Redemption - Part 22 - Refrain
Jul. 1st, 2006 03:19 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
innerslytherinRefrain
Prompt: 52 - Dance
Pairing: Remus/Severus
Slash
WC: 970
Redemption - PG to R (WIP) - After Voldemort's defeat, Remus--crippled in his last battle--and Severus--pardoned but a pariah--manage to forge a connection, despite the expectations of the world around them.
Series so far:
1. Reconciliation 2. Rehabilitation 3. Recovery 4. Reply 5. Rediscovery 6. Receiving
7. Repartee 8. Relapse 9. Requisite 10. Retreat 11. Refining 12. Repose 13. Reconsidering
14. Renaissance 15. Retribution 16. Return 17.Rematch 18. Redefining 19. Relishing
20. Recognition 21. Remembering 22. Refrain 23. Reformation 24. Recrimination 25. Reliance
26. Reverting 27. Repercussion 28. Reminder
Thanks as always to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
thesnapelyone and astraea36 for beta. Warning: Extreme fluff. And I really am going to bed now, I swear.
Severus has been in the cellar leaning over steaming cauldrons for nearly six hours when he hears the noise. At first he ignores it, because sometimes ignoring something gives it a chance to go away before he has to lose his temper. When this brilliant strategy fails, he stomps up the stairs. As soon as he opens the door to the kitchen he realizes he has made a mistake.
Potter is here. And he and Remus are exploring Severus’ record album collection at top volume.
He sees Potter’s expression sour, but it’s too late to change tacks now. “Turn that down!” he snaps. “Some of us are trying to work!”
Potter snarls, but Remus just looks amused. “Them? The Clash? The Pogues? Rather angry, some of these, Severus.”
Severus sighs and unbristles slightly. “Didn’t you spend most of the Eighties being angry?” He sees Potter’s expression turn to disbelief, but ignores it. “I am brewing, Remus. Wolfsbane, among other things. Couldn’t you turn it down a bit?”
“Of course.” Remus flicks his wand and the volume drops. He looks annoyingly amused.
“Thank you,” Severus bites out, and stomps back downstairs.
A side and a half of thumping bass and driving percussion later, the door at the top of the stairs opens.
“You can come back,” Remus says cheerily. “He’s gone.”
Relieved, Severus traipses upstairs. “What possessed you?” he mutters, going for the biscuits sitting on a tray on the coffee table.
“Harry saw the LP collection and thought it was mine,” Remus says, smiling placidly. “I thought it might help him see you are, actually, human.”
Severus snorts. “Good luck.”
Remus’ grin turns wicked. “Actually I think he was rather impressed to find you’re a fan of punk.”
“Irish punk,” Severus corrects sourly. To be entirely fair, he had rather liked Joy Division, which didn’t count as Irish punk, but he isn’t interested in being fair, since Remus has been sharing his record collection with his nemesis. He pours them both some tea and carries it to the table. At least Remus hasn’t gone upstairs directly after Potter’s departure this time.
Remus laughs. “Do you remember the time you and Regulus ran into me and my mates at that dance club?”
Severus snorts. “How could I possibly forget, Lupin? You gave me a black eye.” But his tone is affectionate, where only a year ago it would have been bitter.
Remus shakes his head. “Yes, well, Regulus did for me, didn’t he? Sirius was so angry.”
“Probably not our smartest move, getting in his way like that,” Severus admits. He is finding it strangely—and almost alarmingly—easy to admit these things now. Now that he and Remus are the only ones left, now that there is nothing to be lost by letting go of the bitterness.
Remus grins. “I remember thinking how well your trousers fit you, and wishing I’d had the chance to ask you to dance.”
Severus snorts. “I wouldn’t have.”
“Hmm.” Remus doesn’t sound convinced.
Severus glares at him. “I don’t dance.”
“Ah,” says Remus, regretfully.
.:.
Severus had believed the subject closed, but the next day, two days before full moon, Remus fidgets ceaselessly and spills his tea twice.
“What is wrong with you?” Severus finally demands in exasperation.
