aras_fixation (aras_fixation) wrote in sirius_lovers, @ 2008-06-29 07:35:00 |
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Current mood: | determined |
Cooking With Love
This fiction of mine is a bit old but joining this com I wanted to post anything to say 'hi!'. with.
Title: Cooking With Love
Fandom: HP
Pairing: Sirius/Remus
Rating: R
Summary: Cooking is love.
Disclaimer: All the characters of the Harry Potter books are creations of J.K. Rowling.
My deepest gratitude goes to lilacsigil for her thorough beta.
Written in the reversathon story exchange 2006
Cooking with Love
"Kreacher!"
Hearing the voice of his master, Kreacher stirred. His thin body under the dirty rag went rigid, but his arm remained outstretched, holding an old note book in its hand. His withered hand looked like a Dementor's claw.
Sirius shuddered. "What the hell are you doing?"
Kreacher didn't bother to look up. "Kreacher is cleaning the house of his mistress. She was a great lady. Yes, yes. Kreacher stood faithful at her side when others betrayed her and the noble name she has been carrying!"
Sirius wasn't fooled by Kreacher's litany. "What are you holding in your hand? Show me!"
"Just a piece of rubbish, Master."
"Really? I thought you were rather fond of all this stuff around here. Give me that notebook!"
Slowly, with great disgust, Kreacher turned and handed the notebook to Sirius. Their eyes met for a brief moment. Sirius was almost appalled by the open hate in Kreacher's eyes. Hastily looking away, Sirius opened the note book and skimmed through the first page.
It took him a whole minute before he realised what he had been staring at.
Recipes! There were recipes written down in a strange scrawl, as if the former owner of this note book wasn't used to writing more often. No wonder. House-elves couldn't write. Except, apparently, for this one.
Sirius' hands shook as he closed the note book. "Where did you find it?"
Kreacher kept staring at the dirty carpet.
"I'm asking you, you misbegotten piece of scum: how did this notebook get into your dirty paws?"
"She gave it to me!"
"You're lying!"
"I... I took it from her!"
"Why?"
"Nana was evil! She believed in bad things! It was her fault master Sirius turned into a traitor!"
"And *you* killed her!"
"She was old and insane. Mistress ordered her death because Nana brainwashed master Sirius! Kreacher has always served his mistress. Kreacher is a good house-elf!"
Sirius kicked him hard, sending Kreacher flying across the drawing room. "Get out of my sight!" Howling in pain, Kreacher ran out the door.
Down in the hall, Mrs. Black started screeching her broad selection of profanities. Sirius rubbed the bridge of his nose. Her throat never got sore. Putting Nana's note book into the pocket of his cloak, Sirius strode into the entrance hall, pointing his wand at the portrait.
"Silencio!" he yelled and a gag appeared in Walburga's mouth. Her eyes bulged in shock at the latest impudence of her son. Eventually, she would manage to spit the gag out through. At least there would be several hours of blessed silence until then.
One could almost hear the doxies rutting on the second floor.
Not for long.
Someone was ringing the chimes at the main entrance. Sirius opened the door.
"What the...?" His eyes widened. "What are you doing here?"
Remus shuffled his feet onto the doormat. He was soaked from the rain and looked slightly pissed off. "Got finished sooner than I intended. Let me in?"
Sirius opened the door a little wider so that Remus was able to press himself through, into the house. For a brief moment Sirius took a look at the world outside. Grimmauld Place sneered back at him in all its dirty, muddy, freezing cold November glory.
Sirius slammed the door shut. "I'm going to make some tea," he called over his shoulder.
"Do it." Remus muttered back as he hurried up to change his clothes. He was definitely pissed off.
Sirius sighed. The war was weighing on them all. Dumbledore was merciless with his demands, the mission probably didn't go well and the bloody weather wasn't helping to improve Remus' mood. Even the patient Moony seemed to be finally reaching his limits.
Lighting a fire in the stove, Sirius put the kettle on.
He had another piece of bad news for Remus which would best be served with a nice cup of fresh brewed tea.
Remus came down just as Sirius was putting a plate of cucumber sandwiches onto the table. Actually, they were just some thin slices of damp cucumber shoved between two pieces of bread but Remus had inhaled them all before his tea was ready.
Sirius put a steaming cup in front of him. "When was the last time you ate?"
"Yesterday."
"Didn't they give you anything to eat?"
