Disclaimer: I do not claim the rights to anything here and
have only my muses to blame for this, lovely things that my muses are. The
characters are not mine and I get nothing from this apart from an occasional
case of the giggles. The "universe" (such that it is) is mine but people are
welcome to play in it if you let me know/credit me/not go against any
established storylines (yeah, like I could manage actual storylines in a series
of PWPs?)
Summary: Set in a Regency AR, there is present-giving and
Sirius indulges Remus.
Series: This is the first in what I'm tentatively calling my
'Hogwarts Regency' series
Notes: I was stuck with uncooperative muses and writer's
block for nearly four days when I was replying to a post by silly_sooze
and this suddenly demanded to be written. I was relieved at the way it began to
flow and amused by the result.
A Private Moment
As all
tales must begin, this one does so on a spring afternoon as I made my way down
the dimly lit hallway to the school library. Unlike texts used for my studies, what
I had in my possession was a novel. One I had read through twice since
borrowing it, in fact. I hugged it close, recalling with much fondness all the
witty characters and thrillingly romantic scenes. Admittedly I felt somewhat
foolish mooning over such a book now that I was in a relationship and did not
need fictional romances to fill that void any longer. But somehow those lovely
romances only seemed to assure me that my own was just as thrilling. If not for
my promise to return the book that very day and if not for the fact that I am
always a man of my word, I would have surely held onto it longer.
When I
rounded the corner, my steps stopped abruptly. The soles of my boots scraped
against the stone floor beneath them before coming to a halt a mere breath away from two of my three best friends. I raised a
hand at once to tip my hat to both as I nodded with their names. "Mister
Prongs. Mister Padfoot. And what might you two scoundrels be doing lurking in
the hallway outside of the library? Surely it is not the books for which you
have eyes."
"Books are
for scholars and vicars, my dear Mister Moony," Mr. Sirius Black said with a
smile, his gentle grey eyes casting a glance at the book I caringly clutched. "And
for those who would rather read about life than live it." His fingers fiddled
with the scarf around his neck, which I knew meant he was having me on for the
fun of it but meant no harm.
Having
dueled with Mr. Black on the subject of literature many times before, I was
well prepared to do so again. "In hard times such as these, I am not ashamed of
making short retreats into fictional paradises. Not so long as one remembers
not to confuse life and novels as the two are far from interchangeable no
matter how similar the elicited emotions."
For a
moment, a glint in his eye and a twitch of the corner of his mouth indicated he
wished to pursue this further, but an outstanding matter drew his attention. "It
is emotion, in fact, which has us hiding in the shadows just steps from the
library," he explained. "For, I am not sure you have noticed,
Mister Prongs here has taken ill."
"Ill?"
asked I, suddenly concerned. I studied Mr. James Potter's face for a moment but
detected no hint of illness. His face had color and his blue eyes were
unclouded behind his spectacles. His cheeks held no rosy hue and his hair was
no wilder than normal beneath his hat.
But Mr.
Potter nodded regrettably. "I am afraid so."
"He is,"
Mr. Black elaborated. "Quite terribly love sick."
I made a
noise of understanding somewhere between amusement and simple confirmation. "I
feel quite the fool for not having guessed." Looking over their shoulders and
into the library I could now clearly see the object of James' affections
sitting alone at a table with a book in front of her. As only another avid
reader might notice, I watched closely and saw she was looking at her book but
not actually reading it. It was as though she desired to be disturbed, or at
least expected to be. Thus I reached out and gripped James' upper arm. "You
should go to her at once and confess your heart."
"This
moment, you mean?" asked James. His voice shook from nerves though he cleared
it just the same as if it had been merely a tickle in his throat.
I nodded
fervently and Mr. Black joined in. Then, as I straightened Mr. Potter's hat and
head boy badge to make him perfectly presentable, Mr. Black continued to speak
convincingly. "You must go to your young Miss Evans at once and tell her of
your illness. She has a tender heart and will help you to recover, I am most certain
of it."
I continued
to nod earnestly. "I daresay she is an excellent choice, Mister Prongs.
Well-read and well-dressed--"
"Both
beautiful and brilliant," echoed Mr. Black, continuing to follow my lead.
"But she would
be just as lucky to have such a young gentleman of fortune such as yourself."
"Fortunate,"
agreed Mr. Black. "Intelligent, of high rank, well-mannered and easy on the
eyes as well."
Mr. Potter
smiled at the compliments, then looked from Mr. Black
to me. It seemed his confidence had been sufficiently elevated. Then he made a
swift turn on his heal and strode determinedly into the library.
Together we
watched him approach Miss Evans. He inquired about having a word with her and
she invited him to sit. I could not hear what transpired between them, but
their gestures spoke for themselves. I watched Mr. Prongs' hand go to his
forehead, as though indicating fever, then to his chest to cover his beating
heart. I saw Miss Evans smile, and watched her wrap a strand of her red hair
around a finger as she listened to him speak. I saw her green eyes sparkle as
he took her hands and held them in his. And I saw the shy but overwhelming
delight on both their faces as they kissed each others' cheeks with affection.