“Oh.” Remus looks guiltily at him. “I have a lot of restless energy as the full approaches.” He makes a face and shrugs. “It can be hard to contain.”
“Channel it, then,” Severus grits, glaring. He is trying to concentrate on a potions journal, and Remus’ twitchy behaviour isn’t helping.
Remus sighs, then limps across the room and switches on the wireless. Music floods the room like the tide rolling in, the volume low, just enough to invade the mind and make Severus tap his fingers against the arm of his chair. He lowers his journal slightly to watch Remus swaying slightly at the window. He hates seeing the effects of Remus’ injury like this. The grey in Remus’ hair makes him look distinguished, but when he is limping and tired, when his shoulders slump, when Severus can see the lines of exhaustion in his face, the grey seems like the ultimate slap in the face—the ultimate reminder that Remus is aging faster than he is, that life has been too harsh for both of them. Remus isn’t truly old, is barely middle-aged, in fact, as far as wizards reckon life spans—but though Severus is not a handsome man, he still looks much younger than Remus does.
Sudden guilt hits him, making him testy. “You aren’t going to let this go, are you?” he mutters. No one else would have heard him, but Remus’ expression falls and he turns back to the window. One of the disadvantages of having a werewolf lover—there is no such thing as muttering under one’s breath.
Severus sighs and sets his journal down. What matter is Chinese Potioners Quarterly if Remus is unhappy? It occurs to him that perhaps he is being a bit pathetic, but he dismisses the thought. He shows Remus tenderness because he chooses to; how could that be pathetic?
He moves up close behind Remus and puts his hands on the thin, slumped shoulders, drawing Remus back to lean against him. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I didn’t mean it to hurt you. I just…I don’t dance.”
Remus tilts his head sideways and looks at him. Severus fights not to make a face at him. The werewolf is ridiculously endearing. Severus suspects he does it on purpose. Somehow.
“I love you, Severus,” Remus whispers, and Severus’ heart melts.
There is really no response to that, other than the obvious, so Severus kisses him and chooses not to object when Remus begins swaying, ever so slightly, against him, in time with the rhythm of the music.
Prompt: 52 - Dance
Pairing: Remus/Severus
Slash
WC: 970
Redemption - PG to R (WIP) - After Voldemort's defeat, Remus--crippled in his last battle--and Severus--pardoned but a pariah--manage to forge a connection, despite the expectations of the world around them.
Series so far:
1. Reconciliation 2. Rehabilitation 3. Recovery 4. Reply 5. Rediscovery 6. Receiving
7. Repartee 8. Relapse 9. Requisite 10. Retreat 11. Refining 12. Repose 13. Reconsidering
14. Renaissance 15. Retribution 16. Return 17.Rematch 18. Redefining 19. Relishing
20. Recognition 21. Remembering 22. Refrain 23. Reformation 24. Recrimination 25. Reliance
26. Reverting 27. Repercussion 28. Reminder
Thanks as always to
thesnapelyone and astraea36 for beta. Warning: Extreme fluff. And I really am going to bed now, I swear.Severus has been in the cellar leaning over steaming cauldrons for nearly six hours when he hears the noise. At first he ignores it, because sometimes ignoring something gives it a chance to go away before he has to lose his temper. When this brilliant strategy fails, he stomps up the stairs. As soon as he opens the door to the kitchen he realizes he has made a mistake.
Potter is here. And he and Remus are exploring Severus’ record album collection at top volume.
He sees Potter’s expression sour, but it’s too late to change tacks now. “Turn that down!” he snaps. “Some of us are trying to work!”
Potter snarls, but Remus just looks amused. “Them? The Clash? The Pogues? Rather angry, some of these, Severus.”
Severus sighs and unbristles slightly. “Didn’t you spend most of the Eighties being angry?” He sees Potter’s expression turn to disbelief, but ignores it. “I am brewing, Remus. Wolfsbane, among other things. Couldn’t you turn it down a bit?”
“Of course.” Remus flicks his wand and the volume drops. He looks annoyingly amused.
“Thank you,” Severus bites out, and stomps back downstairs.
