Back to The Pit Once More
Jan. 12th, 2005 08:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lukon_ideinYes, I'm back in the pit of hell. After seeing all my close friends in Beantown it's really hard to be back in Hellage, I mean, College Station where I only have casual friends with lots of other stuff to do that doesn't involve hanging out with. (Whine whine whine!) So of course I spent the first day back gorging on slash and writing a completely frivolous piece of my own. Posting it also to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
remus_centric but figured I'd throw it up here too, for my few friends who actually read my journal. (Oh boohoo - you are SOOO unloved.) :P
FIC: Joy and Remembrance
Author: Lukoni
Rating: PG
Paring: Remus/Bill
Summary: There is something Remus needs to do after the war is over.
Disclaimer: All belongs to the great and powerful Rowling. Bow down and be grateful for her bounty.
Warnings: None, really. Pointy quills, tight jeans, randy aurors and a tad of blood, but not the bad kind. Oh and completely frivolous middle name for RJL. It's fun to give him a different one every time.
Notes: Spawned from the random Remus generator which spewed forth “Bill Weasley, Most Potente Potions, tattoo”. A delightful combination. Typical of me, I tried for light-hearted fluff and got a bit of an angst-fest mixed in. I like to think of it as emotional gorp. Too many Hong Kong movies in my past, I’m afraid. But the fluff wins out in the end. Apologies for lack of beta, but I did my best to proofread. Please forgive me for anything that makes sense only in my head and not to the reader. Anyway…
Joy and Remembrance
“Ooooh, I like it. Very tribal.”
Remus didn’t answer. Just stared at the floor tapping his finger slowly as the quill cut into his back.
“Are you sure you want it to go all the way down?”
“Well it had better do now,” said Remus mildly. “It would look silly ending where it is at the moment.”
“Tetchy, are we?”
Remus glared at the redhead in annoyance. Bill had always been able read his moods even when he was wearing his best Polite Professor mask. “You try having someone gouging into your flesh with a quill for an hour and see how you feel. Sorry.” This last was directed at the wizard above him who suspended his work until Remus stopped moving.
“That’s because I was smart enough to get something of a reasonable size.”
“That’s because you had to make it small enough that your mother wouldn’t see it.”
“Too right. Now take your bloody DQ and thank me nicely. I had to stand in line for ages for it.”
“Sorry. I just dislike being… on display like this.” Remus darted his eyes around the small shop, checking the other patrons and the entrances for anything suspicious. Bill knelt down to be at eye level with Remus, who was lying on his stomach on a low padded table, his chin resting on the very edge atop his folded hands.
“Don’t worry. No one can see you through the window. It’s charmed so only those inside can see out.”
“I know. But…”
“Shhhhh. The war is over, my friend. No death eaters are going to come blasting in here looking for your mangy hide.”
“Ouch!”
“Sorry,” the tattooist muttered, trying to dispel the quiver in his hand at the suggestion of death eaters attacking his shop.
“’s all right,” Remus muttered. He glared petulantly at the magazine in Bill’s hand, annoyed that he felt so vulnerable. His back exposed to who knows who, his wand hard to reach from this position, his scars visible to any passerby. Well, any passerby inside the shop, he reminded himself. And after what had been written in The Daily Prophet these last few weeks, there probably wasn’t a witch or wizard alive who didn’t know he was The Werewolf Who Fought You Know Who. Many of the Order were minor celebrities at the moment, and most found it decidedly uncomfortable. Except Bill, of course. His dashing good looks and natural charm had made him the darling of witches everywhere. And his innate humor and good sense ensured it did not go to his head. His piles of fan mail gave him no end of amusement.
“Stop worrying, Remus,” said Bill running his finger gently down the werewolf’s forehead to smooth out the crease between his eyebrows. Remus almost purred. He realized it had been a long time since someone had touched him like that. “I’ve got your back.”
