the cadence of part time poets

Chapter 70: If Wishes Were Horses...

Holy Moses, I have been removed,
I have seen the spectre, he has been here, too;
Distant cousin from down the line,
Brand of people who ain't my kind;
Holy Moses, I have been removed...

- "Border Song" Elton John, 1970

The time they spent at the Potters was short but soothing, and when two days had passed and Walburga Black hadn't shown up on the doorstep breathing fire and screaming blue murder, Sirius was finally able to relax some. This meant that his friends were able to relax, and eventually the gentle lull of the house had soothed all of them. Every evening when Mr. Potter arrived home from work, they played football in the back garden while Mrs. Potter took photos or busied herself by hanging laundry on the line. The house was considerably busy, since Peter had elected to stay over as well and Mrs. Potter was working from home at the moment, but Remus was used to sneaking around. In front of others, he and Sirius were as normal as they'd ever been. It was only when they were alone that things became different.

They learned quickly how to recognise the patterns of their fellow inhabitants so that they could steal away for those precious few cheeky or otherwise chaste moments. Everyday around eleven o'clock, Peter would lose himself in some day-time comedy show and James would phone Lily. This guaranteed them at least a half an hour, which they never wasted. The minute their friends were securely distracted, Remus would meet Sirius somewhere they could be alone; in their bedrooms, but also behind the garden shed, or in the upstairs bathroom, or even the hallway broom cupboard where that hoover had fallen over onto Remus' ankle and left him limping for the rest of the day. It was a bit thrilling, but also entirely terrifying... and whenever Sirius turned those wicked eyes on him, Remus could not bring himself to resist.

The days were good, and Remus was enjoying himself, but he couldn't deny that the in-between moments—like his dreaded shit-all hour—felt slightly Spartan. He'd always had a tendency to drift off into thought; when he was twelve a teacher had even given him the strap for day-dreaming through an entire test, but something about the soft, ambience of Potter Cottage brought out the worst of it. The summer air wafted through open windows, shifting the sheer curtains of every room like merry ghosts. Perhaps that was one of the reasons why James was so James; even his ghosts were happy.

The daydreaming didn't always prove an inconvenience, but more than once it'd unearthed a memory Remus hadn't even known he'd had. These mostly materialised in the tiny moments, like watching Mr. Potter read his morning newspaper. He bobbed his foot while he did so, and every so often the soft flapping of paper flutter would fill the air as he tapped the pages straight on his thigh. Remus almost always thought of Giles, but occasionally an echo of Lyall would slip through—of him sorting through document after document at the breakfast table. No meal in front of him, only coffee and that morning's briefs penned by some nameless assistant. How vast the table between had felt then.

'Remus, sit up straight,' the memory went; 'You're a boy, not an animal.'

It was somehow worse with Mrs. Potter; she had a sing-song quality to her voice that was simultaneously comforting and yet all too jarring. Despite her friendly disposition, she was still a mother, and she was constantly going after James for the state of his hair or the perpetual grass stains that were always showing up on his trousers.

"Honestly, I should just cut them off at the knee! Leave you looking like an abnormally tall boy scout!" She grumbled that morning, after striding out of the utility room to shame her son for another pair of ruined slacks.

" 's not meh!" James said over a mouthful of toast. His mother's eyes narrowed and he swallowed very quickly; "Sirius wore those yesterday! Honestly Mum, you'd think he gets dragged around by raging bulls for fun."