Chapter Text
Two boys - one tall and chiselled with spidery sun kissed arms and legs and dark, unruly hair, the other short and slender with protruding cheekbones and a narrow, cavernous torso, clustered as a canvas of immature, permanent doodles - relaxed in their own way in around the small pool an ageing father had built only one decade before.
The taller boy, who was fiddling with a threadbare hair scrunchie, (gifted to him by the small toddler who lived two gates adjacent), exhaled a gentle, content sigh into the rays of unforgiving sunlight high above them in the still cerulean sky. He tilted back his jaw, spending a mere second or two in tidying back the worst of his sweat laden hair from his damp forehead while his long legs uncrossed themselves from the lip of the pool and sunk in under the water before him. The sound of the lapping water momentarily drowned out the soft buzz of a battered, crackle-ridden wireless radio, propped up underneath a nearby olive tree and the delicate ‘tap-tap-tapping’ of a typewriter only ten paces or so behind him and the soft mumbles of the young author who sat there amongst enormous hardbacks.
“You’re doing it again.” he spoke, removing his nimble fingers from his hair to drop down either side of his hips, propping back his body to bask in the golden summer heat, “Staring.”
“I’m not staring, James.” the other boy lowered himself under the stone lip of the pool he hid in with a telltale flush upon his high cheekbones and he looked up at his best friend with a scowl, “I’m looking.”
“Yeah, you’re looking with an incredibly specific look on your staring face.”
“And what look might that be?”
“The look of loooove- AH!”
There was an unceremonious splash that followed James’ helpless yelp, succumbing to the depths of fresh hose water when the shorter of the two snaked his long fingers around James’ ankle and pulled hard, catching the much stronger boy entirely by uncharacteristic surprise. Which, really, was just as well, as it gave the blushing boy a chance to pretend that the aforementioned red to his cheeks could be explained away as laughter.
James, who was a great deal stronger, encouraged a telepathic invitation of wrestling and Sirius, who was too lively to decline, promptly pounced and before long, any pathetic attempts from the nearby radio were entirely drowned out by the shrieking, the squawking, the splashing which ensued.
Relenting occurred when Sirius considered his attempts at victory entirely futile - only one minute or so into the attack - and he used the taller boy as his own leverage out of the pool, shaking his long, dark hair like a puppy and wiping his face with his palms. Water left darkened droplets on the stone beneath him and his faded trunks. His breathless, spluttering laughs extended his arms back beneath him - propping himself up in the same position James had been resting in only a moment or so earlier. He threw his head back with the happiness, still letting out the occasional huff of happy laughter when he felt James pull himself from the water beside him.
A moment passed, the wireless hummed back into focus and the boys sat in silence with their faces turned to the heat.
Sirius slid open one eye - his right one - and eyed the friend beside him before continuing his craned jaw back and back and back to search for the typewriter behind the tree ten or so paces behind them.
He huffed out a sigh he knew would only attracted attention from James - who smiled his awful, all knowing smile without opening his eyes - and Sirius slid from the ledge back under the warm summer heated water to dull his second blush.
The young author was gone.
*
When the sun began to set and the sky was transformed from cerulean azure into shades of deep amber and mauve, Sirius and James aided both Effy and Fleamont in their fetch and carry from the large kitchen to set a table for dinner beneath the leaves of the olive trees. An evening was yet to pass which wasn’t seen off with their meal, together with laughter and happy summer stories, waiting for the dusk to settle and the temperature to drop low enough to stomach bowls of hot pasta and glasses of rich wine.
Sirius took his turn in doling out the spaghetti with the large, clawed serving spoon from the large bowl central to the wooden table while James made a performance out of drizzling each with spoonfuls of Parmesan.
Remus, the author and the owner of the noisy typewriter, sat precariously on the left of the wooden bench he shared with Effy and Monty - directly opposite to the boys - and he handed them both a flat-mouthed smile in thanks so as not to interrupt the monologue his bench partner to his left (Monty) was producing.
Sirius was yet to pluck up the courage to speak to their new house-guest, finding that he was consciously (and incredibly uncharacteristically) intimidated by the new boy. He was tall, a good half foot taller than James, polite, with a soft, lilting accent so different to the aristocratic way of speaking that James and Sirius had grown up with and clever… so, so clever.