“Thanks,” Remus whispered. Bill then charmed the copy of Defense Quarterly to hover within easy reading distance of Remus and retreated to a nearby stool with a copy of Opynsezami, the bi-monthly journal of the International Society of Curse Breakers. Remus tried to read, but after struggling through the third letter to the editor, this one from some cauldron-headed prat complaining that Riddikulus was a childish, simplistic spell that did not deserve a full four page article in such an illustrious publication, he found himself staring at Bill’s legs instead. They were right in view. He didn’t even need to move his eyes, just change his focal point. Very shapely legs stretching out lazily from the racy slit down the front of his robes, a fashion he adopted during the war for easier skulking. The girls all found it most delicious.
And at least one werewolf did as well. He thought about the finger smoothing out his brow and found himself longing for it again. Perhaps if he pitched another tetchy fit… No, he had little dignity left as it was. Throwing a tantrum on purpose would use the rest right up. He’d just go home and wank. As usual. Great. Welcome to the rest of your life, Remus Juvenal Lupin. Enjoy. Then he could go through his modest pile of mail, wondering if today the letters of surprise and reluctant admiration that a dark creature might turn against You Know Who would finally outnumber the letters assuring him that even though he’d managed to fool Harry Potter into thinking he was a good werewolf, they knew the truth and they’d be watching him. He sighed.
“You’re brooding again,” Bill scolded absently, not lifting his eyes from the article on Genghis Khan’s sarcophagus. Remus considered blowing a raspberry, but, having no wish to startle the tattoowizard, settled for refocusing on his magazine and attempting to turn it to stone with his gaze.
Just as he was beginning to think the corners were looking just a tad lithic though still shiny – he’d been going for granite, but mica would do – the quill moved down to the position of the next element, just below his ribs. Nearly finished. He couldn’t wait to get out of there. He wasn’t even sure why he had insisted on doing this. It had started on a dare over dinner one night with Bill, Fred, George, Alastair, Minerva, Emeline, Kingsley, Tonks, Dung and Albus. On the day the war ended, one had suggested, they must each get a tattoo that best expressed their joy at the event. They’d proceeded to discuss what they’d get, but several of them had no idea and the others had enjoyed speculating on their behalf for the rest of the meal.
Of those who survived, most had probably completely forgotten it or dismissed it as idle talk. But then Bill had quietly taken him aside, after Minerva’s funeral. “I did it,” he said, once they were out of sight of the other mourners. Remus looked back confused. Bill proceeded to pull aside one side of his robes, and push down the top of his black trousers revealing right hip. Remus was about to ask if Bill had lost his mind when he saw what the man was trying to show him. A fresh tattoo, still a bit puffy in spots, about the size of a chocolate frog, depicting a tabby cat riding on a broomstick and wearing a floppy wizard’s hat, the end of which bobbed up and down in the breeze. The serene expression on its face, an almost perfect blend of Minerva’s no-nonsense stare and Albus’s thousand year gaze, made Remus catch his breath and brought tears to his eyes. Every once in a while the cat seemed to smile knowingly, but it would return to serene almost before he could be sure of what he’d seen. “It’s wonderful,” was all he was able to say. Any more and he’d have cried like a baby. Bill had seemed to understand, letting his robes fall back into place and clapping Remus on the back. “Let’s get out of here, mate.”
A pair of large green eyes in front of his nose startled him from his reverie, and he flinched as he felt the quill jab a little deeper than usual. “I said stop brooding.” Remus rebelliously darted his tongue out and licked the tip of the nose positioned so tauntingly close. Bill yelped and stood up.
“OI! What was that for?” he complained, rubbing the saliva from his face.
“You shouldn’t get too close to werewolves. They are dangerous, unpredictable creatures.”
