Chapter Text
Remus watched the battered little car pull away and clutched his new keys tightly in his left hand. His mother wound the window down, leaning far out to wave at him, her brightly coloured scarves fluttering in the breeze. He waved back, trying his best not to appear outwardly apprehensive. His parents were ever the worriers.
But then, they had just left their only son at the door of the university halls that would be his home for the next nine months. Even parents of perfectly normal children worried about that.
He watched until his mother pulled herself back inside and the car turned out of sight. He steeled himself and moved back into the warm lobby of the red brick building that loomed behind him, his home for the next nine months. He hovered for a moment by the lift, eyeing it up with a strange sense of resentment. His father’s voice rang in his ears. There’s no shame in using it, Remus.
He took the stairs.
His knees began to protest about half way up the second flight. I don’t understand why you didn’t just ask for a room on the ground floor. He gritted his teeth and kept climbing.
He knew his parents had his best interests at heart and that they were only trying to help. A small part of him even acknowledged that it would probably have been more sensible if he had followed their advice. If he had met someone else in his position, he would likely have offered the same guidance, and he certainly would not have thought less of someone for making life more manageable for themselves. Yet when it came to himself? A strange sense of stubborn pride had won out.
He finally reached the third floor, resolutely ignoring the dull, itchy ache in his knees. He turned down the corridor, stopping three doors down. He unlocked the door and walked in to the silent flat. It was student accommodation, a kitchen, dining and living room rolled into one, with magnolia walls and cheap grey carpet. A small corridor went off to the left, leading to four bedrooms, each with their own en suite. He was the first to arrive.
The en suite bathroom had added significantly to his rent, but the lesser gods of Student Finance had smiled kindly on him, much to his surprise, and the extra cost was going to be worth it. It was the one thing he had agreed with his parents on when choosing where to live. The idea of sharing a bathroom with strangers had made his blood run cold. The living space had the potential to be awkward enough.
He glanced at his watch. 9.47 am. He thought about sitting on the faux leather sofa and waiting for his new flatmates to arrive. Would that be weird? He thought it would be weird. He retreated to his room instead.
He sank onto his new double bed and glanced around, a little uncertain. His belongings had all been carefully unpacked and it was unsettling to see them transplanted into this unfamiliar room. Something caught his eye, glinting in the September sun. A small pile of crystals had been left on his window sill, a cluster of rose quartz, tiger’s eye, amethyst. He looked round further to find a piece of black tourmaline had been left on his bedside table. He smiled, a pang of homesickness forming in his chest and he suddenly felt very tired.
Lying back onto his pillow, Remus took the polished stone from the little table. It was smooth and cool and comforting in his hand. His pillow smelt faintly of lavender. He thought of his mother, pottering around the flat, cleansing it with lavender water and placing crystals for protection. She must have done it while Remus had gone with his dad to buy groceries.
He closed his eyes and breathed in the familiar scent. It made home seem that much closer.
He awoke in groggy confusion to the sounds of voices nearby, loud male voices that were alarmingly clear considering the walls that stood between him and the speakers. For a moment he wondered where he was. He picked up his phone, dismayed when he saw it had gone past 2 in the afternoon. He hadn’t intended to sleep that long. There was a text message from his mum, Arrived home safely, give us a ring in the evening! Love you xxxx. A door slammed from somewhere in the flat. Someone swore.
He dragged himself up from his bed and over to his mirror, straightening his sleep rumpled clothes and glaring at the dark shadows under his eyes. He growled in frustration and went to splash cold water onto his face. Why did he always have to look so tired? He fussed about with his hair, grimacing at the grey strands mixing in with the light brown and sighed. He gave up. This was as good as it was going to get.
He briefly considered staying silent in his room, holding off the introductions for as long as he could, but he felt hiding only to appear in the evening would be weird, or well, rude. He hoped they hadn’t been here that long already, he would prefer to make a positive first impression. They’d figure out the weirdness soon enough.
He pocketed his key and his phone and stared resolutely at the door. He opened it. He stepped out.
