Wolfstar headcanon in which Sirius comes to visit Remus at the Lupin’s in summer between the 5th and the 6th year as they need some time without their friends to work through the consequences of the prank and restore their relationship.
This is the first time Sirius is at the Lupin’s and this is when he first sees Remus as relaxed as he can be, freckles all over his bare arms and chest when they sunbathe together in the backyard, Remus wearing shorts, Remus closing his eyes and enjoying the sun without thinking that somebody could be watching him. This is when Sirius knows that no matter how hard that prank hit them both, they’re going to be fine eventually because Remus trusts him and lets him in such private moments of his summer. They spend the whole week together, eating Hope’s pies, reading adventure novels out loud in turns, watching the stars at night, biking (this is hard for Sirius at first, but he is a fast learner), kissing and touching and melting in each other’s arms for hours in Remus’s bedroom with the door locked and quieting spells cast, waking up together to the smells of breakfast and coffee. They talk at some point then and even though it still hurts, Remus is doing his best to trust that Sirius is never going to betray him again.
Bonus 1: Remus taking a bunch of Muggle polaroid photos of Sirius swimming in the pond near the village, Sirius smiling at him at sunset, Sirius catching a frog in the grass for a transfiguration practice, hair in a messy bun and mouth a concentrated straight line. There is also a selfie they take, camera nearly slipping of Remus’s hand and hitting the ground two or three times, they are laughing in it and hugging and this is the photo Remus is going to take to school this year and hide it somewhere in his books.
Bonus 2: James accidentally finding the photo and finally starting to suspect that something is going on between the two.
Headcanon that Sirius Black at some point was practically obsessed with starting his own band, and though he had no idea how to play guitar he was convinced he was going to rock it (after all he already had the looks and groupies)
And of course James joins right away because Lily will be so impressed, but Remus and Peter are far more reluctant and how is a band with two members gonna work? So they focus in other things -but of course Sirius is still looking for his perfect guitar in muggle stores, he is after all persistent. Meanwhile James had declared that he will one day marry a certain redhead called Lily Evans and the one of the marauders that will have the most romantic idea to sweep her off her feet will get to be his best man. So Sirius, Remus and Peter go all out with chocolates, picnics, cards but after an incident that involved duplicating lilies in her dorm that only duplicated when being touched and attempted to remove that had Lily seething, poor Peter is out of the race. Now poor James had to take the blame for this, after all the card with “My love for you only duplicates whenever I touch you, Lily ~J” definitely hinted at him. So he forbids Sirius and Remus from trying anything else with Lily, but Sirius is far too stubborn to give up and he tells Remus:“ Let’s see who of us is more romantic. I bet you that I could sweep you off your feet in a month”. Now Remus couldn’t very well let Sirius get anymore cocky, so he’s definitely in. Of course now Remus didn’t ever tell Sirius that he did get guitar lessons from his Mum Hope, a muggle singer/guitarist and is actually quite adept at it, as he knew Sirius would make him the Center of the attention for it. But now this comes in handy: “Pete!”, he calls, “what do you think about being in a position where no one could ignore you?” So he teaches Peter the drums, and though a month is quite short, the smaller boy actually has a knack for this and finds joy in letting his feelings be heard in the sound of the drums. Now Remus being the “intellectual” of course didn’t always do homework whenever he scribbled something down on parchment and got teased for it by the other marauders. His texts, some poetry, some short stories have always been something he held very dear and now it was time to share one of it. Therefore, when the month ended and Sirius awoke to the smooth voice of Remus Lupin accompanied by his own lead guitar (he had asked Hope to send it to him) and Pete playing a simple rhythm, he was quite literally swept off his feet (well, he fell out of his bed). And Sirius who knew his band was going to be reality smiled a big sleepy smile before engulfing Remus in a hug: “oh you know I love you, Moony. I have to admit, you are the winner, the winner of my heart”, he added cheesily only for the other boys to groan loudly. Yet, Remus himself stepped down from his throne and awarded Sirius the first place when he stepped into the Shrieking Shack a year later and found himself facing blankets, boxes of chocolate and most importantly the black fur of a certain dog called Snuffles to keep him company.
series summary: Remus was fine being alone until a mysterious and loud man crashes his motorbike into Remus’s life.
a/n: hi!!! i have a series!!! i’ve got a couple of series and chapter stories in my drafts, but i’ve never really had the courage to post them. i have put so much into this story, though, and i really hope you all like it :) leave me some feedback! i’ll probably post more once i know that its not a complete and utter flop. also, i’ve posted it on my ao3 so you can go read it over there too <33
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It was a drowsy, subdued place, in Remus’ opinion, every moment of the year except for spring. Where he grew up, and where he currently resided, the entire town took a green glowing hue for the season. It was cold in the mornings, so when Remus went outside to spread chicken seed on the dewy grass, he put on a sweater. It warmed up as the sun rose, and from the time it took the sun to travel from the horizon to the middle of the sky, Remus was comfortable in a t-shirt and loose-fitting jeans. When the sun was at its peak, Remus might start to sweat through his shirt, maybe going as far as to change into shorts if he was outside, which he usually was. He couldn’t stand to be inside during spring.