“Bullocks,” Bill snorted. “You… hey, wait a minute. That looks very familiar.” Remus strained to look up without moving too much. Bill was staring through narrowed eyes at his bared back, a look of intense concentration on his face. Remus felt his own face flush with embarrassment and returned his gaze to the floor hoping Bill would drop the subject. He should have known better. Bill walked all around the table, taking him in from all angles. “Elongated isosceles triangles. Jet black. Arranged in a semicircle down one side… of … the back…. A Liburnian sunburst. Oh yeeeeeees.”
Oh no thought Remus dismally.
“That wizard!”
“What wizard?” Remus asked innocently.
“In Moste Potente Potions.”
“I don’t know what…”
“Page four hundred and thirty-seven.” The green eyes were back, full of amusement and something else. Something that strangely made Remus feel like a sheep who had just wandered into the path of a wolf. He swallowed nervously.
“Page four hundred…?”
“And thirty-seven.” Bill grinned. “The most shaggable wizard in Hogwart’s entire library.”
“Pardon?”
“Don’t you play innocent with me, Mr. Marauder Moony. The book practically opens itself to the page now, so many people have been to it.” Remus’s cheeks burned and he struggled to come up with a logical explanation for why he might have chosen this design without having actually seen that particular illustration. But Bill forestalled him with a gentle stroke between his eyes. “Is that joy for you, then?” he asked softly.
“It… it is a memory of happier times, I suppose.” said Remus as he tried to put feelings into words. He let his focus slip so he wouldn’t have to see Bill as he revealed his private thoughts. “But it is also strength…and … and… permanence… the sun is joy and hope but the black is night and remembrance… like yours, it is a muted sort of joy.” He chanced looking into Bill’s eyes and saw that he understood. A shimmering of light hinted at unshed tears and Remus looked down before his own fell. And so the wet tongue on his nose took him completely by surprise. He yelped and his head shot up from his hands.
“Oi!” warned the tattoowizard.
“Sorry,” murmured Remus, settling back into position.
“It’s your skin, mate,” he muttered back, pressing a cloth to the skin to blot away the extra blood.
“Sorry,” Bill chuckled at the disgruntled werewolf. “But turnabout’s fair play and all that.” Remus growled. Bill only laughed harder. “Tetchy, tetchy, tetchy. Now don’t get your snout bent out of shape.”
“Sn…” Bill put a finger to his lips before he could express his indignation.
“And such a lovely, tasty snout it is.” Remus blinked. That sheep-like feeling was returning. “You’re still coming over after this is done, right? So I can make sure the bleeding has stopped properly?” Remus nodded as much as he could in his position. He noted that Bill was still silencing him with that finger. “Good. I have an excellent salve that works wonders.” Leaning in close to one ear, Bill whispered “Nothing but the very best for the most shaggable werewolf in London.” Remus, his trousers suddenly uncomfortably snug, blinked once more in surprise, then a wicked smile curled his lips as he sucked the tip of Bill’s finger into his mouth. Bill hissed then reluctantly pulled his hand to safety.
“You are a naughty boy,” Bill admonished with a teasing tone. Remus raised his eyebrows innocently. “You’ve got my mum completely fooled.” Remus then did his best to channel his inner wolf into a leer, hoping to turn Bill into the unsuspecting sheep instead. Apparently it worked, since Bill’s eyed widened satisfyingly and then brimmed with laughter as he resumed his seat on the stool, placing his journal firmly in his lap. “Completely fooled,” he said shaking his head. “I can’t wait to tell Kingsley.”
“Kingsley?”
“Who do you think told me about the book in the first place? Quidditch locker room. My third year, his seventh. Think he caught me ogling his bum.” It was Remus’s turn to gape wide-eyed at Bill. “Oh yes, he’ll eat you for breakfast once he sees that.”
“Oh dear,” Remus gulped. He knew he should have chosen the stupid rose piercing a heart instead.
