“Right,” the bartender said gruffly, when he saw Remus and Sunday standing at the Hog’s Head Bar door and the sky growing darker by the minute. “You need somewhere to stay?”
“Yes please,” said Sunday, with her voice so polite and high it reminded Remus of tiny silver bells. “Anything will do. It’s only for the night.”
The bartender only grunted and led them to the back of the bar. He gestured with his head, and Remus and Sunday tentatively opened the wooden door, and peered inside.
“It’s not much,” said the bartender gruffly. “But it’ll do for the night, I suppose...”
“Thanks so much,” Sunday said yet again to the bartender, who had previously introduced himself as Aberforth. “This really is quite lovely.”
Remus looked around the crowded room, and couldn’t necessarily agree. The room was stuffed with furniture, and crates that packaged Firewhisky and bottles of Butterbeer. There were torn pillows with feathers leaking out of them, and numerous bookshelves with cracks and splinters. The place looked like a junkyard. A small goat was snaking around the discarded items, and bleated softly. Sunday leaned down and patted it on the head.
“Sunday? Is this really where we’re sleeping?” Remus asked, unsurely.
Sunday looked around the decrepit room, and smiled. “Why? What’s wrong with it?”
Remus looked down. “Nothing. It’s just... I was hoping for something a bit more...” Romantic? Private? “...clean.”
Sunday giggled. “Well, this is the only place that stays up this late.” She glanced down at her watch. “Look, it’s almost midnight.”
Remus immediately stiffened. He surely-but-surely walked over to the dusty window, ignoring Sunday’s curious glances. He sighed in relief as he didn’t see the huge glowing orb he was expecting, but a tiny crescent sliver of a moon.
Sunday raised her arms above her head in a yawn, and plopped down onto the brown leather couch. Remus went to go sit on his makeshift, bed, too, but there wasn’t one.
“Sunday?” He asked, looking around. “Where am I supposed to sleep?”
Sunday sat up, rubbed her eyes, and shrugged. “Hm. I didn’t think this through. Either you can lay a blanket down on the floor, or you can...” She patted the torn cushions. “Sleep next to me.”
Remus felt his pulse quicken, but he cleared his throat, trying to ignore the hummingbird pace in his throat. “Um...the floor looks pretty...hard, and un-uncomfortable-” Without even finishing his sentence, Sunday smiled and scooted over, then lay back down. Remus climbed onto the couch next to her, and pulled the blanket over the two of them. He could feel the outline of her pressed to his side, hip to hip. Her legs tangled with his, their breaths, fog in the crisp air, entwined.
Remus closed his eyes and tried to go to sleep, knowing that he never could, feeling her by his side. How many times had he imagined this? Touching each other, even if it only was their hips. He focused on steadying his breathing, trying not to sigh in ecstasy when she turned to face him and her stomach brushed his leg.
“Let’s play the secret game.” Her voice was a whisper in the silent night.
Remus shook his head, clearing his thoughts. “The what?”
“The secret game. Haven’t you ever played it before? One by one, we tell a secret that we don’t know about each other. Whoever runs out of secrets first, loses. It’s really fun, I promise. I’ll go first.” She sat up, and Remus felt his side exposed, no longer warmed by the violet heat of her. “I...hate roses.”
Remus snorted. “That’s not a secret.”
“Well, it’s something you didn’t know about me, isn’t it?”
“How on earth could you hate roses?”
“I hate the way they look. You know, an everlasting spiral of petals. And the thorns. It annoys me how something so fragile causes pain.” She sucked her thumbnail, looking away.
“My turn.” Remus cleared his throat again. “I’m...” a werewolf. Say it. “Lactose intolerant.”
“Really?”
“Is it so hard to believe?”
“So you’ve never eaten cheese? Or milk? Or cakes and slices and tart?”
“Well, the house elves often make me different food to help me satisfy my...dietary needs.”
Sunday brought her legs up onto the couch, and draped her arms over her knees, giggling. Remus had a sudden urge to kiss her, looking at her tiny ankles and glowing smile, shining in the moonlight.
“I have a sister,” Sunday announced. Remus felt his eyes shoot up his forehead.
“Do you really? What’s her name? How old is she?”
“Yes, I do. Her name is Kathleen. She’s turning thirteen.” She hugged her knees tighter to her chest, and lowered her head.
“Why didn’t you tell me about her?”
Sunday continued lowering her head, until he couldn’t see her face. “Well, you never asked, and...” She lifted her head suddenly, and Remus was surprised to see tears twinkling in her eyes. “I miss her.”
“My turn,” said Remus, feeling awkward and unhelpful as he watched Sunday dry her eyes, and not knowing what to do. “When I was little, I used to dress up like a princess.”
Sunday looked at him, her eyes still damp, frowning, then threw her head back and laughed throatily.
“Don’t laugh!” said Remus, feeling like laughing himself. “I was a great princess. I had shoes and a dress and everything.”
She smiled that beautiful, melancholy smile, and he melted.
Sunday closed her eyes. “I hate the thought of marriage.”
Remus, surprised, almost fell of the couch. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“That’s so weird!” When Sunday looked down, embarrassed, Remus quickly added, “Cause, I hate it, too.”
Sunday’s eyes lit up. “The thought of doing all that work.”
“Taking care of each other.”
“Trying to provide for your family.”
“The bills and things,” Remus added.
“Not to mention keeping kids in order.”
“All those vows. In sickness and in health...pointless.”
Sunday nodded. “Tying the knot. Ball and chain.”
“Who would want it?” Remus agreed.
“Not me,” Sunday whispered, before leaning forward to press her lips to his.
A/N: Reviewsreviewsreviiieewwsss! please. :) x
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