Mouth Full Of White Lies

Mouth Full Of White Lies

From this prompt by @impishtubist . It's un beta'd, so don't be too critical. ao3

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Remus cannot do this.

He doesn't have the strength— the courage.

Sirius sits in the armchair front of him, slender fingers wrapped around a mug full of Irish coffee and pitch black hair pulled back into a messy bun, looking as comfortable and relaxed as if he was sitting on a cushioned throne. He stares out of the window, wearing a snug cream coloured jumper and one foot pulled up to the seat. Something twists in Remus' chest, but he cannot pull his eyes away from Sirius' face. He takes in the sharp angles and the arched eyebrows, the grey eyes and the relaxed line of his lips, the few flicks of his hair that fall over his forehead as he looks down into his mug when he takes a sip. Sirius looks anywhere but at Remus.

Remus doesn't know how to do this.

Without Harry around to act as a buffer, Remus feels the tension crawling up his spine slowly but surely, and it's worsened by the fact that he cannot tell if Sirius is feeling the same or not.

It has been eight days since Remus arrived at Grimmauld Place with Harry in tow, and in all that time, he has taken great care not to be caught alone in a room with Sirius.

Clearly, he went wrong somewhere, because here they were— alone together in the second floor parlour.

Remus swallows. Digs his fingers into the armrest of his chair.

"Padfoot—"

"Don't."

Sirius did not raise his voice. He did not say it in a hostile manner. He did not even look at Remus. That hurts more than Remus thinks it should.

"Sirius, I—"

"Don't, Lupin."

Remus flinches, feeling the words dig into his heart like he's been slapped. Sirius has not called him by his last name since the November of their first year at Hogwarts. After that, it was always Remus, Remi, Moony, Moons, Froot Lupes, any other nickname he could come up with. Not Lupin. Never Lupin.

"Padfoot, I'm sorry—"

"Lupin." Sirius finally looks at him. Remus flinches again, curling his shoulders into himself at the expression in his eyes. Or rather, the lack of expression. Sirius' face is blank, and his eyes are colder than a blizzard. He looks down his nose at Remus through lowered eyelids, the set of his eyebrows making it seem like he is utterly, completely indifferent to this conversation, like he does not give a single shit about what Remus has to say.

"I don't want to hear anything from you. If we must spend time together, we spend it in silence. Understood?"

Remus gives him a beseeching look, but Sirius doesn't waver in his decision, and Remus casts his gaze into his lap.

They sit in silence. Remus does not look back at Sirius, and Sirius relaxes into the soft padding of his armchair.

"I really am sorry, Sirius," Remus says quietly after a few seconds, fidgeting with his own fingers in his lap.

"I really don't care, Lupin."

Remus huffs and lifts his chin to stare at Sirius' impassive face. "It was wrong of me to leave you in Azkaban and I know it—"

"This," Sirius interrupts in a deceptively soft voice, "is not about my imprisonment."

Remus feels a chill travel down his spine. Still, he swallows down his urge to cut the discussion short. For once, he is not going to run away. For once, he will stay, and he will see this talk through.

"Then what is it about?"

Sirius looks at him like Remus hasn't an ounce of sense in his brain— the kind of disdainful and judgemental look he used to reserve for the students of Hogwarts who were not as smart as him or James. Remus feels the point of a dagger dig into his heart.

"Harry, Lupin," he says, and the icy frost that covers his tone makes the dagger pierce even deeper. "This is about my godson."

Remus grits his teeth, a sudden wave of annoyance rising up his throat. "I told you, Sirius, a werewolf is not capable of taking care of a child—"

"You could have visited him," Sirius cuts him off, and Remus hates how calm he looks, hates the way Sirius looks at him like he isn't worth his time. He hates the way his mind whispers in his ear about the school days when Sirius became eerily calm and composed, when he got that thunderstorm glint in his grey eyes that meant he was out for someone's cold blooded annihilation. "You could have checked up on him. You could have wrangled a deal out of the Hell-flower that made it impossible for her to harm my godson the way she did—"

"I HAD NO CHOICE!"