*** Fin ***
(Mini disclaimer – the ‘Liburnian sunburst’ is totally made up by me; Liburnians were a tribe in the northern Adriatic in Roman times and were renowned chiefly for their success at piracy (AAARRRHH), so it seemed like an appropriate culture to spawn kick-ass wizards with bad-ass tattoos. Alas, I have no idea what sort of artistic motifs they favored. My apologies to any art history scholars out there!!)
remus_centric but figured I'd throw it up here too, for my few friends who actually read my journal. (Oh boohoo - you are SOOO unloved.) :PFIC: Joy and Remembrance
Author: Lukoni
Rating: PG
Paring: Remus/Bill
Summary: There is something Remus needs to do after the war is over.
Disclaimer: All belongs to the great and powerful Rowling. Bow down and be grateful for her bounty.
Warnings: None, really. Pointy quills, tight jeans, randy aurors and a tad of blood, but not the bad kind. Oh and completely frivolous middle name for RJL. It's fun to give him a different one every time.
Notes: Spawned from the random Remus generator which spewed forth “Bill Weasley, Most Potente Potions, tattoo”. A delightful combination. Typical of me, I tried for light-hearted fluff and got a bit of an angst-fest mixed in. I like to think of it as emotional gorp. Too many Hong Kong movies in my past, I’m afraid. But the fluff wins out in the end. Apologies for lack of beta, but I did my best to proofread. Please forgive me for anything that makes sense only in my head and not to the reader. Anyway…
“Ooooh, I like it. Very tribal.”
Remus didn’t answer. Just stared at the floor tapping his finger slowly as the quill cut into his back.
“Are you sure you want it to go all the way down?”
“Well it had better do now,” said Remus mildly. “It would look silly ending where it is at the moment.”
“Tetchy, are we?”
Remus glared at the redhead in annoyance. Bill had always been able read his moods even when he was wearing his best Polite Professor mask. “You try having someone gouging into your flesh with a quill for an hour and see how you feel. Sorry.” This last was directed at the wizard above him who suspended his work until Remus stopped moving.
“That’s because I was smart enough to get something of a reasonable size.”
“That’s because you had to make it small enough that your mother wouldn’t see it.”
“Too right. Now take your bloody DQ and thank me nicely. I had to stand in line for ages for it.”
“Sorry. I just dislike being… on display like this.” Remus darted his eyes around the small shop, checking the other patrons and the entrances for anything suspicious. Bill knelt down to be at eye level with Remus, who was lying on his stomach on a low padded table, his chin resting on the very edge atop his folded hands.
“Don’t worry. No one can see you through the window. It’s charmed so only those inside can see out.”
“I know. But…”
“Shhhhh. The war is over, my friend. No death eaters are going to come blasting in here looking for your mangy hide.”
“Ouch!”
“Sorry,” the tattooist muttered, trying to dispel the quiver in his hand at the suggestion of death eaters attacking his shop.
“’s all right,” Remus muttered. He glared petulantly at the magazine in Bill’s hand, annoyed that he felt so vulnerable. His back exposed to who knows who, his wand hard to reach from this position, his scars visible to any passerby. Well, any passerby inside the shop, he reminded himself. And after what had been written in The Daily Prophet these last few weeks, there probably wasn’t a witch or wizard alive who didn’t know he was The Werewolf Who Fought You Know Who. Many of the Order were minor celebrities at the moment, and most found it decidedly uncomfortable. Except Bill, of course. His dashing good looks and natural charm had made him the darling of witches everywhere. And his innate humor and good sense ensured it did not go to his head. His piles of fan mail gave him no end of amusement.
“Stop worrying, Remus,” said Bill running his finger gently down the werewolf’s forehead to smooth out the crease between his eyebrows. Remus almost purred. He realized it had been a long time since someone had touched him like that. “I’ve got your back.”
“Thanks,” Remus whispered. Bill then charmed the copy of Defense Quarterly to hover within easy reading distance of Remus and retreated to a nearby stool with a copy of Opynsezami, the bi-monthly journal of the International Society of Curse Breakers. Remus tried to read, but after struggling through the third letter to the editor, this one from some cauldron-headed prat complaining that Riddikulus was a childish, simplistic spell that did not deserve a full four page article in such an illustrious publication, he found himself staring at Bill’s legs instead. They were right in view. He didn’t even need to move his eyes, just change his focal point. Very shapely legs stretching out lazily from the racy slit down the front of his robes, a fashion he adopted during the war for easier skulking. The girls all found it most delicious.