The gravel driveway that led to a dirt road was sprouting an abundance of weeds and weeds that looked like flowers. The trees captured light, glowing, instead of the way they seemed to absorb and trap light in winter. Remus’s backyard was a large forest, and Remus had never taken the time to check where his property line ended, so as far as he was concerned, the entire forest was his. If you went deep enough in any direction, you would come to a clearing where the knee-high grass dove into some grass that only tickled your ankles. After the ankle grass, there was an unnaturally blue and unnaturally large lake. Remus’ mom had told him that the lake was so blue and so large because it was natural, that no person could ever make something so beautiful, and Remus found himself agreeing as he got older.
With his mother and father gone to live somewhere where it was spring weather all the time, living on a vast farm with no animals and a huge lawnmower that his father comfortably sat on every weekend to trim the fields, Remus now lived in his slightly renovated childhood home. It was only slightly renovated because it was a great deal messier and almost every surface was covered in coffee or tea stains and a book. Remus also got a television that he rarely used and turned his old bedroom into some sort of reading room/ garden. So, slightly renovated.
Past the gravel driveway littered with weeds and imposter weeds, past the dirt road that served as a crossing and sometimes rest area for the wild animals in the area, was the more populated town. Calholme had two public libraries; three hardware stores, one of which sold exclusively fishing supplies; a psychic who did palm readings and sold handmade jewelry and was rumored to have built the house she did aforementioned things in herself; three gas stations, one on each side of the outskirts of town, and one right in the center; two banks, one of which was relatively new that not many people frequented due to either a lack of trust for banks or simply because it was new; a multitude of fruits and vegetables stands with products grown in the area, delis in which the products ate the grass not 20 miles away, and bakeries that sent a sweet aroma into the air; a record shop that doubled as a coffee shop, candy store, and sometimes a furniture store when the records weren’t selling too well; a car repair shop called Matt Mocks’s garage that also repaired tractors and other broken farm equipment, and if the right guy was in that day, you could get your television repaired, too; and any other storefront that the simple people of Calholme thought they needed. They were quite resourceful in that sense.
So, down one end of the road was Calholme, and down the other were a few scattered cottages and large farmhouses, and even further down was a paved road that brought Sirius Black into town.
—
Remus had opened the window in his kitchen and stood in front of it as he waited for his tea to steep. It was that wonderfully chilly morning, so he shivered a little as the cold air clipped his crooked nose and sharp chin. He wrapped his long arms around his body to give some sort of comfort but found his lack of sustainable body fat and bony arms were more of a hindrance than not. Sighing and turning away from the window, he retrieved a cardigan that was draped over the couch, shaking off some loose crumbs before putting it on and returning to the window. He passed the sink on the way, a large white ceramic hole in the counter that looked more like a tub than a sink, and filled up a cup of water for the plants on the window sill. The house was in disarray, as usual, but Remus kept his plants alive. Most of the ones on the sill were herbs that he cooked with, with one or two flowers mingled in. If he kept the window open all day during this time of year, butterflies would come to the flowers and find themselves fluttering around the kitchen until they could find the window again. Occasionally, they just make themselves at home.
Window plants watered, arms covered and no longer shivering, tea fully steeped and mixed with the right amount of milk and honey, Remus stood in front of the window again. He could hear his chickens clucking by the other side of the house, and the rustle of the trees, the faint hum of a tractor miles off as people started their day. Then, he heard the roar of a failing engine. Not long after that, he heard the harsh sounds of metal scraping and a yelp of surprise that soon turned into groans of pain.
Remus ran to the door, tripping over his discarded rainboots, then running his shin into a coffee table, then shouldering the wall before falling on his face after tripping on some more shoes. When he finally got to the door, the chickens were louder, and so was the groaning.
His driveway wasn’t too long, but it was still long enough and curved enough so that the house couldn’t be seen from the road. The gravel crunched under his feet, eyes surveying the weeds, hands warmed by the mug he had forgotten to put down and somehow, miraculously, had not dropped on his way out.
There was a lump that may have been a human body or may have been a Greek god that had fallen down to the earth. Besides this was a discarded and seriously fucked up motorbike. A few feet away was a duffel bag with its contents spilled out onto his driveway. Telling from the skid marks, Remus guessed that this Greek god had lost his footing, or maybe hadn’t seen a pothole, and veered into his driveway for somewhat of an easier crash than what would have been in the woods. The marks also told Remus that the driver was coming into town.
“Are you alright?” Remus tried, taking the groans as a sign of life and creeping closer to the body.
“Oh, fuck,” they groaned, “fuck, fuck, fuck.”
“Do you need help?” Remus knew it was a stupid question, one with the answer right in front of his face, as they began to writhe around the ground and get their wits about them.