His intelligence wasn’t a surprise. Every year when the sun began to rise high and hot to indicate incoming Summer, Fleamont - a well renowned, celebrated professor from Cambridge - and Euphemia Potter opened their enormous Italian Chateau for one lucky academic to spend the entire summer in. A crash course field trip on European Literature in the heart of the continent and this year brought sandy haired, amber eyed Remus John Lupin and his twenty thousand word dissertation. He was unlike the usual candidate, who were usually various shades of pompous, arrogant, scholars not unlike Fleamont’s son (and his second new son). They spoke loudly about their intelligence with confident plummy voices and butchered the beautiful language spoken around them/made little to know attempt to speak it in the first place.
No, Remus was quite different, and it was abundant by far more than his soft, mellow accent. He answered any questions asked of him with minimal sound and most of his conversational ability was interspersed with his ongoing appreciation for being given the position in the northern lake hills in the first place.
Remus had arrived only a handful of long, hot days after the boys had themselves (finishing their first year at university (Imperial, obviously) and ready for their European summer as considered young adults, loud, excitable, full of life and mischief) and barely a full rotation of the earth had passed before Remus was reddened with sunburn upon his shoulders while he and his typewriter worked in the courtyard.
Sirius wasn’t yet sure what to say by means of introduction.
“Will you be out late tonight boys?” Effy spoke over the lip of her crystal wine glass, taking a soft sip before depositing it safely down beside her empty plate, “I’ll leave the door on the latch.”
“We’re with Mary, mum, don’t worry.” James waved his hand nonchalantly, “Probably just kip at her if we’re a bit late coming back.”
Sirius hummed a lazy response around his last mouthful of tomato sauce before he reddened, comically, when he became conscious of a certain pair of curious amber eyes watching him from the other side of the bench. He picked up his paper napkin and scrubbed it quickly over his mouth. He swallowed, “James just wants to see Lily again.”
“Oh, she’s a beautiful girl.” Effy smiled in the warm, delicate way that Sirius had craved seeing his entire life, “I’ve seen her with Mrs Maestrini. You better not frighten her off.”
Sirius snorted despite his flush, “She’s told him to piss off the other night, Effy, she’ll be fine.”
He’d only met Lily once or twice - both times in passing at the Sunday market in the square at the larger village down the mountain, closer to the lake. She’d been arm in arm with Mary Maestrini, her mother and baskets of fresh fruit and she had on a pale floral linen dress and a smile for the world. Poor James had fallen in love in the time it had taken Sirius to blink.
James had promptly begun his quest for intelligence and had fallen on top of Sirius’ bed the very same night with a mind full of bullet points which he’d traded by donating half a spliff to Mary and Lily herself while Sirius had indulged himself in a early evening lonesome walk up through the mountains. Apparently - and this was all according to an infatuated, slightly stoned, James Potter - but apparently Lily’s mother had been Mrs Maestrini's maid of honour back in the 60s and had written to her friend to ask if Lily could stay for the summer before her first year at university to gain some travelling experience. She could speak Italian about as well as a nervous child and had been relying on Mary to aid her in any of her new social endeavours until her confidence grew. This, of course, had only encouraged James more and he’d been shooed from Mary’s garden with an eye roll, an attempted smack and a swear or two for good measure. He was in love.
“Do you wanna come, Remus?” James moved the conversation fairly swiftly away from him and his love. He’d run a comfortable hand through his unruly hair and was swinging back on the bench, making it tip both he and Sirius back and into the shade.
Sirius’ heart skipped a full beat and he pushed back against James’ casual bench swinging to land it back firmly on four legs. He swallowed and busied himself by picking at his minimal leftovers.
It’s not like Remus would want to come. He’d spent the entire afternoon tapping away at his writer in various stages of sunlight and shade and he’d quite clearly been annoyed with he and James’ mischief in the pool. He had a dissertation to work on and he’d have the entire evening free to do so with Fleamont’s unbridled attention.
…or maybe he would want to come? Maybe he’d close over his enormous leather bound texts and tidy away his typewriter for the night. Perhaps he’d change out of his starched, short sleeved shirt and throw on a t-shirt and a pair of tatty trainers to join their trawl of the bars. Sirius could imagine him smiling, tossing back his sandy curls with his gold rimmed glasses. He imagined Remus’ eyes narrowing into happy lines when his teeth flashed with happiness in the lamplight. He was sure Remus had an enormous smile. The kind of crooked, infectious one that stretched back the dimples on his freckled cheeks and curved his pink lips upwards. Maybe Remus would kiss someone there, right in the middle of the square while the music poured out from the bars and the locals cheered loudly beside their coffees and wine.