Remus is on his feet now, glaring at Sirius, who simply reclines back in his seat and still manages to look down his nose at Remus. The expression is so similar to the times in school when Sirius eviscerated someone with nothing but his whip-quick tongue that it makes Remus' blood boil. He hates the way Sirius is so.. so calm and collected. He wants Sirius to scream at him, yell at him, throw shit around and rage at him.

"Everyone always has a choice," Sirius answers coldly. "You had the time to make one— you had twelve years to make a choice. You didn't."

Remus breathes in, then breathes out, and the air that leaves him feels hot with anger. He glares at Sirius, clenching his fingers into fists and locking them down to his sides.

"You don't understand—" he grits out, but Sirius cuts him off again, the expression on his face growing colder with every word he utters. "Oh no, of course I don't. I have no idea what it's like to be a werewolf. That doesn't change the fact that you left Harry there. You left him there. James' child. The child we swore to protect—"

"I did no such thing."

The moment the words leave his lips, Remus knows he has fucked up.

Sirius shuts his mouth with a decisive click of his teeth, face going blank and unreadable. He stares at Remus, nothing showing through the mask he has snapped into place. Remus feels the dread trickle down his throat like freezing cold water, and he scrambles for words the longer the silence goes on, trying to find ways to fix this, to make it better, to get Sirius to understand.

"Sirius, I—"

"I suggest you stop speaking before I rip out your tongue and strangle you with it."

Remus snaps his jaw shut with an audible clack of his teeth at the flat tone of voice. Sirius is very much capable of carrying out that threat and both of them know it.

"Get out of my sight, Lupin."

Remus swallows down the seven replies his mind comes up with and twists on his heel, stiffly walking towards the door. When he is about to shut the door behind him, Sirius speaks again.

"You're not Moony to me. I am not Padfoot to you. You will refer to me as Black, I won't answer to any other name. And stay away from my godson."

Remus let's out a shaky breath. Nods. And steps out, pulling the door shut behind him.

Regulus: Lily? Lily: What? Regulus: James hasn't texted either of us in five hours. Lily: I'll call hospitals, you call police stations

full disclaimer: this is an anti himbo james, anti himbo sirius, anti himbo harry, and anti himbo ron space

these boys, described multiple times as bright students—who performed well in exams in spite of their fairly blasé attitudes towards studying—didn’t execute magical feats well beyond their years whilst juggling a full academic workload and dubious quality of education, at times for the fandom to depreciate their intelligence and reduce them to cavalierly confrontational good-for-nothings who rush into danger like lemmings and come out the other side purely by dint of luck and a book-smart friend conditioned to save their necks (and their academic progress).

can we finally bury the notion that they’re either chinless wonders or slackers heavily dependent on that one friend in class? like did they carry a pocket-sized remus or hermione into exam halls to wheedle answers out of them or ghostwrite their assignments after school hours?

be for fucking real. stop equating dislike of homework with subpar intellect. fred and george are fine examples of underachievers whose cleverness shone brightest outside of a classroom setting.

the first time wayne meets steve is actually far before the events of '86. in fact, it's in winter of '85.

he's on his way back from work when he pops a tire. he's pissed off, it's cold, still dark, and the beginnings of fucking snow are falling around him, and he doesn't have a spare. the nearest payphone is probably three miles walk, and he's just readying himself to make the journey when, miraculously, a pair of headlights turn onto the back road.

the car slows to a stop behind wayne's, and he's struck by how fucking nice it is. a brown bmw 733i, one he thinks he's seen around a couple times. when the driver steps out, he realises that, yes, he has seen this car. because the boy behind the wheel is the harrington boy, and wayne curses every god out there.

he expects some snark. a good attitude and for the kid to make him grovel for help or outright deny any assistance. instead, he approaches with these wide bambi eyes, the absolute picture of concern.

"are you alright, sir?" he asks, perfectly polite. wayne huffs.