And at least one werewolf did as well. He thought about the finger smoothing out his brow and found himself longing for it again. Perhaps if he pitched another tetchy fit… No, he had little dignity left as it was. Throwing a tantrum on purpose would use the rest right up. He’d just go home and wank. As usual. Great. Welcome to the rest of your life, Remus Juvenal Lupin. Enjoy. Then he could go through his modest pile of mail, wondering if today the letters of surprise and reluctant admiration that a dark creature might turn against You Know Who would finally outnumber the letters assuring him that even though he’d managed to fool Harry Potter into thinking he was a good werewolf, they knew the truth and they’d be watching him. He sighed.
“You’re brooding again,” Bill scolded absently, not lifting his eyes from the article on Genghis Khan’s sarcophagus. Remus considered blowing a raspberry, but, having no wish to startle the tattoowizard, settled for refocusing on his magazine and attempting to turn it to stone with his gaze.
Just as he was beginning to think the corners were looking just a tad lithic though still shiny – he’d been going for granite, but mica would do – the quill moved down to the position of the next element, just below his ribs. Nearly finished. He couldn’t wait to get out of there. He wasn’t even sure why he had insisted on doing this. It had started on a dare over dinner one night with Bill, Fred, George, Alastair, Minerva, Emeline, Kingsley, Tonks, Dung and Albus. On the day the war ended, one had suggested, they must each get a tattoo that best expressed their joy at the event. They’d proceeded to discuss what they’d get, but several of them had no idea and the others had enjoyed speculating on their behalf for the rest of the meal.
Of those who survived, most had probably completely forgotten it or dismissed it as idle talk. But then Bill had quietly taken him aside, after Minerva’s funeral. “I did it,” he said, once they were out of sight of the other mourners. Remus looked back confused. Bill proceeded to pull aside one side of his robes, and push down the top of his black trousers revealing right hip. Remus was about to ask if Bill had lost his mind when he saw what the man was trying to show him. A fresh tattoo, still a bit puffy in spots, about the size of a chocolate frog, depicting a tabby cat riding on a broomstick and wearing a floppy wizard’s hat, the end of which bobbed up and down in the breeze. The serene expression on its face, an almost perfect blend of Minerva’s no-nonsense stare and Albus’s thousand year gaze, made Remus catch his breath and brought tears to his eyes. Every once in a while the cat seemed to smile knowingly, but it would return to serene almost before he could be sure of what he’d seen. “It’s wonderful,” was all he was able to say. Any more and he’d have cried like a baby. Bill had seemed to understand, letting his robes fall back into place and clapping Remus on the back. “Let’s get out of here, mate.”
A pair of large green eyes in front of his nose startled him from his reverie, and he flinched as he felt the quill jab a little deeper than usual. “I said stop brooding.” Remus rebelliously darted his tongue out and licked the tip of the nose positioned so tauntingly close. Bill yelped and stood up.
“OI! What was that for?” he complained, rubbing the saliva from his face.
“You shouldn’t get too close to werewolves. They are dangerous, unpredictable creatures.”
“Bullocks,” Bill snorted. “You… hey, wait a minute. That looks very familiar.” Remus strained to look up without moving too much. Bill was staring through narrowed eyes at his bared back, a look of intense concentration on his face. Remus felt his own face flush with embarrassment and returned his gaze to the floor hoping Bill would drop the subject. He should have known better. Bill walked all around the table, taking him in from all angles. “Elongated isosceles triangles. Jet black. Arranged in a semicircle down one side… of … the back…. A Liburnian sunburst. Oh yeeeeeees.”
Oh no thought Remus dismally.
