escaped his mouth before he could stop it, and Remus jumped and looked behind him. Sirius shrank back into the shadows and Remus shook his head, turning back to his room and stepping through the portrait hole.
Sirius curled up outside his door – in a shadow, not ten metres away from Remus. The walls were thick and the stones were cold, but he was close.
-----
Snow had covered the world, swathing everything in white and muffling sounds. Sirius rapped harder on Remus's door, shivering in the wind.
No more tropical beaches – no more white sand and blue sea. He was home for Christmas, and home meant here, in the middle of nowhere and the middle of a snowstorm.
When Remus opened the door at last, Sirius practically leapt through it and into the warmth. "Bugger, Moony, don't keep a fellow waiting in the cold."
"Sorry," Remus said. "Didn't hear you – Christ, Sirius, your fingers are like ice cubes." He pushed Sirius's hands away and steered him to the kitchen table. "I'll make tea."
There was a fire going in the little black stove in the corner, and Sirius moved his chair closer to it, pulling Remus into his lap when he came back from the stove with the tea. "Caught you," he said, grinning up at him.
"Yes, you did." Remus kissed the tip of his nose and then pulled away, standing and giving him the mug of tea. "Get warm," he said, and quirked an eyebrow. "After that we'll talk about what you can do with your prisoner."
-----
The best thing about Christmas was Christmas morning – waking up in a rumpled bed with Remus sprawled all over him, and waking up Remus. Sirius held him and felt his heart beat under his ribcage, fluttering like a strong butterfly. Alive and well and safe.
Remus grabbed Sirius's hand and dragged him from the bed instead of leaning in for a kiss. Sirius pouted, but Remus only tugged harder. "Come on," he said. "Let's go to Mass before Harry and the Weasleys come back."
"I can think of better things–"
"I'm sure you can, Padfoot. Humour me." Remus had that smile on his face, the honey-soft one that meant he was glad to have Sirius back again. The one that meant he had spent thirteen long years without Sirius, thirteen Christmases alone.
There was a church down the street and across the park – Sirius's parents had taken him there when he was a child. The high Gothic arches, the vaulted ceiling, the tiny bright panes of coloured glass ... the place still smelled like incense, smoky and sweet, and Sirius pulled Remus over to the confessional, pushing him inside and stealing a kiss.
"Not here, Sirius. This isn't–"
Sirius kissed him again, just long enough to make him smile, his lips curling up against Sirius's. "You never–"
There were lines around Remus's eyes, faint wrinkles that deepened when he smiled. Sirius feathered a finger over them, and caught Remus's chin with the other hand, brushing his fingers against the rough scruff of Remus's whiskers.
"Happy Christmas," he said, and he kissed Remus again, and he didn't complain when Remus dragged him out into the church and to the hard wooden pew. Church bells rang out, loud and clear and echoing through the sanctuary, and Sirius took Remus's hand, clasping it under the hymnal.
Music filled the room, rising with the smoke of the incense up to the vaulted ceiling, and Remus sang, joining his voice with the choir. "Thou canst hear though from the wild, Thou canst save amid despair, safe may we sleep beneath Thy care, though banish'd, outcast, and reviled."
Safe. Sirius looked sideways at Remus and turned the page for him, watching him sing. His thumb moved in circles on Remus's skin, and he strengthened his grip, holding his hand tight.
-----
Each year, Christmas was brighter than the last year. Brighter and stronger and happier – Sirius was close to the real Christmas, close enough to touch it.
One year, it happened – as simple as breathing, as soft and unheralded. Remus tumbled through the Veil and sat through tea with Sirius, wiping the crumbs from a scone off his lips. "You haven't changed," he said.
"You have," Sirius said. "A little." Remus was older – a few more wrinkles, a crease that ran down the middle of his forehead when he frowned. Sirius traced it with one finger and then moved down to trace the curve of his lips. "Not in the ways that matter."
There had been Christmases at Hogwarts and in Azkaban and in the years between the prison and the Veil – Sirius had had happy Christmases. He had spent years here, lonely Christmases, watching and waiting for Remus.
Remus was there at last – and it was Christmas ever after.
Author:
lesyeuxverts00Rating: PG-13
Prompt: "Thou canst hear though from the wild/ Thou canst save amid despair/Safe may we sleep beneath Thy care/ though banish'd, outcast, and reviled."
Summary: "What is Christmas? It is tenderness for the past, courage for the present, hope for the future. It is a fervent wish that every cup may overflow with blessings rich and eternal, and that every path may lead to peace." - Agnes M. Pharo
Any other notes, warnings, etc.: Thanks so much to
softly_sweetly, raspberry, and bewarethesmirk for looking this over for me; and to L and S for being there for me as I wrote this. This is canon-compliant, including canon character deaths, but has a happy ending of sorts.
Written for
laroseminuit in the 2008 round of rs_small_gifts.Each year was worse than the one before. Sirius knew it was Christmas when the Dementors came.
They came every night, skulking through the long corridors like fiends from hell, sucking the memories away from Sirius – wisp by wisp, shredding them until all of the joy was gone. They came every night, but the worst night of the year was Christmas Eve.
