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Summary
The memories were flashing in, now. Bleeding through Remus’ mind. Some kind of cruel montage, a shove in the face of all those mental photographs he had once cherished and loved. An eleven year old Sirius Black, grinning at him dopily, eyes sparkling and unwavering, trained on his face, not his scars. Sirius Black, pestering him, asking incessant questions about his records, uncaring of Remus’ stutter, that he could barely string a coherent sentence out. Sirius Black the dog, running circles around their dorm, jumping up and licking a dumbfounded, awe-struck Remus. Both canines, he had said. You lot don’t get Moony like I do. Sirius Black with his dark hair fanned out on the carpet, another record spinning and emanating throughout their room. He’d turn his head to Remus, and crack a smile. Not those wide, ear-splitting grins. Not those knife-edge flashes of teeth. But a small, quiet one, eyelashes fluttering, pupils large. The backs of their hands almost touching. Sirius almost blushing, turning away in an uncharacteristic bout of shyness. It was a joke. All of it. A joke.
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The summer after the prank, Remus’ perspective.
Anti-JKR.
Series
- Part 2 of The Runaway Interludes