It was only
then that I felt Mr. Black's hand on my lower arm, squeezing with the same amount
of affection, if not more. When I turned my gaze and looked into his eyes, I
saw how violently in love he was. "I have been longing to find a moment alone
with you," he confessed in a low, rough whisper. "I have a present for you."
I blushed
then, as was not uncommon whenever I learned he had a token for me. My Mr.
Black was always surprising me with trinkets and sweets to show his affection
and I treasured each dearly even if I was forced to hide most in a box at the
very bottom and back of my trunk. For my lack of status and fortune all I could
give to him were letters from my heart. I knew he kept every one, however, and
knew he treasured them as much as I did his gifts.
If not for
my fear of being found out, I would have kissed him immediately in order to
express my gratitude. Instead, we withdrew to a private alcove where it would
be impossible for anyone to find us were they not possessed of a certain map. We
sat close together on a cushioned bench, my dark black robes blending almost
seamlessly into his. I set the book aside in hopes of finding far more
delightful distractions.
"I must be
forthright about this," said my Mr. Padfoot, "as it is a most unusual gift. The only one of its kind, to be sure, but also strange in its form and
meaning as well." He took a small package from his pocket and held it
tightly. "I received post from my parents today. And with it
a gift to me that I wish to give to you instead."
I am
certain I did not hide my considerable surprise at this. My first thought, of
course, was some family heirloom like a ring that Padfoot was supposed to give
to the woman he picked to be his wife. However, I quickly decided that all the
romance from my novel had clouded my judgment. Still, the concept of the
re-given gift was intriguing, especially for its origins and Padfoot's outright confession. "Something from the most
ancient and noble house of Black that I am to have? Your parents would surely
disown you for giving something like that to someone such as me."
His smile
turned into a grin. "I can but hope, my handsome Moony." He kissed my cheek and
slid the package into my hand as he did so.
I wasted no
time in its opening, untying the bow into merely a string, then
lifting the top of the box. There was another box inside, but this I recognized
as the present itself. I withdrew it with care and held it upon my flat palm as
it was small enough for me to do so. It was made of brilliantly polished silver
and sported a small latch for its lid. The snuff box, for that is what it was,
even had his initials in script on the side. "I am afraid, my good man, that I
shall have to change my name in order to accept this gift. Not even a blind man
could confuse this with R.J.L. And were I to use it as it now appears, I might
be accused of stealing such a fine thing."
He smiled
good-naturedly and nodded. "True enough-- that is, if you had any intentions of
using it yourself."
"Oh?" I
asked, even more interested-- interested, suspicious, and playful. "What did you
have in mind, then?"
He took the
box from me and lifted the tiny latch to pull back the hinged top. "I know how
much you enjoy watching me sneeze. And, as you are well aware, nothing makes me
sneeze quite so much as a little snuff."
I was
indeed aware of this fact. It occupied my thoughts and dreams far more
regularly than was proper, and my Sirius was aware of that.
As most
gentlemen who take snuff can attest to, the sensation to sneeze is typical.
With experience and a small amount of willpower, however, that urge can be
suppressed or ignored completely. Mr. Black had never mastered this, though. If
I were given a guess, I would say that was partly due to the fact that he
actually wanted to sneeze, because he knew how much I adored it. While it is
true other things gave me incredible pleasure, his sneezes delighted me like
nothing else could.
With rapt
anticipation, I watched him inhale just a bit of the powder which he had tapped
out onto the webbing between thumb and forefinger. His sniff was short and strong,
and he blinked as the sensation struck him. Already I could see it working on
him. His nose wrinkled and his nostrils flared. It was a delightful sight to
see, my tender but tough man and his twitching nose.
A warmth like no other took hold of me. I felt nearly too
giddy with anticipation to be still. I could not possibly contain my elation. I
found myself pressed right up against his side with my arm around his shoulders
to draw him closer. He jumped at how familiar I was being but did not pull away.
On the contrary, he gasped and set his hand upon my thigh. Even through my
robes the touch was hot and I tingled all the more for it. "Have you a hanky
ready then?"
I had not,
but it only took me moments to retrieve mine. I always carried at least two,
one to keep clean so that it could be offered to a lady or used as a gesture
and a second for more hearty uses. I was prone to head colds and even though
this was hardly the season for them, I still carried one just in case. This was
the one I handed over to him-- thick, beige, and without my initials or a white
flower embroidered in the corner by my mother's hand.
This one
suited Sirius much better. It was large enough to engulf his hand entirely with
more fabric to spare, and I had my suspicions that every bit of it would be
used before this was ended.
His breaths
were shallow and unsteady for a few moments more. However, the way his whole
body tensed heralded its arrival. As did a sudden, sharp
breath inwards. "hehhhh... heff-Chushhh! ehhh-Churshhhh!"
His sneezes
were hardly proper. Instead they were free and wild, just as he was. I removed
his hat for him lest it fall to the floor and be dirtied. And when he sneezed
again, the sneezes seemed even freer as they shook his entire body and snapped
his head forward. "hehh-CHShhhh! ehhhh-hihhh-CHISHH!"