"There were small children with them. I gave them my share of food." Remus grabbed the cup taking an eager sip and Sirius knew that this gesture meant the end of any further discussion about this topic. During the last months Remus had grown secretive about his undercover missions among the werewolves, reporting to no one but Dumbledore, behind the closed door of the drawing room. Sirius felt more left out than ever, but to fight against it was, like always, useless.
Sirius hid his expression behind his own cup of tea.
The silence in the kitchen grew awkward, which was, sadly, nothing new. They had been drifting apart since they moved into this sodding house. Since Sirius remained trapped there, and Remus has been ordered from one mission to another, returning back too tired for anything else than eating and sleeping. The glorious lay-low-at-Lupin's summer turned out to be nothing than an illusion.
Sirius didn't look up when ten minutes later Remus left the kitchen and headed into the drawing room. It would take, at minimum, two hours until Remus would emerge and crawl into their shared bedroom.
Finishing his tea, Sirius banished the plates into the sink and went to feed Buckbeak. The message - that Molly was ill and that there wasn't anything to eat in the whole house - could wait until tomorrow.
On the way to Buckbeak's room Sirius passed Nana's head, hanging on the wall. Her face was small and wrinkled. The eyelids were shut, her thin mouth grim. Gently, Sirius touched her nose. In life, Nana used to laugh and to talk a lot.
And cook with love.
~*~
Remus left in the next morning. The previous evening he had managed to inform Sirius about his next mission and that Dumbledore would leave him some additional instructions at Hog's Head. Then he turned on his side and fell asleep.
Sirius spent the night on the sofa in the drawing room. Remus' body, lying just within reach, drove him nuts. There went nothing between them both already for weeks. Remus just came to the house, reported and collapsed into bed, literally, in that order. Sirius's subtle, and even those not so subtle, hints suggesting a certain other activity had been brushed off with a murmured: "Not tonight, Pads. I'm too tired for this."
It was frustrating. Since they moved into this house a wall had arisen between them, high and thick, keeping them apart so that in the end they both were hardly more than two strangers sharing a mattress and one kitchen table.
"When do you leave?" Sirius asked, knowing Remus' answer beforehand
"In ten minutes." Remus' voice was dry and toneless, like the piece of toast he was absentmindedly chewing.
The last one piece, it happened, as they have finally run out of supplies. Molly was at home with a fever and the rest of the Order didn't have any time for making a stop at the supermarket on the corner. "Oh, Sirius, I'm sorry, I forgot."
When Remus would return the next time, he would find Sirius starved to death.
"Ok then, good luck."
"Hmmm." Remus finished his tea and left the house for good.
In the omnipresent silence Sirius could hear the shagging Doxies again.
Changing into Padfoot, Sirius ate something from Buckbeak's store of rats. This way, he might last a bit longer. Finishing his breakfast, Sirius returned back into the kitchen and opened the cupboard, staring at the single can of beans, all that remained. He had to do something. Anything!
He put the kettle on and made his second tea of the morning. Then he sat down at the kitchen table, lighting up his first cigarette, then the second one, then a third.
He liked spending the excessive amount of time he had in this one bearable place in the whole house. Although it looked dim and a bit spooky, this room never reached the horror-like flair of the rest of the house. As child, Sirius often sneaked here secretly, because this was one of the few places his mother never set foot in. It was warm here during the cold winter months. The enticing smell of herbs and spices hung in the air, strange items were lying here and there, and at the centre of it all was Nana, reigning over her kingdom.
If he closed his eyes, Sirius could see her working right *there* at the stove, hovering over the countless bubbling pots and hissing pans. With an almost religious attention she kept stirring a sauce. Stopping now and then, she tasted it, made a face, while adding another handful of spices or herbs. Then the furious stirring started all over again. She moved fast through the kitchen with the help of her own powerful magic which helped her to overcome the burden of working in a place designed for humans. As far as Sirius could remember, his parents had never been bothered by this fact.
Strangely, neither was Nana, because, as she told Sirius, when someone truly loved his work then everything else became meaningless.
She used to tell him, "When you want to cook anything tasty, Master Sirius, you have to add a bit of love. This is the most important ingredient of all."
"I always thought salt is important."
"Love is the salt of our lives."
"We don't say it like that."
"You English people aren't saying a lot of things. You rather keep babbling polite nonsense during your dinner, instead just eating your food."
"A proper gentleman from a noble house should move fluently from topic to topic in alphabetical order."
"Who said that?"
"My father."