"popped a tire, ain't got a spare." he doesn't- doesn't know why he's telling him. really doesn't. but something about the kid makes him falter, makes his steely exterior give way ever so slightly. the boy crouches down to the tire in question, frowning as he inspects it. then nods, grinning. he says nothing to wayne as he heads back to his car, and for moment he thinks the kid's gonna leave him in the dirt. but, instead, he pops the trunk and hauls out a spare, rolls it over to the car.

wayne only watches, fascinated, as he jogs back to retrieve a little set of tools. sits his ass by his tire and starts going at it. he's in a thin, short sleeved tshirt and jeans. he must be fucking freezing- wayne is, and he's got a thick coat, gloves and a hat on.

"what're you doin', boy?" he asks, unable to sound anything but bewildered. the kid blinks at him.

"changing your tire, sir?"

"i ain't got anything to pay you back with." wayne warns, wary. the kid shrugs, continues his task.

"that's okay, i wasn't going to ask you to." he pulls the popped tire off and lays it by his side. "it's just a good thing we have the same size, huh?" he grins, a little shy. wayne has never felt so thrown off in his life.

was this really james and cynthia harrington's boy? would someone of those people's blood really sit in the cold to change a strangers tire? expecting nothing in return? "where's your layers, kid? it's cold as ass out here, you'll catch a chill."

"oh, i gave it to my friend." seriously? seriously? "i'm alright sir, not to worry." he says this despite his red cheeks and reddening knuckles.

he finishes fitting the tire a second or two later, and once he's inspected it, gives wayne an endearingly dorky thumbs up. it reminds him of eddie in all the best ways. "all done, sir!" he collects up all his tools and threads an arm through the hole of the tire, balancing it on his shoulder. "i'll take this for you, i have to drive by the junkyard anyways." he doesn't. wayne knows the harrington's live in loch nora, and that's the opposite goddamn direction.

"you really a harrington?" he asks, not missing the confusion and maybe even slight disappointment he's met with. "just- no offence, son, but i always thought they were nothin' but bad." he deflates even more, if possible. "how did they raise such a kind boy?"

it's such a sudden change, how quickly he's smiling, bright enough to light the damn road if he wanted. it's all bashful and excited, it makes wayne wonder if he's never heard a good word about himself in his life, which seems insane.

"i still got a bit of an asshole gene," he jokes, a little dry, "but i'm trying to be better, you know?" he motions to the tire. "if you can help, why shouldn't you?"

wayne wants to squeeze him, but refrains. thanks him a couple times over and forces the boy to take his hat before he goes, (despite his complaints). harrington bids him farewell and a safe drive home, and he's driving off before either realise they never learnt each other's names.

(wayne finds his out later, though, when eddie meets him at the door, worried that he's late. only after he's walked his nephew through the story three times and sworn up and down, yes, it was true, and yes, it was definitely harrington. steve harrington.

when they meet again after '86, in eddie's hospital room, that boy from all that time ago holding his nephew's hand, he does give him that hug. thanks him, for both this time and the last.

steve wears the hat in winter of '86. it makes wayne smile.)

my accompanying drabble to @padfootastic's recent piece (also not proofread at all so please excuse the incoherence)

James with adhd and protective Sirius who will fight anyone who hurts his friends, told from Lily’s POV.

Lily does not really start paying attention to James Potter and Sirius Black until fourth year. She says James Potter and Sirius Black because in her head, it goes together, saying one without the other, while physically possible, is not very likely, and always leaves a feeling of something missing, something being out of place, something being not right. Like only having a knife for dinner, without a fork to accompany it.

She does not really pay attention to their antics when James keeps turning around in his seat every ten minutes during class to whisper something at Sirius even after they’ve been separated; does not listen when he talks loudly over breakfast, jumping from story to story, getting distracted in the middle, never properly finishing anything while Sirius just sits there and laughs at it anyway; does not really pay attention when on their very first day of flying class, James Potter surges up into the sky after he’s just explicitly been told not to do that, almost falls, laughs, winks at them from above, then almost falls again, all the while being yelled at by Madam Hooch and cheered on by Sirius Black, who got his own fair share of scolding after that for endorsing him.