A woman in her late fifties stood at one of the black kitchen counters, unpacking a cardboard box and tutting at the available cupboard space. Her grey hair was cut in a neat bob, her clothes were sensible but expensive. Two men held a long black oblong between them and were negotiating their way around the sofas, one a similar age to the woman, the other about 18. There was a clear family resemblance, although where the younger was tall and gangly, the elder stooped and portly, and the messy dark hair they shared was turning white. Another young man hunched over what would presumably become a set of shelves, screwdriver in hand. He was dressed in black, a very tight band t-shirt stretched over his broad shoulders and his long dark hair fell over his face.
Remus stared for a minute. The black oblong was a huge flat screen television. It looked comically large for the room.
The two men put the television down onto a red plastic stand. Remus drew himself up to his full height. His throat felt horribly dry.
“Excuse me? Hi.” The four strangers turned to look at him. He swallowed. “Sorry I didn’t hear you come in, I, uh, had my headphones in.” He felt his skin begin to prickle with embarrassment. He desperately willed his cheeks not to blush.
The boy with the messy hair pushed his round-framed glasses back up his nose and stepped forward, hand out in greeting. “Hey, nice to meet you.” Remus shook his hand gratefully. “I’m James Potter, these are my parents.” They smiled kindly at him. “And my brother from another mother over there is Sirius Orion Black the Third.”
Brother-from-another-mother Sirius Orion Black the Third stood up, dusting his hands off on his black jeans. “Please tell me you are not going to introduce me like that to every person we meet.” He was tall and well built, his features fine and angular and he moved with a casual elegance Remus could never hope to emulate. “Hope you don’t mind us dumping all our shit in here, we figured it’d be more fun if everyone could use it.”
“No, not at all, it’s great, thank you,” said Remus, feeling slightly overawed. He tried not to stare. Sirius Black really was depressingly, frustratingly good looking. “I’m Lupin, uh, Remus Lupin. Oh god, I just did the James Bond intro. Please don’t call me Lupin.”
Sirius let out a short bark of a laugh and pushed his hair from his face. His eyes were an amazing shade of grey. “Remus, eh? Nice to see my parents weren’t the only ones that saddled their progeny with ridiculous names.”
“Remus Lupin?” James chuckled. “Isn’t that basically ‘Wolfy McWolferson?”
Remus laughed. “It’s uh, a family tradition. My dad’s name is Lyall. Also means wolf.”
“What’s your mum’s name?” Sirius said, a hint of a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.
“Hope. But her maiden name was Howell.”
James laughed so hard his mother leaned over the kitchen counter to clout him around the head. “Don’t be rude.”
Remus shook his head, smiling. “Don’t worry, I know it’s ridiculous.”
“Could be a whole lot worse,” Sirius said breezily, though he too was suppressing a laugh. “My family’s thing is celestial bodies.”
“And with a whole universe available, they still managed three ‘Sirius Orion’s?”
“I lucked out really. My mother was called Walburga.”
“Still better than Euphemia and Fleamont,” muttered James, raising his eyebrows at his own parents.
“Just be glad we don’t hold much stock with tradition. Your grandfathers argued for days as to whether we should name you Asbolus or Hardwin.” James’ father moved to shake Remus’ hand. He had a very firm grip. “I’m sorry to leave you with these two walking disasters, Remus. Hopefully they won’t cause too much trouble.”
“Father, you wound us!” James cried in mock outrage. “Don’t listen to him, Remus, we’re angels of virtue.”
“I suggest keeping anything you don’t want breaking in your room, dear,” said Mrs Potter as she continued to unpack kitchen ware. “We’ll pay for any damages, of course.”
“Mum! Seriously?”
“Considering the damage done to your dormitory at school …”
“Yes, yes, we don’t need to go into that now.” James waved his hand dismissively. “You’ll scare Remus off.”
Sirius stuck his hands into his trouser pockets and grinned. Even his teeth were perfect. “We’re not that bad. Honest.”
“I suppose we’ll see, won’t we?” Remus smiled. “Is there anything I can help with? I’m all unpacked already.”
“Not unless you know Swedish,” Sirius grumbled, glaring at the odd assembly of white wood he had left in the corner with venom.
“Ikea?”