Nana smirked sarcastically and turned away to chop the vegetables. The knife moved so fast that Sirius thought Nana would cut her fingers off. She never did. After a while she looked up at Sirius and her small eyes bored straight into Sirius' mind. "I can imagine what sort of topics your parents are going through in alphabetical order. A - like Avada Kedavra, B - like being killed, C - like 'slaughter the impure ones!'"
"Slaughter is written with an S."
"However it's spelt. Eat your spaghetti, Master Sirius."
Nana was not like the other house elves - Kreacher, Tinky, Jippy, Lilko, or Pipan. They all came out from the families of elves, breeding dutifully in dirty cupboards and half broken drawers somewhere in the attics of cellar. Whole generations of whining creatures brainwashed into unconditional servitude, and masochistic love of being treated like rubbish.
Nana was different. Born as a free elf, she lived the most of her young years in the probably last independent elf colony somewhere in Eastern Europe. And although enslaved for the rest of her life she preserved her wicked sense of humour, as well as her ability to read and write and, most importantly, to think on her own.
"That's because of cooking," she once explained to Sirius. "It forces you to think and plan your work. It even forces you to improvise. It lifts your spirit high, it opens your senses and keeps you in a warm place where the rain and storm outside suddenly looks different. There! Try this." Nana held up a bowl with chocolate mousse.
"I need a spoon."
"Nonsense! Use your finger. You have to *feel* it."
"What?"
"You will see."
Sirius dipped his finger into the dark brown mass and carefully put it into his mouth.
"And now close your eyes. What do you feel?"
The chocolate mousse melted on Sirius' tongue. The flavour unfolded itself into the warmth and richness of a hot summer day. There were whispers of secrets needed to be uncovered; there were songs of longing for worlds, long lost, and the enticing calling of adventures just waiting outside the door.
The last taste of chocolate gone, Sirius opened his eyes. "That's... WOW!"
Nana flashed him her toothless grin. "Yeah, exactly. You want spaghetti?"
"With pesto!"
"With pesto. That's it."
~*~
Years later, sitting alone at the kitchen table the grown-up Sirius pulled Nana's note book out of the pocket of his robe. It contained pages and pages of recipes for Yorkshire pudding and black pudding, roast beef and the various lamb stews, lamb crown, or 'guard of honour', game pie, crème brulèe and syllabub, simnel cake and how to prepare the perfect cucumber and salmon sandwiches for the afternoon tea Sirius' mother and her friends have been so fond of.
Onto the last page he found Nana's recipe for Pesto Genovese - chopped basil, pine nuts, olive oil and garlic. This was all put onto fresh cooked spaghetti and served with lots of Parmigiano and Nana's love.
Closing the notebook, Sirius stood up and opened the last can of beans.
~*~
"Headmaster?"
Nothing. As far as Sirius could see through the narrow opening of the fireplace, Albus' Hogwarts office was empty.
Regret pulled at Sirius' guts, together with the acid of the swallowed pride of a Black who had finally called for help. Unfortunately, Albus seemed to be busy somewhere else. After ten minutes of patient - well sort-of patient - waiting, Sirius' knees signalled him that he had been kneeling onto the floor far longer than all his pure blooded ancestors before.
He started to withdraw when suddenly bright crimson and gold robes came into Sirius' view.
"Oh, Sirius! What happened, my boy?"
"I..."
Albus knelt down. "Is it urgent?"
"As a matter of fact, yes. You know, Molly is ill."
"Yes, I know. First the sorrow with her children and then this flu. And I seriously thought that nothing could ever beat our Molly Weasley."
"Yeah. The thing is..."
"Yes?"
"I have nothing to eat any more and I can't... you know... get out."
"I'm sure someone from the Order would be glad to help you."
"I asked them several times. They are all too busy."
"I see." Absentmindedly, Albus combed his impressive beard with his fingers. Then he beamed triumphantly. "I can send Dobby with some supplies from the Hogwarts kitchen, then. What do you think?"
Sometimes kneeling onto the hard floor could pay off. "That would be a wonderful idea. Here, I made a list." Sirius said hopefully and, in his mind he crossed his fingers.
Albus smile widened and his eyes twinkled. "Just put it through then, my boy. Put it though then."
Sirius did and after another exchange of polite small talk along the lines of "Be patient Sirius, I know how hard it is for you, my boy," Sirius ended the connection.
"You have no idea." He muttered darkly into the flames before he extinguished the fire.
~*~
If Albus threw a brief look at Sirius' list of needed supplies and perhaps lifted up his impressive eyebrows in silent wonder, Sirius couldn't tell. But two hours later Dobby - using one of the just-for-the-house-elves entrances, materialised in Sirius' kitchen.