She rolls her eyes, clicks her tongue and looks away.

When James shows up to class late yet again, grinning sheepishly with his hair sticking in all directions, apologising to the professor with the same old excuse of mixing up the hours, she rolls her eyes; when he keeps tapping his foot against the floor, twirling the quill between his fingers restlessly as his eyes keep darting around until the ink is spilled all over his robes and desk, she clicks her tongue; when he starts telling something when they’re all gathered in the common room around the fireplace, words an incoherent jumble of excitement that get mixed up so badly as he keeps jumping around from subject to subject that nobody around him is keeping track of anymore, she looks away.

She looks, but she does not see. She sees, but she does not notice. She notices, but she does not understand.

Not until Sirius Black, that is.

“What’s your deal?” The boy snarls angrily, abruptly jolting up to his feet to make his way over to where she and the girls are seated at in the common room.

Lily blinks. Sirius’ cheeks are a little flushed, like they are either when he’s angry, embarrassed or just came back from Quidditch practice (and seeing as it’s neither of the last two, it has to be the first one). His light grey eyes are narrowed, glinting at her dangerously with a promise of trouble in them, and one of his hands is clenched into a fist by his side. He seems upset.

Lily just looks at him. She has no idea where this hostility erupted from all of a sudden - everything seemed perfectly normal to her, up until this point.

James and the boys have been in their corner of the room, as per usual, quiet enough to keep an aura of mystery around them that drew the curious eyes of anybody who did not know better, but loud enough for it to be impossible to remain unnoticed.

They started off with studying, and then it somehow escalated to charmed paper-folded swans flying all around the room, up to the ceiling, bumping into each other, one of them falling between Mary’s spread out legs on the sofa.

“Just focus on your homework!” Lily yelled at them across the room, frustrated, after she just found herself rereading the same paragraph for the third time. “You don’t have to keep drawing attention to yourself all the time. Nobody cares.”

James smiled at her apologetically from a distance, flashed everybody his symbolic, white-toothed grin, saluted the rest of the boys for a good night, and made his way upstairs. Lily did not think twice about it, settling into the blissful silence of the room.

“What’s your deal?” Mary retorts defensively when Lily just keeps looking at him, confused.

“I wasn’t talking to you, MacDonald.” Sirius snaps viciously before turning back to glare at Lily. “Lay off of him.”

“You want me?” Lily sputters, momentarily at a loss of words. “To lay off of him?” She waits for a punchline, but that never comes, Sirius just stands there, looking like she personally offended him somehow.

“He’s loud.” She says at last, because she’s suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to defend herself, even though she feels she has done nothing wrong. “And annoying. It’s hard to focus like that. Just because he doesn’t care about school, doesn’t mean we don’t either.”

Sirius lets out a laugh. It’s not a kind one. “Hard. Oh, is it?” He mocks. “Well, for him it’s hard all the time, Evans. Deal with it.”

And then he’s gone, furiously stomping up the stairs to the boys’ dormitory.

“Ignore them,” Mary tells her, “they’re both missing a few screws, the two of them.”

Mary is right, Lily has never paid much attention to what Sirius Black and James Potter had to say before, why would she now? But the words, echoing over and over in her head, refuse to let go.

Lily does not roll her eyes anymore after that.

She starts paying attention.

She pays attention to James’ hands, that seem to be unable to pause for longer than three seconds at a time at any point throughout the day, like it physically hurts to keep them still. They come up to ruffle his hair, push the glasses up his nose even when there is nothing wrong with their position; they play with his wand, twirling it around between long fingers, dropping it, bending down to pick it up, tucking it behind his belt, getting it out again, spinning it some more; they do the same with a quill when the wand is out of his reach, dangling it between two fingers restlessly whenever he isn’t writing, sticking it in his mouth, behind his ear, taking it out, putting it back again; occasionally he drops it and ink splatters all around, over the table, his skin, his clothes. He just grins sheepishly with that flashing smile of his that is basically a brand of its own at this point, and gladly accepts the distraction of cleaning up the mess he just made.