Sirius nodded emphatically. “I am currently trying to assemble the Devil’s Flatpack.”
Remus felt himself grinning. “Fortunately for you, I am a wizard with an Allen key.”
True to his word, Remus had the set of shelves assembled in record time. Sirius sat back on his haunches and looked at him with true wonderment.
“How did you manage that? James, come look at this!”
“My god, it is witchcraft!”
“That’s bloody impressive, Remus.”
“It took all four of us three hours to assemble it last time!”
“It was a deep insult to our manhood. Especially Mrs. Potters’. We nearly gave up and hired someone to do it.”
“Damn, I should have charged you.” Remus laughed and shook his head, blushing ever so slightly. “At least I have something to fall back on if this whole university thing goes sideways.”
The three turned as one as the front door opened, revealing a short, pudgy blonde boy dragging a suitcase almost as large as he was behind him. He froze when his eyes met theirs. The plump woman following behind him told him to hurry up. He stumbled over the threshold, his cheeks, already red from the effort of carrying the suitcase, turned a slightly alarming shade of puce.
Both James and Sirius wore slightly constipated expressions as they tried not to laugh. Mrs Potter coughed pointedly.
Remus came forward, a hand stretched out in greeting. The newcomer shook it gratefully, though the fear did not quite leave his watery little eyes. Remus introduced everyone, relieved to see that James and Sirius had managed to rearrange their facial expressions to something more friendly.
“I’m Peter Pettigrew,” he said, and to Remus’ second-hand embarrassment, his voice did squeak a little, “this is my mum. She’s helping me move.”
“Do you need a hand with any of those bags, Mrs Pettigrew?” James asked, stepping forward. She passed her heavy burden over, thanking him profusely. Mr Potter went with her to fetch more bags while Remus and James helped Peter get his stuff into his room. Remus retreated into the kitchen area to help Mrs Potter. Sirius returned to the new assembled shelves and began to fill them with DVDs and games.
Once mostly unpacked, the Potters insisted on buying fish and chips for everyone, refusing all payment offered. Nobody spoke much as they ate. Before long, the Potters and Mrs Pettigrew were tidying up, getting ready to leave. Remus excused himself to his room. He didn’t want to intrude on any goodbyes. A few minutes later, the front door clicked open and shut. He took the opportunity to call home, filling his parents in on his new flatmates and assuring them he was fine. He tried to ignore the homesickness burning in his belly.
Remus went back out when he heard James and Sirius return, and Peter reappeared shortly after. An awkward silence settled over the living room as they hovered, unsure of what to do next. James stuck his hands in his jeans’ pockets and asked the room at large, “Pub?”
It was an unanimous agreement.
There was a Wetherspoons situated around the corner from the halls, steadily filling up with new students and the usual array of locals with varying amounts of teeth. They found their way to a small table at the back flanked by two very low down leather sofas. Remus flumped into one, surprised by how comfortable it was. It would be hard to get up again.
Sirius and James swiftly disappeared after asking if everyone drank and giving bizarrely strict instructions not to start any small talk without them. Remus shared a bemused look with Peter, who looked almost as overwhelmed as he felt. However he did seem eager to keep to the strange rule imposed upon them and so cast desperately around for a suitable topic of conversation. By the time James and Sirius returned, each with a tray full of shot glasses in hand, they had found themselves in a very deep discussion about the merits of salad cream vs mayonnaise.
“Do we want to know?” asked Sirius as he sat down on the sofa beside Remus, regarding them with a raised eyebrow.
“Just discussing condiments,” said Remus lightly.
“I thought I said small talk was banned until we got back,” said James as he divided the many, many shots between the four of them. Remus could almost feel his liver shriveling in fear at the sight of them.
“There’s nothing small about the condiments war,” said Peter gravely. Remus snorted.
“Noted.” James sat back to admire his boozy handiwork before gazing imperiously at them. Sirius grinned. “We thought we’d get the awkward ‘oh shit, I have to live with these wankers for the next nine months’ small talk out the way thusly. We’ll go through all the usual questions, we’ll answer, we’ll take a shot.”
“And you want our entire life stories?” asked Remus, eyeing up the cluster of shot glasses in front of him.