“That wizard!”
“What wizard?” Remus asked innocently.
“In Moste Potente Potions.”
“I don’t know what…”
“Page four hundred and thirty-seven.” The green eyes were back, full of amusement and something else. Something that strangely made Remus feel like a sheep who had just wandered into the path of a wolf. He swallowed nervously.
“Page four hundred…?”
“And thirty-seven.” Bill grinned. “The most shaggable wizard in Hogwart’s entire library.”
“Pardon?”
“Don’t you play innocent with me, Mr. Marauder Moony. The book practically opens itself to the page now, so many people have been to it.” Remus’s cheeks burned and he struggled to come up with a logical explanation for why he might have chosen this design without having actually seen that particular illustration. But Bill forestalled him with a gentle stroke between his eyes. “Is that joy for you, then?” he asked softly.
“It… it is a memory of happier times, I suppose.” said Remus as he tried to put feelings into words. He let his focus slip so he wouldn’t have to see Bill as he revealed his private thoughts. “But it is also strength…and … and… permanence… the sun is joy and hope but the black is night and remembrance… like yours, it is a muted sort of joy.” He chanced looking into Bill’s eyes and saw that he understood. A shimmering of light hinted at unshed tears and Remus looked down before his own fell. And so the wet tongue on his nose took him completely by surprise. He yelped and his head shot up from his hands.
“Oi!” warned the tattoowizard.
“Sorry,” murmured Remus, settling back into position.
“It’s your skin, mate,” he muttered back, pressing a cloth to the skin to blot away the extra blood.
“Sorry,” Bill chuckled at the disgruntled werewolf. “But turnabout’s fair play and all that.” Remus growled. Bill only laughed harder. “Tetchy, tetchy, tetchy. Now don’t get your snout bent out of shape.”
“Sn…” Bill put a finger to his lips before he could express his indignation.
“And such a lovely, tasty snout it is.” Remus blinked. That sheep-like feeling was returning. “You’re still coming over after this is done, right? So I can make sure the bleeding has stopped properly?” Remus nodded as much as he could in his position. He noted that Bill was still silencing him with that finger. “Good. I have an excellent salve that works wonders.” Leaning in close to one ear, Bill whispered “Nothing but the very best for the most shaggable werewolf in London.” Remus, his trousers suddenly uncomfortably snug, blinked once more in surprise, then a wicked smile curled his lips as he sucked the tip of Bill’s finger into his mouth. Bill hissed then reluctantly pulled his hand to safety.
“You are a naughty boy,” Bill admonished with a teasing tone. Remus raised his eyebrows innocently. “You’ve got my mum completely fooled.” Remus then did his best to channel his inner wolf into a leer, hoping to turn Bill into the unsuspecting sheep instead. Apparently it worked, since Bill’s eyed widened satisfyingly and then brimmed with laughter as he resumed his seat on the stool, placing his journal firmly in his lap. “Completely fooled,” he said shaking his head. “I can’t wait to tell Kingsley.”
“Kingsley?”
“Who do you think told me about the book in the first place? Quidditch locker room. My third year, his seventh. Think he caught me ogling his bum.” It was Remus’s turn to gape wide-eyed at Bill. “Oh yes, he’ll eat you for breakfast once he sees that.”
“Oh dear,” Remus gulped. He knew he should have chosen the stupid rose piercing a heart instead.
*** Fin ***
(Mini disclaimer – the ‘Liburnian sunburst’ is totally made up by me; Liburnians were a tribe in the northern Adriatic in Roman times and were renowned chiefly for their success at piracy (AAARRRHH), so it seemed like an appropriate culture to spawn kick-ass wizards with bad-ass tattoos. Alas, I have no idea what sort of artistic motifs they favored. My apologies to any art history scholars out there!!)
no subject
on 2005-01-17 09:41 pm (UTC)-K
no subject
on 2005-01-20 03:23 am (UTC)Hope you are feeling better!!!!