Remus moved over to the scattered possessions, setting down his mug and gathering the various items back into the duffel. He ignored the magazine with David Bowie on the cover, ignored the criminally small shirt that had tears in the collar and Remus knew would make the Greek god look even more godlike, ignored the eyeliner pencil, and politely folded things when necessary before putting them away.
“Where the fuck am I?” the body had moved into a sitting position, feet on the ground and legs bent at the knees. There were rips in his black jeans, blood seeping into the denim, and a tattered hole in the sleeve of his leather jacket that also left red dripping onto the gravel. His face wasn’t too scuffed, just some road rash on his cheekbone and jaw. Greek god confirmed. Fallen from heaven, straight from Olympius, carved by the hands of Zeus himself.
He was strikingly pale, which made his eyes and hair striking as well. His eyes were a deep blue, blue like Remus’ lake, and his black hair was long and cut into a choppy sort of shag with lots of layers. He looked disheveled, obviously, because he was just in an awful motorbike accident, and Remus was staring at him.
“Just outside of Calholme,” Remus almost called him ‘sir’, despite the fact that he hadn’t called anyone but his teachers and his father 'sir’, and this boy was obviously close to Remus’ age. But the boy had a commanding presence, one that made people want to call him 'sir’, and tremble with nerves as they did so.
Shuffling a bit, still sat down, he surveyed the damage. No longer groaning nor writhing, he was somehow even more attractive. His brows were furrowed-in pain, concentration, just pure Greek god sternness? Remus could not tell- as he pulled at the new holes in his jeans. He didn’t wince, but he did scowl, and his fingertips ran through his blood for a moment before sighing. He twisted to look at his arm, and he winced then, but only because of his beloved jacket.
“Motherfucker,” he mumbled, taking care to slip off the arm of the jacket and pinch the torn edges together as if they would magically stitch together.
Remus realized he was still holding the boy’s duffel, so he dropped it gently on the gravel between them.
He cast his eyes up to look at Remus for the first time. “Thanks,” he said softly, pulling off his entire jacket now.
It was cold, and Remus was wrapped tightly in his cardigan, and this boy was bleeding, his motorbike dented and silent even though he had never taken the keys out of the ignition.
“Can you walk?” Remus asked, surprising himself with the nervous tremble in his voice. Remus didn’t talk much during the day, besides to his chickens and the lake and the flowers and the butterflies, and occasionally to the stray cat that would make the long trek from the neighboring properties. This boy was a little different than talking to those things.
He struggled to his feet, easing gently on his knees and not putting his scraped hands on the gravel. He bent his legs, only grimacing a little, and said, “Yeah.”
“Do you want to come inside? It’s warmer.”
The boy craned his neck, looking at the heavily forested area around him, his bike, and Remus. He looked at Remus a little longer than these other things and nodded briskly.
Remus grabbed his mug and turned to walk up the driveway, listening to the crunch of the boy’s footsteps behind him. They were strong and sure, despite the trail of blood he was leaving.
“This your house?” The boy said from a few paces behind Remus once they got close enough to see it. He sounded neutral, not apprehensive or suspicious of Remus, but not grateful or relieved. Remus found it a little unnerving, especially with his back to him. He shivered and turned to face him, nodding and opening the front door.
Today I met my grandmother your mother. Uncle Reggie was there with me. He he held my hand protectively as we - her and me, I mean - stared at each other in recognition and contempt. Her icy glare made me feel so incredibly small. I could only think about the stories I’ve heard behind closed doors, of the pain I always knew was hidden behind those gray eyes of yours. As we walked through that somber house you both escaped, uncle R told me everything. Not that he actually needed to; her disapproving gaze told me of every scar and every heartache you had to endure.
I’ve been crying for hours now. I know you’re worried, you and daddy and uncle Reggie are. You’ve been knocking at my door all afternoon. You sound desperate, ashamed almost. You fought uncle, blamed him for making me sad, for opening “unnecessary scars”.
Daddy has spent two hours, twenty five minutes and twelve, thirteen, fourteen seconds trying to bribe me with chocolate. But, as perturbed as he might be, I know he gets it. He knows I understand you better now. He knows I’m crying because I love you so much, because I can’t imagine a time in which you were both so very miserable and yet it’s the only thing in my mind. He knows because he probably went through it as well.
I know he knows, because my heart feels as broken as that time he allowed me to touch the scar on his forehead and I promised him I’d always have chocolate at hand. I thought foolishly back then that the extent of our family pain could be summarized by the word lycanthropy.
Today I know better. I understand now that I am surrounded by people who have been deeply hurt. Instead of purposely hurting others, you’ve decided to smile at the world, to give back love, to find your own happiness. You’ve protected me and loved me instead. And, as I finish putting my thoughts and feeling in a semblance of order, I realize how lucky I am to have you, Paw. I am lucky to be surrounded by you and daddy and uncle Reggie and Andy. And I hope you’re okay.
Well, I hope you know how proud I am you were created