“Yes.” James shrugged. “Sound good?”
Remus hesitated. Fuck it, he thought. “Sure, why not?”
Pete laughed, nodding. “Even if it does kill us on our first day.”
“That’s the spirit.” Sirius had his phone out, trying to get an artful angle on the impressive array on the table. “Oh yeah, add me on Facebook and all that shit.”
“You know, I never imagined I would draw my last breath in a Wetherspoons,” said Remus as he fished his phone out of his jacket.
“I did,” Pete muttered darkly. “What’s your number, Remus?”
“Right, let’s get started,” said James, once contact details had all been exchanged, rubbing his hands together gleefully. “Start with the obvious. What are you studying?” He looked pointedly at Sirius, who rolled his eyes.
“Fine Art.”
“And?”
“And French modules on the side.”
“Well done, you may take your shot.”
Sirius considered the little glasses for a moment before selecting one filled with an amber liquid. He downed it, grimacing ever so slightly when it hit the back of his throat. He turned to Remus, resting his hand on his chin and fluttering his long eyelashes.
“Biology. Eventual plan is to do a PGCE.” He mimicked Sirius, pleased to note that it was spiced rum, not whiskey as he had feared. Whiskey rarely ended well. “What about you, Pete?”
Pete flushed a little. “Media Studies,” he mumbled, gulping his shot down and nearly choking on it.
“And I’m doing Law,” said James cheerfully, thumping Peter on the back with one hand and taking his shot with the other. “Right, next round, A Levels.”
“French, Art, Drama, English Lit.”
“Biology, Psychology, Ancient History, Latin.”
“Media, Film, Modern History.”
“Latin, Maths, Modern History, English Lit and English Language.”
“You did five A Levels?” Peter said with just the hint of a squeak, looking at James in wide-eyed admiration as he downed his second shot. “I barely managed three!”
Sirius scoffed. “Latin doesn’t count,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “We went to Posh Boy Boarding School, we’ve been doing it since we were eleven.”
James stuck his tongue out. “Then French doesn’t count, Monsieur Black, seeing as you could speak it before you could walk.”
“You know perfectly well I took French as a doss.”
They continued to bicker, pausing occasionally to fire off another round of questions and drink the required shots. Remus found himself surprisingly at ease, slipping in and out of the conversation when it was directed at him, content to watch when it wasn’t without feeling ignored or left out. He wasn’t sure if it was the steadily increasing amount of alcohol he was imbibing, or just the air of confidence that rolled off of Sirius and James, but he felt himself feeling far more relaxed than he had anticipated he would be on his first night away from home.
He acquired a lot of information about his new flatmates very quickly, and pondered for a brief moment whether or not he would remember any of it come morning. Pete went to a normal secondary school and had two sisters. James was an only child, like him. Sirius had a (biological) brother but ‘we don’t talk about him’. It was discovered they were, as James put it, all fine bachelors out on the hunt (Remus pulled a face at that. Sirius kicked James from under the table.). Sirius was a Londoner, James from the West Country, and Peter said he was from somewhere around Birmingham. The customary sheep fucker jokes were made when Remus mentioned he was from Wales.
“You don’t sound overtly Welsh,” Sirius said after he stopped sniggering, eyeing Remus with suspicion. “I knew there was something weird about the way you spoke but I hadn’t pinned it down as Welsh.”
Remus shrugged. “We moved around a lot.”
“Why?”
“Why not?”
Sirius frowned, but dropped it.
“Right, ‘what is your dream job?’” James was frowning at his phone screen, the brown eyes behind his glasses a little unfocused.
“Mate, are you googling ice-breakers?”
“Yes. Answer the question.”
Sirius rolled his eyes. “Starving artist. Remus?”
“Underpaid teacher. Pete?”
“Cadbury’s quality control officer. James?”
“Damn, Pete, that’s a good one.” Sirius grinned, turning on James before he could answer. “And you, Prongs, would be Defender of the Innocent, Protector of the Weak.”
“And all around good guy?” Remus chipped in.
“James of the Jungle.” Sirius nodded, looking very pleased. James struck what he clearly thought was a heroic pose. “It’s a shame our dear Jimmy doesn’t cut quite the same muscular figure as Brendon Fraser in his prime, but we’ll make do with what we have.”