I sat in
awe of the sight before me. My heart leapt to my throat as he tapped out a
little more snuff and breathed it in again. Immediately, his nose wrinkled and his
eyes closed. Swaying a bit, he nonetheless managed to raise the handkerchief
all the way to his face. "ehhhh-KRShhhhh! ehhhShushhhh!"
Sirius
scrubbed his nose into the handkerchief in a most undignified sort of way. I
adored how needy and desperate he must have felt then, and I held him closer.
So close that I could feel his breaths against mine as more sneezes began. So
close that I could feel the strained rise and fall of his body with each
reluctant breath. "ihhhhCrshhhh! ehhUrshhhhh! hehhhh-Chishhhh!"
Nothing I
could think of could compare to how delightful he looked when sneezing. The fluid motion, one sneeze after another. The way his face
scrunched when he felt one approach and relax a moment before one struck as
though filled with relief. With his eyes closed as they were, I felt no shame
in watching him closely. My whole body tingled with warmth as I longed for more.
Sirius did not disappoint me. "hehh... hehCshhhhh! hihhShffshhhh! ehh-hehh-IHFshhhhh!
ehhhChshhhhhh!"
I cherished
each and every one, even though I took from him the snuff box so he would not inhale
any more. Though I would have loved nothing more than to watch him sneeze all
afternoon, I did also wish to keep his suffering to a minimum. He looked grateful
as I closed the box, though the look did not last long. With the handkerchief
again refolded, he buried his nose in the folds. "hehhhChrchhhhh! KShhhhh! Ihhhh-CShhhhh!"
He paused,
waiting, but no more seemed to come. Mr. Black wiped at his nose, then he sat for a moment with a most thoughtful expression. Suddenly,
a final, single sneeze shook him. "hehhhChishhhh!"
When he
lifted his head again, he was sniffling. One of his hands moved to my neck and
deft fingers slipped a button through its hole. He struggled more with the
second than the first, but it was unbuttoned without much trouble. Passion was
racing through me now. And though it was the most indecent thing I could think
of, I wanted him to take me now, right there in the alcove, while he was still
sniffling. Confronted with him as he was now, however, I would not have lasted
more than a second.
But he did
not take me, nor did he unbutton my robes all the way. He undid just enough to
pull back my robes on one side, exposing my pressed shirt and fine scarf
beneath. I could hardly breathe. All that was real were his penetrating eyes
and his hot touch. He ducked his head and rubbed his nose into the handkerchief
protruding from my breast pocket. With his handsome, runny nose just above my madly,
deafeningly pounding heart, it was all I could do to contain myself.
When
finished, he pulled the handkerchief out and dabbed it at his nose. Then, like
a young sheep with his mother, Mr. Black nuzzled his face into my shoulder and
neck. "Did you find that enjoyable, Moony?"
In answer,
I wrapped my arms entirely around him and placed a soft kiss on his forehead. I
found his skin warmed from the effort of so much sneezing. "What tremendous luck,"
whispered I, "that I am in love with the only man in all of England
whose nose tickles from the finest of snuff."
A light
chuckle was directed into my shirt and robes, and he shook in my arms. "Not the
only man, I am sure. But perhaps the most handsome of that
kind." He looked up and mirrored my smile with one of his own.
"No doubt
the most modest, as well."
He deserved
the comment, and took it graciously. "Yes, but I am also honest. I do not
believe I shall be able to sneeze for you any more today." He rubbed the
handkerchief against his nose. "Besides, I wish to save some for later so that
I may be able to sneeze for you at other times." His grin and the glint in his
eye were unmistakable. "I wish to drive you mad with desire when you are unable
to hold me like this or show any emotion. Such as when we are
in class together."
"You playful scamp!" Truthfully, I was quite attracted to
this idea, and it did nothing but increase the warm tingling throughout my
body. "I should wonder what the professors would do to you were they to find
you taking snuff in class. I wonder what others would say to your sneezing..." An
especially humorous thought struck me. "Think of Snape!"
Padfoot
made an especially rude face. "I don't care what that hermit thinks of me."
"Manners,
my charming Padfoot! Manners!" I laughed, though felt
rather sad in my heart of hearts. "After all, you and I are bound to similar
fates for we shall never take wives and society shall never accept us for what
we are."
He nodded
in agreement, though he looked far more depressed on that note.
"Come now,"
said I, and I dropped the box into my pocket. "I still need to return my book to
the library and I would be interested to see how James and Lily are getting
along."
Again, he nodded
and stood. Like a perfect gentleman he offered me his hand. I took it and he
touched his lips to it as softly as flower petals. Then he helped me to my
feet. But when we emerged from the alcove and walked down the hallway, we did
not touch. He strode confidently and I hugged the book to my chest with both
arms. No one watching, from other students to the youngest son in the Black
family would have been able to guess we had been so intimate.
But the
knowledge and memory were not so easily lost on me. "I enjoyed our moment and
my gifts," I whispered to him. "I look forward to repaying you later by
satisfying your special desire." If shy, embarrassed, and excited could be
wrapped up into a single expression, it would have been the one Sirius sported
at the sound of my words. Quickly and quietly we made secret plans to meet up
in an abandoned classroom later that evening. But that is an entirely different
tale to be shared some other time.