"Dobby is bringing food for Master Sirius." The elf snapped his fingers and the large table was instantly covered with eggs, ham, cheese, loaves of bread, fresh rolls, canned food of every kind, fresh baked pastries, ripe apples and grapes, piles of basil, sacks of pine nuts, garlic - enough to banish all the Vampires from the island - bottles with olive oil and, most of all, spaghetti. Spaghetti, spaghetti, spaghetti everywhere.
Sirius' jaw dropped silent in wonder. It was... like bloody Christmas, coming a month early. Forgetting where and - most importantly - who he was, Sirius turned toward Dobby: "Thank you."
Dobby's huge eyes tripled in size. Big tears started rolling down his face. "Master Sirius is so good to Dobby! Now I know why Master Harry loves Master Sirius so much! Is there anything else Dobby can do?
"Send Master Harry my greetings, or - wait! There! I wrote a letter for him. Would you..."
Dobby literally ripped the parchment out of Sirius' fingers. "Oh yes, yes! I will bring it to Master Harry as soon as possible. Anything else?"
"No, that's all. You can go."
Dobby disappeared with a flash of light, leaving Sirius surrounded by the most wonderful things ever.
The vivid colours of fruits and vegetables lit up the kitchen, the sharp smells of exotic spices assaulted his nose in the most enticing way. Suddenly, Sirius understood how poor his world was, full of dust, broken shards, dominated by shabby grey and muddy brown. Tearing off a single leaf of basil he rubbed it between his palms and from a moment to another he could feel the heat of a sunny day, with sky endlessly blue.
He didn't know how long he stood like that. Time didn't play any role at Grimmauld Place.
Eventually, Sirius put the food into the fridge or the cupboards, made a sandwich for himself and drank the third cup of tea for the day.
He never dared to tell Dumbledore or even anyone else about his plan to cook for today. His abilities to burn even toast were well known and firmly believed among the members of the Order. Although - as Remus and Molly would prove, if they could - this fact wasn't entirely true. Sirius' cooking kills included not only making toast but also some scrambled eggs and fried bacon, which he has been forced to learn after Molly refused to cook any breakfast for him. This development of this particular skill caused lots of problems in the beginning, triggering the ancient anti-fire charms and flooding the kitchen several times. It also cost Sirius five broken spatulas, six destroyed pans and lots of loud swearing before he managed to serve Remus a passable dish. Eventually, Sirius even remembered to add salt and some pepper.
Sirius never properly cooked in his whole life. Growing up in a rich household and later studying in Hogwarts, he took the dished up food for granted. When he moved together with Remus, they lived mostly from Indian takeaways. In Azkaban, there was a bowl of unidentified something, being shoved into his cell every morning. On the run, Sirius lived from rats, mostly. The best time was when he, as Padfoot, got caught and had been brought into a shelter. He never imagined that Muggle dog-food would be so tasty. He escaped from the shelter with great regret. But there was Harry, who needed him. During the glorious summer spent in Remus' cottage, they both lived from chocolate and canned soup. Sirius loved it, because it was something different from cuisine à la Azkaban and Remus appreciated it, because the twelve years of bitter poverty had taught him to thrive even on thin broth and pieces of old bread.
Now, after his eggs & bacon debut, Sirius was about to move to a more challenging task: spaghetti with pesto.
Nana always used a large stockpot to cook pasta in it but Sirius' brief inspection of the kitchen cupboards brought nothing.
"Kreacher! Get into the kitchen, immediately!"
Kreacher took whole five minutes to shuffle into the room. "Master Sirius ordered Kreacher to come here. Kreacher has to obey him although it is breaking Kreacher's heart. It's a blessing that Mistress doesn't see her son doing the work of a house elf..."
"Where is Nana's stockpot?"
"Kreacher never touched anything which had belonged to that crazy elf."
"You stole her note book!"
Kreacher's narrow shoulders drooped. "Kreacher doesn't know where Nana's stockpot is."
"Then find it and bring it here!"
Kreacher shuffled away. "Oh Mistress, deep shadows are laying over your home. Impure vermin are nesting right under your roof, spreading poison into every corner. Laughing and spitting at everything which has been dear to you. Nana was evil. She made Master Sirius turn away from his family..."
In anger, Sirius kicked the kitchen door shut. One day, he swore to himself, one day he will take revenge in Nana's name and wrench Kreacher's neck.
