Goldberg
Author:
brighty18Rating:: PG/G
Word Count: 2,050
Challenge (Recipient, keywords, and dialogue): For </span>
lhazziekeywords: cat, potato, music
Dialog: "I shouldn't need to spend so long in bed."
Summary: Sirius finds ways to comfort and entertain Remus, after the full moon. Please note that this is a Pinch Hit. Really,
lhazzie, I can do better! Beta Acknowledgement: Thanks,
rev02a</lj>and to Jacki.“Honestly, Sirius, I'm fine. I can get up. I shouldn't need to spend so long in bed."
“Whether or not you can get up is irrelevant, my dear, Moony. The point is that you shouldn't. Besides, I should point out that, technically, you're not in bed – you're on the couch. Now stay still and let me entertain you.”
Remus just grumbled and rolled over. With all the fawning and the food and the 'entertainment,' Sirius was clearly being an over solicitous prat. Besides, it was close enough to count as a bed, really. Sirius had done a spectacular job of transfiguring their shabby, fold-out couch into a surprisingly comfortable four poster bed big enough for two. The trouble was, at the moment, but for the cat, Remus was alone in it.
“Then can't you at least come join me?” he whined. He was tired and sore – it had been a particularly nasty transformation the night before – but Remus was beyond sleep now and, frankly, growing a bit cranky. “I'd like to snuggle with someone besides Cassandra Dandervan!” he added petulantly.
Sirius sighed. “Well, Cassandra Dandervan is precisely the reason that you're out here in the first place. She is the one who created Cat Piss Lake Geneva on our bed…” Sirius sounded annoyed, but Remus knew he was only pretending. For some perverse reason, Sirius adored that damn cat. The tortoise shell kitty was old, crotchety, and hated Padfoot with the passion of a thousand burning suns but, somehow, she loved Sirius and he loved her back. Yes, she did tend to jump on the bed at extraordinarily inopportune times (that twitching under the covers was certainly not a mouse), but she was loving and sweet and Sirius somehow found her comforting. Well, at least when she was not pouncing on his balls or crapping on his pillow.
“I'm sorry she did that,” mumbled Remus, burying his face in her soft fur. Cassandra purred loudly and rolled over, exposing her belly. “Sometimes I'm sorry my mother ever gave her back to me… or, erm... us.”
“I'm not,” muttered Sirius. He was stubborn that way. He was stubborn about a lot of things, in fact. “Rhea is still trying to make up for her little snit-fit the last year, so just let her, yeah? Besides, I like the piano and the crock pot and the wireless and…”
“The crock pot doesn't pee on the bed,” Remus pointed out.
“Well, Cassandra wouldn't have either, if I hadn't transformed. She took one look at Padfoot and promptly turned into that giant ball of angry fuzz of which we've grown so fond. Then she turned tail, hissed, and let loose a stream of pee like you've never seen. Even Padfoot was disgusted.”
Remus laughed and then suddenly sobered. “So why did you? Transform that is.”
Sirius was quiet for a moment, gazing down at his fingers resting on the keyboard of the piano. “Because I was worried, Moony. You left me alone at the full moon… again… and…” He turned away, unable to face his lover. “Look, Moony, I was scared for you. Yeah, I know Dumbledore claims that you are perfectly safe - even if I have no idea where the fuck you go – but full moons are for me, Moony, they're for us.” Unbidden anger coursed through him. Although he would never admit it, Sirius loathed being left out of Remus' transformations. More than anything else on earth, he wanted to take care of his boyfriend – it gave him purpose and sometimes Remus' fragility scared him – but now, thanks to Dumbledore, the one thing that Sirius could always do, had been stolen from him. He felt useless, helpless, alone.
Remus longed to leap from the bed and throw his arms around Sirius, but as soon as he attempted to even raise his head, the familiar flames of pain shot through his body. He was more than sore this morning; he was in agony.
Sensing this distress, Sirius deserted the piano bench and plunked himself down on the edge of the makeshift bed. He stroked Remus' hair gently and then lowered his face to his lover's. For a moment they lay forehead to forehead, breathing in unison. “I love you, Moony,” whispered Sirius, “and I'm not proud of this, but sometimes, when you leave during the full moons, I get anxious and… well, being Padfoot is rather comforting.”
“Because it allows you to uninhibitedly chew the furniture?” asked Remus, finally managing a rather half-hearted eyebrow waggle.
“Something like that, yeah. But that hideous coffee table is on its way out, anyway.” Sirius' grinned, but the smile failed to reach his eyes. “Padfoot misses his Moony,” he muttered, nuzzling Remus' neck.
Remus reached out and pulled Sirius into a gentle kiss. “I'm sorry, love.” He muttered against his boyfriend's lips. And he was. He hated transforming amongst the feral werewolves of the North and he longed for the comfort and peace that Padfoot always brought him. Sirius was the one person who never failed to understand exactly what he needed, yet still gave him the freedom to retain a bit of self-reliance, as well.
Sirius deepened the kiss but, sensing Remus' fatigue, laid him gently back down on the pillow. He scratched Cassandra behind the ears and then leaned in, placing a quick kiss on the tip of Remus' nose.
“Are you doing okay? I still plan to entertain you, but can I get you anything first? Do you want some tea? Hot chocolate? Firewhiskey? More latkes?”
Remus laughed. “I'm fine, Pads, - and it's way too early for Firewhiskey - but where in the hell did you learn to make potato pancakes, anyway?”
“It's never too early for Firewhiskey!" laughed Sirius. "But I got the recipe from that David Edelstein bloke. Remember, he was a Hufflepuff?”