He moves around a lot when he talks, gesturing with his hands, jumping up and out of his seat, turning the chair over, sitting on it backwards, then abandoning it in favour of coming to sit on top of the table; he tugs on his friends’ sleeves impatiently when he feels like he’s being ignored, raises his voice more, pushes harder, makes sure he is heard loud and clear, always.

Remus and Peter seem to be accustomed to his antics, they nod along, put in encouraging remarks when it’s needed, remind him of the robes slung over the back of a chair when he gets up to leave without them, shove his books at his chest so they aren’t left forgotten on the desk.

Sirius, for as impatient and irritable as he is with virtually anybody else, is extraordinarily patient with him.

Sirius lets him play with his hair, something he is usually willing to bite people’s heads off for when it’s anybody else who attempts to do that. He settles in between James’ legs when they are sitting on the sofa in the common room, and James’ fingers instinctively, without even realising that, reach into Sirius’ hair, picking it apart into smaller groups, twirling the slick black locks around his fingers, braiding them together, then picking them apart again, over and over. When he does that, his voice grows calmer and his speech becomes slower, more focused, he takes his time to pick out the correct words and formulate sentences that are easier to understand.

Sirius lets him mess with the rings on his fingers, another thing he does not allow anybody else to even come close to touching. They are all different, various degrees of width and thickness, some with small stones or words and designs engraved into them, and others completely smooth and bland; each came at a different time and tells a different story, which Lily never cared much for or bothered asking about. He lets James twirl and move them around, take them off and put them back on, fingers brushing over the different shapes and textures.

He lets James draw on his hands arms with moving ink while they are reciting material in the library for an upcoming exam, lets him trace black patterns into his skin - circles, and trails, and shapes, triangles, feathers, roses.

Once Lily starts paying attention, she can’t help but notice.

Can’t help but notice how just before he grins and laughs it off, James’ expression falters for a second, shoulders sagging slightly and the light of excitement in his eyes dimming out when someone rolls their eyes impatiently, or sighs deeply with a tired look on their face, or clicks their tongue at him with annoyance.

She can’t help but notice how he suddenly falls silent after that, completely shutting down, fingers fidgeting even more than usual in his lap as he tries to remain still and quiet in his spot.

She can’t help but notice the way Sirius always tenses at that, eyes narrowing in warning, his grip tightening, knuckles almost white with the effort. He shifts closer to James, and pokes his cheek, ruffles his hair in an amiable gesture and asks him questions, trying to pull him out of his sombre.

Sirius takes off his glasses sometimes. When things are a little overwhelming, and James goes into a sort of stupor, blinking rapidly, trying to make sense of everything going on around him, Sirius just leans over and slides the glasses off his nose casually, with the usual excuse of taking them to run a cleaning spell, or without even saying anything at all. James relaxes a little, some of the tension leaving his body.

James always leans back into Sirius in moments like this, pulls away and retreats into him, the only thing and place that seems to offer true comfort instead of agitating him even further. Sirius places a hand over his head and pushes the other’s head down, to rest on his shoulder, on his chest, caressing his hair slowly and gently as he leans down just the slightest bit to press a tender kiss to his friend’s temple.

James is loud, he takes up a lot of presence in the room, taking and demanding until there’s nothing left. But with Sirius he is quiet, he is calm and serene, and he never has to shout or even speak to get what he needs.

Sirius in turn is brutal, he is all sharp elbows and rough edges, vicious glares and sarcastic smirks. But with James he is soft and gentle, he is caring in the most selfless way possible, opening up so easily without the other even having to ask, showing vulnerabilities that he would never dare expose to anyone else.