James clapped a hand to his heart in outrage. “You wound me, Padfoot. My body is a temple.”
“Prongs? Padfoot?” asked Pete. He had started to hiccup.
James and Sirius shared a slightly bashful smile. “Jimmy likes to come up with stupid nicknames,” Sirius explained, leaning further back into the sofa. “You will inevitably acquire one.”
“My uncle had a big black dog called Padfoot. We were in Year Nine, I think? Yeah, anyway, Sirius was experimenting with his hair and it looked like he had big shaggy ears like the dog and it just stuck.”
“And Prongs?”
“There was an incident,” James said rather delicately.
“An incident?”
“The Incident.” Peter and Remus looked between the other two. Sirius raised his eyebrows at James, who sighed dramatically.
“It involved a stuffed stag, our Head of House and a couple of toasting forks.”
“Sounds like a story.”
“It is, my dear Remus, but one for another time. Such a tale requires a more sophisticated venue, and I don’t have the sock puppets on me.”
“There are sock puppets?”
“Oh yes,” said James happily, looking at his phone again. “I’m pretty sure we packed them. I meant to, at any rate. Right, favourite animal? Mine is a stag. Obvs.”
They stumbled from the pub shortly before closing, Pete practically suspended between James and Remus as they made their way back to the flat. Sirius ducked into the twenty-four hour supermarket across the road to buy more booze, saying he’d catch them up shortly.
“He wants a cig and thinks this way I won’t figure it out,” James said, rolling his eyes. “Idiot.”
They made it to the lobby and into the lift, desperately trying to be quiet and therefore being rather loud. Remus fumbled for his keys, eventually getting the door open. They dumped Pete on the corner of the big sofa and threw themselves down next to him.
“This was a good idea, James,” Pete mumbled, his face pressed into a bright pink cushion Mrs Potter had provided.
“All my ideas are good.”
“I’m not sure I’ll agree with you in the morning.” Remus slid further down into the sofa, stretching luxuriously. “Hangovers have never been a good friend of mine.” Pete chuckled, then groaned.
“You know what we should have?” James said to the room at large. “We should have a party, before Freshers is over. Invite the other flats over and stuff.”
“Sounds like a good idea.” Sirius stood in the doorway, carrier bag in hand. It clinked as he plopped it down onto the coffee table. He tossed his leather jacket carelessly to one side and sat on the floor in front of the sofa between James and Remus. His back was warm against Remus’ left leg. The faint smell of cigarette smoke clung to his hair.
“All my ideas are good.”
“You already said that, James.”
“And it’s still true, Lupin, Remus Lupin.”
“Shut up, Prongs Potter.”
Sirius pulled a bottle of Captain Morgan’s Spiced Rum from his carrier bag, unscrewing the top and taking a swig. James made grabby hands and he passed it over. “So when should we have this gathering of ours?”
“Dunno,” said James, passing the bottle to Remus. “Have to see what subject and society things everyone is up to first.”
“Makes sense. Maybe Thursday? I feel like Thursday will be free. I’m pulling that day out of my arse, but still, it’s a feeling.” Sirius tapped Remus’ leg to ask for the bottle back.
“If it works out and I even survive that long,” Remus said, trying not to clonk Sirius on the head with the rum.
“Seems fair. Turn the TV on, JimmyJams?”
“You’re closest.”
“But Remus’ legs are comfy.”
“Urgh, fine.”
James relented easily, swearing under his breath while he hunted for the remote. He turned the beast of a television on and flicked through the myriad of channels, landing on the Food Channel and a late night episode of Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives.
Peace settled over the little flat, interrupted only by Pete’s gentle snores. Sirius leaned his head back against Remus’ leg, gazing up at him endearingly with his big grey eyes. Remus felt his inebriated heart beat faster. Sirius somehow managed to be good looking upside down.
“In Year Eight, James had his hair cut not unlike Guy Fieri's.”
James yanked the cushion from under Pete’s sleeping head and smacked Sirius squarely in the face.
“I fucking hate you, Pads.”