Remus did remember, in fact, he'd known David a bit too well. He blushed, but Sirius was too busy rambling nervously to notice.
“Didn't you like them?" he paused, bouncing lightly on the bed and looking a bit discomforted, "We had some bloody gift exchange thing at work at he gave me this book called, A Goyim Wizards' Guide to Traditional Jewish Cuisine which I brought home and promptly forgot about but, last night, when I was gnawing on the bookcase, it came toppling down and smacked me on the head so I took a look at it. It was written in Yiddish, but it came with this nifty translation spell. And your mother sent us all those bloody potatoes, so I thought it might be perfect. Oh! I can say 'potato' in Yiddish now: Bulbes! Besides, you like crispy, golden things after your transformations and these are also soft inside so I figured…”
“Whoa, Pads, slow down," interrupted Remus. He smiled at his boyfriend's distress. “Who doesn't like crispy, golden things, right? But I'm quite full, love. Maybe later.”
“Excellent,” said Sirius, obviously relieved as he returned to the piano. “Now just relax, please.”
The piano had been yet another gift from Rhea, an unspoken apology for things said and done in anger. Remus had played it as child but, over the years, the instrument had absorbed increasing amounts of magic until it could practically play itself. Not that Sirius couldn't play; he just couldn't play as well as he'd like. He sat at the keyboard, softly stroking the keys.
“Yeeesss?” drawled the piano. “What do you want now?” Long ago, someone had charmed it not only with the gift of speech, but with the ability to make the player sound like any pianist he or she wished. Sirius had no idea who had done this, but the instrument had been in the Lupin family for years and he rather suspected that it had been Orville's way of cheating at piano lessons as child.
“Bach,” replied Sirius, “Goldberg Variations. In full.”
The piano made a non-committal noise and grumbled, “Yes, but whose?”
“Whose what?” asked Sirius. Sometimes the damned thing sounded suspiciously like Severus Snape.
“Whose version, you imbecile,” growled the piano. “The whole point is to play as well as someone famous, is it not?” Had it eyes, it would have rolled them.
“Fine,” snapped Sirius, “Glenn Gould.”
“Yes, how original.”
Sirius glared at the instrument. “I didn't ask for bloody artistic commentary, I just want to play.”
He glanced over at Remus who was gazing bemusedly at him from the makeshift bed. "I'd be careful, Pads," he smirked, "you push that thing too far and it'll go off and pretend it's a harpsichord."
But from the piano there was only silence.
“Well?” hissed Sirius, in exasperation.
“Well what?” signed the piano, waving its keyboard cover in a somewhat threatening manner. “Which version?”
“Pardon me?”
“Cretin,” it grumbled menacingly. “The 1955 or the 1981?”
“There's a 1981 version?” asked Sirius, “Wait, damn it, it's still 1981? When was that released?”
“It hasn't been. He's recording it right now.”
Sirius wondered how it was physically possible for a magical object to be so smug. “Well how in he name of Merlin's saggy bollocks was I supposed to know that, then?” he asked.
The piano rumbled its keys impatiently. “Well?'”
“Fine. 1955!” spat Sirius. And he began to play.
He made his way smoothly through the opening aria, glancing surreptitiously at Remus to see if he was enjoying it. Although clearly awake, the werewolf had his eyes closed, hands resting lightly on the cat who sat purring on his chest. His tawny hair fell against his forehead and a small smile of contentment played on his full lips. The sight made Sirius smile as he eased into the first variation.
“G Major is very soothing,” whispered Sirius to the room in general.
“Whatever,” mumbled the piano.
Sirius continued to play, noting his boyfriend's calm breathing and relaxed shoulders. On some level, Sirius was fully aware that he was, indeed, being an over-solicitous prat, but the thought did little to deter him from continuing to do anything in his power to make Moony happy. After all, if he could not be with Remus during the full moons, the least he could do his be there for him after.
The music flowed from his fingers, ripe with magic both conjured and innate. Music was its own form of magic, deeper, wilder, and more natural than anything sprung from a wand.
“Bach was a certainly wizard,” whispered Sirius to himself.
“No, not technically, Mr. Music History, but I suppose that you wouldn't know such a thing, would you?” came the unsolicited response from the piano.
“It was a metaphor,” grumbled Sirius, “and I wasn't talking to you, anyway. Besides, the magic works, right? Moony is almost asleep!”
“If," said the piano snidely, “you're referring to that apocryphal nonsense about Count Kaiserling and his insomnia, it's utter bullshit. There is no historical evidence whatsoever that this piece was composed so that Goldberg could soothe some aristocratic bastard through sleepless nights. Even Remus knows that!”
“That hardly matters,'” Sirius shot back, grey eyes sparkling with irritation, “it works, doesn't it?” And it seemed to, for Remus was fast asleep.
“Whatever,”
Sirius worked his way through all thirty variations. And, by the time he reached the Aria de Capo, the music could barely be heard over Remus' vociferous snores.
“Thank you, mate,” he said to the instrument after the final note faded into the late-morning air.
“Oh, my pleasure, seriously," came the reply in a tone clearly indicating that the experience had been anything but pleasurable.
“Snarky, git,” muttered Sirius, but he'd long since lost interest in arguing with an inanimate object. Instead, he slipped silently across the room toward the sleeping Remus.
“Budge over,” he said to the cat who, unlike the piano, politely complied, curling herself into a purring ball at their feet. Pushing the covers aside he snuggled up against his boyfriend, molding his body around the sleeping form and holding him tight.
“I love you, Moony,” he huffed into the other man's ear.
From the depths of sleep, Remus snuggled deeper into the embrace. “I love you, too, but I really shouldn't need to spend so long in bed.”