It was Kreacher who reported Sirius' kitchen raids to Walburga. Since this faithful afternoon spent with sermons about shameful behaviour unsuitable for a heir - "a Black never enters the rooms of the house elves!" - Nana wore white scars of the whip onto her back and limped on her right leg.
Sirius started to visit her at night.
Until this first summer holiday, which Sirius remembered like it happened just yesterday. Returning home from Hogwarts, Sirius briefly greeted Regulus and his parents and after the afternoon tea was over Sirius was allowed to retire to his room. He had just reached the first floor when he spotted Nana's head. Thunderstruck he stood there, staring at her wrinkled face framed with thin white hair.
"Ah, I almost forgot to tell you." All of a sudden Sirius' father stood behind him. "Her time came to pay the final honour of a house elf."
At the age of twelve Sirius has been old enough to know that this 'last honour' has been paid at night down in the cellar. An elf too weak of age and hard work 'consented' to get slaughtered to spare the Masters any further costs of maintenance.
At the age of twelve Sirius knew that his parents never attended to this ceremony. It was Kreacher's job alone to do the dirty work.
At the age of twelve, Sirius has been strong enough to not cry any more, but to hate the guts of his family.
~*~
Kreacher returned a half hour later, dragging an enormous dirty pot in behind. He put it onto the floor next the stove. Sirius swatted down examining it. The surface showed small spots of rust here and there but all in all the pot seemed to be all right. Sirius stood up. "Clean it! Then fill it with water and put it onto the stove."
"Kreacher is not a kitchen elf! He has been chosen for higher tasks."
"Times change. I'm degrading you to assist me with my cooking. Now, do as I told you."
Kreacher shot Sirius a poisonous look and levitated the pot toward the sink. Sirius smirked. Some things were worse than death.
He opened Nana's notebook onto the last page. Pesto Genovese stood there in Nana's almost unreadable scrawl. (Master Sirius never gets enough of it.)
1 ounce of basil leaves
½ cup of olive oil
2 tablespoons pine nuts
2 teaspoons salt
2 ½ cup parmigiano cheese
"Kreacher is finished."
Sirius looked up from the recipe. Indeed! A much less dirty pot stood onto the stove. Now Sirius had to wait until the water started to boil. For a brief moment he hesitated. There wasn't any recipe for cooking spaghetti in Nana's note book but Sirius watched Nana's many times. She always grabbed several handfuls of pasta, threw them into the steaming pot and cooked them "*al dente*, Master Sirius. Pasta is *always* cooked al dente!"
Well, he had to wait for the water.
Sirius turned toward Kreacher, who, deeply offended, sulked in the corner next to the stove. "Take the knife and start to peel the garlic."
Kreacher's look threw extra sharp daggers but as long as he did it just with his gaze, Sirius didn't mind. "All of it," he added. "When you are finished then dice it. Understood?"
Kreacher nodded, muttering something about disgrace and degradation.
Sirius checked the pot. The water was already warm. Throwing several handfuls of spaghetti into the pot, he covered it with the lid and turned back toward the table to chop the basil leaves. Nana used a special spell for it but Sirius had forgotten how to cast it. Next time, he promised to himself, he would ask Molly to teach him.
He cast a secret look at Kreacher. The face of the house elf was distorted into a disgusted sneer at having to deal with stinking garlic which a proper elf from a proper English household should be avoiding at three miles distance. Amused, Sirius returned to the chopping. Halfway through of the basil he heard rattling behind his back.
The water was boiling already.
Satisfied, Sirius continued in chopping. A half hour later he checked the pot anew. Half of the spaghetti was still raw, while the other half was already overcooked.
Disappointed, Sirius cast an Evanesco . If Nana saw him now, she would laugh and make jokes. Suddenly, Sirius smacked himself on his forehead. Right! How could he forget it? Nana let the water boil as first and *then* she threw the damned pasta in.
Sirius set another pot of water onto the stove.
~*~
"Kreacher stinks after garlic."
"Good! Finally you are going to bathe!"
~*~
That damned spaghetti somehow managed to melt into disgustingly greyish mass. Sirius made a face. It looked like the food in Azkaban. Or Buckbeak's vomit.
Evanesco!
~*~
"Keacher is finished."
"Then grate the Parmigiano."
"How much?"
"All of it!"
Another look filled with vitriol.
~*~
The pasta was literally glued to the bottom. Not enough water this time. Ack!
~*~
"Kreacher is finished."
"All right, give me the cheese and fetch the olive oil!"
~*~
An explosion of gigantic proportions shook the whole house. The cooked spaghetti was sticking to the every possible spot in the kitchen. Huddled under the table Kreacher whimpered pitifully.