They are both a little bit too much, but for each other, they seem to be just the right bit of enough.

i’m seething with tired frustration when stumbling upon fics centered around parental remus that’s more involved in harry’s wellbeing and life in general juxtaposed against an angsty, almost cartoonishly childish sirius, whilst canon events are piping fresh in my mind. i was listening to the poa audiobook recently, and do you know how jarring it was to hear remus chastising harry’s behaviour?

people bring up the point that remus had zero obligation towards harry: he’s a child, not a friend; remus is chronically ill and cash-strapped; it’d be bizarre for a grown man to get to know harry by introducing himself as their dead parents’ friend. well, by the same token, it isn’t as bizarre—or frankly alarming—that a grown adult should scold an orphan for throwing away their sacrifices while insinuating a close relationship to them?

the first time harry has an inkling his professor and parents might have been fast friends is when remus hits him with a biting “gambling their sacrifice by wandering the castle unprotected with a killer on the loose seems to me a poor way to repay them” when remus was shamelessly keeping sirius’ secret to himself at the risk of harry’s safety all along. it seems laughably manipulative and self-serving of a man whose friends spent years learning how to transform into animagi to assist him and keep him company during his lowest moments to not repay their kindness towards their orphan son.

yes, remus is a marginalized member of society, but is he an impoverished muggle victorian wasting away from a dickensian disease unable to procure funds for a horse, too sickly and plagued with mobility issues for a long journey?? he has a wand and apparition license, and he probably could’ve picked up a directory to search for the dursley’s residence if he so wished to check in on harry in secret. travel costs nothing for him. he doesn’t suffer from chronic mobility issues three weeks out of a month (being generous here as post-transformation aches are nasty). he didn’t have to see him in person. he could’ve just lurked in the shadows, maybe even dropped an anonymous tip to wizarding or muggle social services after taking a small peek into harry’s life, troubled over the signs of maltreatment and neglect.

or fine, so he couldn’t accomplish such feats during the first twelve years because his guilt is an infinite abyss deeper than the marinara trench and other unforeseen circumstances. what was stopping remus from slowly getting closer to harry and finding an opportunity to gently break the news he was once close to james and lily when he began his teaching stint? it might have somewhat softened the blow of his words, then. maybe.

honestly, the nerve of a stranger (because again, remus is nobody to harry at that point) to just come up to an orphan and tell him he’s figuratively dancing a jig and spitting on his parents’ graves. you are his teacher, you do not get to tell him off as if you’re a family friend when you’ve been purposefully distant with their son.

remus has nothing on sirius when it concerns parenting or being a responsible adult figure. sirius was on the lam, unable to live in human form, risking capture and surviving on bloody rats just to stay closer to harry. sirius suffered twelve years with soul-sucking monsters who feasted on every last good memory and shred of joy, and sent their victim spiralling into depths of despair from their most horrible experiences—and we can infer his childhood was ghastly—yet somehow remus’ monthly furry problem excuses everything under the sun. but not sirius.

sirius who is battling pstd and depression, and putting on a brave smile for strangers who insult him under his own roof and treat him as an unstable and easily combustible person. sirius who is reliving every hellish childhood memory in that mausoleum of a house and trying to protect harry by keeping his godson informed and injecting some levity into their miserable lives, gets painted as an impetuous overgrown teenager unfit to be harry’s guardian. but not remus.

grrrr.

please don’t strip sirius of his core characteristics and turn him into a caricature of his canon self while propping up or whitewashing remus. he’s not the tall and irresistible brainiac of a casanova fanon has redefined him as. remus is canonically greying, looking like he’s one good hex away from meeting his maker, perpetually exhausted, and possesses a generous heaping of cowardice. he’s not the cleverest among the marauders because he’s scholar-coded. one can enjoy books and reign supreme in a specific field of interest without ranking top of the class. disillusion yourselves; he did not tutor james and sirius because their marks were inferior to his. instead, the duo sailed through their classes without much effort.

to be clear, this isn’t me lambasting remus to make sirius look good. this is a stand against fanon remus (and enforcing the truth of canon remus) because his fanon portrayal has permeated almost every other fic and is being bandied around as the essence of canon remus. and frankly, it’s absolutely cheesed me off to the point of disliking remus entirely. if you want to project your desires and fantasies onto remus or fetishize him, please just include self-insert or original character in the tags.

ok, thanks, bye.