A side and a half of thumping bass and driving percussion later, the door at the top of the stairs opens.
“You can come back,” Remus says cheerily. “He’s gone.”
Relieved, Severus traipses upstairs. “What possessed you?” he mutters, going for the biscuits sitting on a tray on the coffee table.
“Harry saw the LP collection and thought it was mine,” Remus says, smiling placidly. “I thought it might help him see you are, actually, human.”
Severus snorts. “Good luck.”
Remus’ grin turns wicked. “Actually I think he was rather impressed to find you’re a fan of punk.”
“Irish punk,” Severus corrects sourly. To be entirely fair, he had rather liked Joy Division, which didn’t count as Irish punk, but he isn’t interested in being fair, since Remus has been sharing his record collection with his nemesis. He pours them both some tea and carries it to the table. At least Remus hasn’t gone upstairs directly after Potter’s departure this time.
Remus laughs. “Do you remember the time you and Regulus ran into me and my mates at that dance club?”
Severus snorts. “How could I possibly forget, Lupin? You gave me a black eye.” But his tone is affectionate, where only a year ago it would have been bitter.
Remus shakes his head. “Yes, well, Regulus did for me, didn’t he? Sirius was so angry.”
“Probably not our smartest move, getting in his way like that,” Severus admits. He is finding it strangely—and almost alarmingly—easy to admit these things now. Now that he and Remus are the only ones left, now that there is nothing to be lost by letting go of the bitterness.
Remus grins. “I remember thinking how well your trousers fit you, and wishing I’d had the chance to ask you to dance.”
Severus snorts. “I wouldn’t have.”
“Hmm.” Remus doesn’t sound convinced.
Severus glares at him. “I don’t dance.”
“Ah,” says Remus, regretfully.
.:.
Severus had believed the subject closed, but the next day, two days before full moon, Remus fidgets ceaselessly and spills his tea twice.
“What is wrong with you?” Severus finally demands in exasperation.
“Oh.” Remus looks guiltily at him. “I have a lot of restless energy as the full approaches.” He makes a face and shrugs. “It can be hard to contain.”
“Channel it, then,” Severus grits, glaring. He is trying to concentrate on a potions journal, and Remus’ twitchy behaviour isn’t helping.
Remus sighs, then limps across the room and switches on the wireless. Music floods the room like the tide rolling in, the volume low, just enough to invade the mind and make Severus tap his fingers against the arm of his chair. He lowers his journal slightly to watch Remus swaying slightly at the window. He hates seeing the effects of Remus’ injury like this. The grey in Remus’ hair makes him look distinguished, but when he is limping and tired, when his shoulders slump, when Severus can see the lines of exhaustion in his face, the grey seems like the ultimate slap in the face—the ultimate reminder that Remus is aging faster than he is, that life has been too harsh for both of them. Remus isn’t truly old, is barely middle-aged, in fact, as far as wizards reckon life spans—but though Severus is not a handsome man, he still looks much younger than Remus does.
Sudden guilt hits him, making him testy. “You aren’t going to let this go, are you?” he mutters. No one else would have heard him, but Remus’ expression falls and he turns back to the window. One of the disadvantages of having a werewolf lover—there is no such thing as muttering under one’s breath.
Severus sighs and sets his journal down. What matter is Chinese Potioners Quarterly if Remus is unhappy? It occurs to him that perhaps he is being a bit pathetic, but he dismisses the thought. He shows Remus tenderness because he chooses to; how could that be pathetic?
He moves up close behind Remus and puts his hands on the thin, slumped shoulders, drawing Remus back to lean against him. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I didn’t mean it to hurt you. I just…I don’t dance.”
Remus tilts his head sideways and looks at him. Severus fights not to make a face at him. The werewolf is ridiculously endearing. Severus suspects he does it on purpose. Somehow.
“I love you, Severus,” Remus whispers, and Severus’ heart melts.
There is really no response to that, other than the obvious, so Severus kisses him and chooses not to object when Remus begins swaying, ever so slightly, against him, in time with the rhythm of the music.
no subject
Date: 2006-07-01 11:53 pm (UTC)