Sirius huddled in the corner of his cell, his head pillowed on his forearms. He'd spent happy Christmases – years with Remus, years with the Marauders, childhood Christmases. Each year, they were taken from him again.
Chasing Remus around the apartment with a rolling pin, trapping him against the wall and kissing the flour off his nose – watching James and Lily kiss under the mistletoe for the first time – watching Regulus open presents under the tree, shaking out a new cloak that gleamed like the starry sky. Sirius had had happy Christmases. He pinched himself hard and made himself remember.
-----
Remus was there – not ten metres away – too far away for Sirius to touch. He skulked through the shadows, following Remus to his rooms; he ducked down low to keep out of the view of the portraits, and gave the suits of armor a wide berth. He'd spend Christmas with Remus and leave, with no one the wiser for it.
The password to Remus's rooms was Prongs, and Sirius whined a little at that – the sound escaped his mouth before he could stop it, and Remus jumped and looked behind him. Sirius shrank back into the shadows and Remus shook his head, turning back to his room and stepping through the portrait hole.
Sirius curled up outside his door – in a shadow, not ten metres away from Remus. The walls were thick and the stones were cold, but he was close.
-----
Snow had covered the world, swathing everything in white and muffling sounds. Sirius rapped harder on Remus's door, shivering in the wind.
No more tropical beaches – no more white sand and blue sea. He was home for Christmas, and home meant here, in the middle of nowhere and the middle of a snowstorm.
When Remus opened the door at last, Sirius practically leapt through it and into the warmth. "Bugger, Moony, don't keep a fellow waiting in the cold."
"Sorry," Remus said. "Didn't hear you – Christ, Sirius, your fingers are like ice cubes." He pushed Sirius's hands away and steered him to the kitchen table. "I'll make tea."
There was a fire going in the little black stove in the corner, and Sirius moved his chair closer to it, pulling Remus into his lap when he came back from the stove with the tea. "Caught you," he said, grinning up at him.
"Yes, you did." Remus kissed the tip of his nose and then pulled away, standing and giving him the mug of tea. "Get warm," he said, and quirked an eyebrow. "After that we'll talk about what you can do with your prisoner."
-----
The best thing about Christmas was Christmas morning – waking up in a rumpled bed with Remus sprawled all over him, and waking up Remus. Sirius held him and felt his heart beat under his ribcage, fluttering like a strong butterfly. Alive and well and safe.
Remus grabbed Sirius's hand and dragged him from the bed instead of leaning in for a kiss. Sirius pouted, but Remus only tugged harder. "Come on," he said. "Let's go to Mass before Harry and the Weasleys come back."
"I can think of better things–"
"I'm sure you can, Padfoot. Humour me." Remus had that smile on his face, the honey-soft one that meant he was glad to have Sirius back again. The one that meant he had spent thirteen long years without Sirius, thirteen Christmases alone.
There was a church down the street and across the park – Sirius's parents had taken him there when he was a child. The high Gothic arches, the vaulted ceiling, the tiny bright panes of coloured glass ... the place still smelled like incense, smoky and sweet, and Sirius pulled Remus over to the confessional, pushing him inside and stealing a kiss.
"Not here, Sirius. This isn't–"
Sirius kissed him again, just long enough to make him smile, his lips curling up against Sirius's. "You never–"
There were lines around Remus's eyes, faint wrinkles that deepened when he smiled. Sirius feathered a finger over them, and caught Remus's chin with the other hand, brushing his fingers against the rough scruff of Remus's whiskers.
"Happy Christmas," he said, and he kissed Remus again, and he didn't complain when Remus dragged him out into the church and to the hard wooden pew. Church bells rang out, loud and clear and echoing through the sanctuary, and Sirius took Remus's hand, clasping it under the hymnal.
Music filled the room, rising with the smoke of the incense up to the vaulted ceiling, and Remus sang, joining his voice with the choir. "Thou canst hear though from the wild, Thou canst save amid despair, safe may we sleep beneath Thy care, though banish'd, outcast, and reviled."
Safe. Sirius looked sideways at Remus and turned the page for him, watching him sing. His thumb moved in circles on Remus's skin, and he strengthened his grip, holding his hand tight.
-----
Each year, Christmas was brighter than the last year. Brighter and stronger and happier – Sirius was close to the real Christmas, close enough to touch it.
One year, it happened – as simple as breathing, as soft and unheralded. Remus tumbled through the Veil and sat through tea with Sirius, wiping the crumbs from a scone off his lips. "You haven't changed," he said.
"You have," Sirius said. "A little." Remus was older – a few more wrinkles, a crease that ran down the middle of his forehead when he frowned. Sirius traced it with one finger and then moved down to trace the curve of his lips. "Not in the ways that matter."
There had been Christmases at Hogwarts and in Azkaban and in the years between the prison and the Veil – Sirius had had happy Christmases. He had spent years here, lonely Christmases, watching and waiting for Remus.
Remus was there at last – and it was Christmas ever after.