We never talk of our lack in relationships

[looneyloopy.livejournal.com]

*Four years ago, a brand-new motorbike had roared down the quiet streets of Rolvenden Layne, a tiny village west of Dover. Three boys had watched a fourth test out questionable flying enchantments, one up on a broom, the other two sitting on a low wall, sharing chocolate bar between them. It was early summer, the last before they were to start their final year at Hogwarts; a well-cared-for prefect badge and a new (and inexplicable) Head Boy badge sat in two of their bedrooms.

The Layne had been the site of test pranks the summer previous, and in the coming weeks would be host to impromptu camp outs with a ramshackle tent and purloined alcohol and night swimming in the lake. They were good nights, full of laughter and dares and secrets, and none of them had wanted to acknowledge how precious, and how fleeting, it would all be.

A year had changed everything. They'd all been swept up in the war, and there was no time for pranks and camping and stealing bottles of whisky when the barman at the pub wasn't watching. But the pub - The Ewe and Lamb - was still important to the boys. The site of so many adolescent adventures, of so much laughter back when they could afford to pretend the world wasn't pulling apart at its seams, it's still somehow comforting now.

Remus is late, as he is often late, by about ten minutes. There's never any particular reason that he's late - it's always he'd forgot to feed the cat, or couldn't find his socks, or the owl had come home just as he'd been about to leave. But he is late, all the same. He's rarely flustered by it, though, and tonight is no different; the others are long used to it. The barman knows them all by sight, and catches his eye as he slips in the door, nodding toward the stairs.

"Up at the usual spot, John."

John. He'd given that name the first time they'd come here at sixteen; they'd all done with fake names and felt daring for it. Remus smiles faintly in thanks and heads up with a stifled grimace, muscles still too sore for stairs. It'd have been nice if Peter had taken that into consideration when choosing a table, but there's no sense fussing about it. They've all been upset, distracted, since news of the McKinnons' deaths; it's understandable.

He finds Peter, as advised, at the table that's been theirs these four years. It's tucked in the back corner, just obscured from view by a timber pillar, perfect for scheming. The obscurity feels safe now, still, and Remus wishes uselessly for a moment that all they had to worry about was getting caught drinking underage. He gives Peter a tired but warm smile as he sits, bones protesting.*

Late, I know, I'm sorry.

Comments

[rattrapped.livejournal.com]

Not sure.

*He puzzles over it, frowning. He remembers the man clearly, of course, from when he was presented with his own wand: fir, Ollivander had said, is a wood of extraordinary resilience, suited to a survivor. He'd almost looked through Peter with those pale eyes of his, and hadn't elaborated.*

He seems pretty...Neutral? Singleminded? Not sure what the word is. But I don't see him being a loyalist.

[looneyloopy.livejournal.com]

Exactly. So I think unless we give the Ministry a reason to notice something's going on, we should be in the clear. I can't picture Ollivander volunteering information, not unless he's asked. So we just don't give them reason to ask.

[rattrapped.livejournal.com]

Makes sense. If you think it'll work. I'm up for it.

Of course I am.

[looneyloopy.livejournal.com]

*That repetition means Peter's talking himself into it; Remus has heard that too many times not to know it for exactly what it is. But he lets it go unmentioned. Pete needing a nudge isn't new. He just smiles a little instead, reassuringly, and raises his glass in a half-joking little toast.*

Of course it'll work. And you said you missed the old days, well. This is pretty close.

[rattrapped.livejournal.com]

I suppose it is.

*But the idea of it working--of him having a wand, to fight with, and being expected to fight--is a little frightening on its own, and instead of acknowledging that he is instantly and bitterly ashamed of it. But he raises his glass anyway, and meets Remus' eyes and smiles.*

Cheers.

[looneyloopy.livejournal.com]

*Remus is very good, but he can't catch what isn't there to be caught. Oblivious to what's actually going on, he smiles a little more warmly, taps Peter's glass with his own, and takes as much of a swallow as his hoarse throat will allow.*

Cheers.