Remus regrets mentioning it all, regrets allowing his lips to move so loosely when, for months and months now, he's kept everything behind a carefully constructed barrier. He can't fathom what a place like Azkaban must be like, and he finds himself marveling at the fact that Sirius seems to have held on to some sliver of the light that makes the man who he is. That despite everything, here he is, sitting across from a man who, but all rights, should hate him, and there's still something of the wild-eyed young boy in his smile.
He knows he can't finish his food, even if he's all but starving. His stomach twists too sickly, threatening with the bite of bile at the back of his throat. He wishes he could enjoy the pancakes, could shove out everything else hovering between them and enjoy this moment for its simplicity. How often had they sat like this together over food and chattered on until James had the mind to pull them apart or join in?
"Your flatmates seem like lovely people," he says and he sounds more grateful now than he has all day. Because he is grateful Sirius has people who cared for him, who patched up the holes they could see and nursed him into the man sitting across from him. Remus idly shoves some pancake squares around on his plate until Sirius offers the mirror. It's a welcome distraction.
He sets his fork aside and turns the mirror over in his hands to and for, his expression softening as he admires the handiwork. "That's brilliant, Padfoot," he laughs a little at the thought, thinking about the complexities involved in making the mirrors communicate across multiple ports. "You'll have to share your secrets sometime, I'd be curious to know what it took to make them so versatile."
Denying the bookish, curious side of Remus Lupin would be to deny 50% of what makes the man who he is. He can't help the wonder as he opens the mirror and he has to resist the temptation to pull a few spells himself to unweave the magic and make the goings on clearer to him. Instead, he closes it and slides it back across the table, speaking again, though offhanded. "Your eyebrows are ruined, by the way. They're very shapely. They suit you."
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Remus regrets mentioning it all, regrets allowing his lips to move so loosely when, for months and months now, he's kept everything behind a carefully constructed barrier. He can't fathom what a place like Azkaban must be like, and he finds himself marveling at the fact that Sirius seems to have held on to some sliver of the light that makes the man who he is. That despite everything, here he is, sitting across from a man who, but all rights, should hate him, and there's still something of the wild-eyed young boy in his smile.
He knows he can't finish his food, even if he's all but starving. His stomach twists too sickly, threatening with the bite of bile at the back of his throat. He wishes he could enjoy the pancakes, could shove out everything else hovering between them and enjoy this moment for its simplicity. How often had they sat like this together over food and chattered on until James had the mind to pull them apart or join in?
"Your flatmates seem like lovely people," he says and he sounds more grateful now than he has all day. Because he is grateful Sirius has people who cared for him, who patched up the holes they could see and nursed him into the man sitting across from him. Remus idly shoves some pancake squares around on his plate until Sirius offers the mirror. It's a welcome distraction.
He sets his fork aside and turns the mirror over in his hands to and for, his expression softening as he admires the handiwork. "That's brilliant, Padfoot," he laughs a little at the thought, thinking about the complexities involved in making the mirrors communicate across multiple ports. "You'll have to share your secrets sometime, I'd be curious to know what it took to make them so versatile."
Denying the bookish, curious side of Remus Lupin would be to deny 50% of what makes the man who he is. He can't help the wonder as he opens the mirror and he has to resist the temptation to pull a few spells himself to unweave the magic and make the goings on clearer to him. Instead, he closes it and slides it back across the table, speaking again, though offhanded. "Your eyebrows are ruined, by the way. They're very shapely. They suit you."