PG-13, 700 words
Summary: Remus gets a sock wet, Sirius makes an unexpected purchase and there are japes on the way back from Hogsmeade.
April 7th, 1989. Morning.
Remus strolled through the village where he was currently afforded habitation, smiling as the smells of wet grass wafted past him, telling of rain overnight. Puddles gathered about his feet, and he had to suppress a yelp as one deceptively deep one sloshed over his shoe and down into his sock.
Well, a wet foot was no use to him, so he did a frenzied little hop dance over to a low wall, where he made a furtive attempt to extricate his wand. Before he could manage it, he heard a call from the other side of the road. He looked up to see a man walking his dog, and yes, it was big and black.
Remus accepted the neuron surge of recollection – it was part of the rhythm of his life, like so many things. He could not stop the phases of the moon, nor could he Obliviate Sirius Black from his life (though once he’d longed to), and so he just smiled again and watched the dog splash in puddles then place its muddy paws on its unimpressed owner.
Remus watched, and remembered, and felt impossibly old.
April 6th, 1979. Noon.
Sirius plonked a plastic bag on the table. More accurately, on Remus’ newspaper that he was reading, which was on the table. Remus eyed him balefully.
‘You’ve just covered the French foreign Minister.’
‘I doubt he’ll mind, somehow,’ grinned Sirius.
‘Sirius – that does not look like food. What have you bought, and why is it not food?’
Sirius faltered at this juncture, adjusting his weight a couple of times.
‘It’s useful – I swear it’s useful. These will prove practical in the extreme, I promise. You know how there has been talk of flooding?’
‘Yes…’ answered Remus dubiously.
‘Wellingtons!’ said Sirius, producing the articles in question with a flourish. ‘Neither of us have any, which is a crime in itself, and they are perennially useful – besides, we can go galoshing around! Think how much fun that will be! Oh, don’t give me that look – they were dead cheap…’
Pouting, Sirius put on his best puppy eyes, and Remus visibly twitched.
‘Oh, alright – fine! I think you’re just indulging a PVC fetish you’ve never felt able to disclose to date, however. Still, galoshing we shall go.’
‘Hurrah!’ cheered Sirius, grabbing Remus’ arms and conducing some sort of weird seated dance.
Remus was forced to remind himself exactly why it was he had voluntarily chosen to move in with a madman.
April 6th, 1976. Night.
They traipsed back from Hogsmeade, laughing as they weaved their way between puddles, James occasionally attempting to elbow Peter or Sirius into one, always prompting a spat of affectionate insulting.
Sirius changed into Padfoot, and bounced from puddle to puddle, before knocking James over flat on his face, to general merriment.
‘You tosser!’ squawked James, spitting mud out of his mouth. ‘You stupid, mangy bastard!’
All he got for an answer was a slimy lick right across his face, and he screamed, in a worryingly girly manner.
‘You are so dead, Black,’ he said, trying to sound menacing when confronted with a dog grinning inanely and wagging its tail.
Padfoot just ambled away and bounded over to Remus, who looked at him sternly.
‘Don’t think you can get away with a repeat of that – I’ve got my eye on you.’
The dog wuffed and stood on its hind legs before proceeding to dance. James whistled, Peter sniggered, and Remus just smiled before grabbing Padfoot’s paws and waltzing him along the path, humming a nice 3/4 time.
Peter was full on cackling by this point, and so James grabbed him and twirled him about, warbling away something suitably awful that his mother always listened to.
Then Padfoot was Sirius, who grinned at Remus before whirling him away into the night. They might be four Marauders, but this was a secret that they cradled and kept just between the two of them. It bloomed in the spring and if you didn’t look at it straight on, it glowed.