“Can’t tonight, thanks though.”
Sirius let out the breath he couldn’t remember holding and then he stood from the bench to begin gathering the empty plates and cutlery.
“Grazie, love, you’re a star.” Effy smiled at his back as Sirius retreated in the cool shade of the kitchen overhung roof and poured himself an enormous glass of cold water at the first sink he got to.
*
Remus’ warm, amber, curious eyes were watching their odd quartet from his vantage point - his plant ridden balcony only a shuttered window away from his bedroom in one of the many spares littering the top floor. He was smoking lazily behind the spine of a book larger than Sirius’ entire head and his long bonze legs were propped up by the ivy-clad railing around the thick lip of bedroom and Sirius had to busy himself with menial tasks in an effort stop himself from staring - no, looking - back at him.
Sirius had a foot resting upon the round top of Effy’s favourite plastic patio chair for him to tie the laces of his grubby converse, he spent a few seconds thumbing through a glossy magazine someone had left out - absconded at some point over the long, hot afternoon. He nudged a few terracotta pots of dry earth with his toe and he flicked back some curious ivy from the overgrown trelice of flowers.
Remus’ eyes were still there when - with a shriek and a giggle - the crumbling stone wall behind the tiny pool was hopped by two teenage girls, arms in arm, smiling together behind their sun kissed faces and their sparkling eyes. Mary, the shortest of the duo, broke away from the other and wrapped a comfortable arm tight around Sirius’ shoulders, “Ciao bello.” she grinned in a haze of white teeth, kissing both his cheeks closely.
Sirius planted the idea of Remus and his stupid golden eyes firmly in the back of his mind as he kissed Mary back upon her forehead hard, for far too long than he ought to have, his slender arm sticking around her bare shoulders as the other girl smiled hesitantly just outside the threshold of friendship.
Lily, the paler girl, with her curtain of dark auburn hair twisted back in various complicated braids, clutched a small bottle of amaretto in the hand not occupied by fiddling with her floral dress and her face broke into the most beautiful smile that Sirius had ever seen on a woman in his life, “Buongiorno, Sirius.”
Mary threw her head back onto Sirius’ shoulder to laugh, a fond, gentle sound, before she unwound herself from the slender boy and danced back to the girl, poking Lily affectionately upon her freckled nose, “Buonasera, Lily, the sun is setting.”
She flushed despite herself and extended the bottle of amaretto across the threshold, “Buonasera, Sirius.”
Sirius grinned and crossed the short distance to kiss both her sunburnt cheeks and take the bottle to crack open at the table between the plastic chairs, “Lovely to meet you at long last. I hear James is gonna marry yo-”
“Oh hey girls!” a clatter and a thud before the adjacent kitchen door was thrown open against the stone to reveal James Potter, dressed in his best oxford and his favourite light denim shorts, clean white trainers over his fresh sports socks. His cheeks were red and Sirius revelled in the delight that his interruption had been entirely orchestrated after a deliberate eavesdrop, “Miss Maestrini!” he bowed theatrically and then draped himself over the back back of Effy’s favourite patio chair, “Evans.”
The plastic chair groaned under his weight and Lily snorted back a laugh and an eye roll before she and Mary sank into seats together at the table with Sirius and his plastic cups of undiluted amaretto.
The sun had almost set when the four of them had stomached at least half of the bottle and a low glow of evening sunshine clung to the mountains surrounding them, sending lazy bursts of light through the breeze in the olive tree leaves. The spirit made the conversation easy to fall from awkward to comfortable and James had hauled out the old wireless to perch nervously on the edge of an old terracotta plan, humming out a quiet Italian ABBA translation of the decade before.
Almost as an afterthought, just after Mary had started squawking about the time and wanting to get down to the square for a decent table, Sirius was hit with that ridiculous itch to turn back to Remus at his balcony, to wave him down and smile and offer for him to join them. He might actually manage to strike up a conversation with him after a drink or two? Perhaps Remus might- he swivelled round in his plastic garden chair with the intention of throwing caution to the nonexistent wind. He squinted into the low evening gold. For the second time in only a few hours, the enormous leather bound book and his sandy curled owner were gone.