Grimly, Sirius mustered the post-catastrophe world. So much for trying to use heating charms on Italian pasta.
A single strand of spaghetti fell down and was now sticking to his nose. Sirius peeled it off, tasting it.
To his surprise it was cooked al dente.
~*~
This time everything seemed to fit. The amount of water was right, the cooking lasted long enough. Satisfied, Sirius drained the pasta, shaking the colander carefully. Smiling, he put one piece of spaghetti into his mouth.
The mile vanished from his face immediately.
Damn, damn, damn, damn! He forgot to ADD SALT!
~*~
The kitchen looked like a battlefield. The table was covered with basil leaves and crumbs of cheese, oil stained kitchen towels were artfully arranged onto the chairs or in the sink and a large amount of cooked spaghetti was threatening to fall from the ceiling.
Who would have thought that cooking could be so exhausting? Looking at the chaos around him, Sirius lingered proudly over the pile of flawlessly cooked pasta and several bowls of freshly made pesto. It didn't look like the one Nana used to make. More or less like chopped basil mixed with the rest of the ingredients but all in all it didn't taste too bad.
Levitating the dirty knives, bowls, chopping boards and wooden spoons toward the sink, Sirius cast probably the twentieth Evanesco this afternoon. The basil leaves and puddles of olive oil vanished.
"Kreacher!"
"Yes Master?"
"You may go now."
Too exhausted for any murderous glare Kreacher fled. For a while Sirius heard his laments about the horrible fate and Mistress' broken heart but, eventually, even this ebbed off as Kreacher finally reached his hole.
Putting Nana's cook book back into the pocket of his cloak, Sirius decided to take a shower, change his clothes and feed Buckbeak before he would - finally! - dish himself his favourite meal. He would take the largest plate, pile a *very* generous load of spaghetti on it, then pour the pesto *all over* the pasta and... just eat.
Fancying his idea about the most perfect evening ever, Sirius tiptoed around the portrait of his mother and, sneaking upstairs, he vanished into the bathroom.
Yet, as it often happened in his life, things didn't turn out how Sirius has been planning them.
Coming down one hour later Sirius found the kitchen full of people. Sitting at the table or just standing around, each of them has been holding a full plate and stuffing their mouths with a fork full of delicious, oily spaghetti.
Frustrated, Sirius watched Shacklebolt's thoughtful chewing, Bill Weasley's enthusiastic licking of the fork, Tonks' poisonously green hair and Mundungus' obnoxiousness in helping himself to another portion of food.
"Ah, Black!" Weasley put his fork down. "I had no idea that mum is feeling better tonight."
"Er..."
"Tell her, her pesto is not entirely like the one I ate in Genoa but all in all it's quite ok."
"Er..."
Shacklebolt put his plate down and pulled out his watch. "Albus called a special meeting of the Order tonight. There is some important news from our informants in central Asia. It's time people, let's go." He turned toward Sirius. "Give Molly my best regards."
Passing Sirius by, Tonks gave him a smile and a brief hug. "It's good to know Molly can cook something else beside a stew and toad in the hole."
"Yeah, mate," Mundungus added, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his coat, "I'm afraid there isn't much left for you anymore. But I guess you already ate your share, didn't you?"
They all went out, leaving even more dirty dishes behind.
~*~
Sirius decided to wash them all by hand. Since breaking them didn't help him to ease his anger there was another activity needed to prevent him from throwing the whole Order out onto the street.
Scrubbing the large heavy pot, Sirius imagined it were the faces of Shacklebolt, Tonks, Weasley and Fletcher, paying with their own blood for every single eaten piece of pasta and the tiniest blot of pesto! He dwelled so deep in his murderous thoughts that he didn't realise he wasn't alone anymore. A sudden "Hi!" made Sirius jump from surprise and turn over.
His eyes widened in shock. "What are you doing here?"
Remus stood hesitantly in the doorway, the dilated pupils of his eyes clearly showing that he was been on the verge of collapsing from hunger. "My mission got postponed. Dumbledore ordered me here to attend the meeting." His eyes were involuntarily scanning the kitchen for anything edible. "Tonks told me that there is still some of Molly's pasta."
Sirius nodded toward the stove. "Right over there! Serve yourself." Not even bothering to hide his bad mood, Sirius turned back toward the sink. Not that his bad mood would mean anything. The chronically bad mood was Sirius' instant company since he moved into this house. His bad mood was something the Order got used to pretty quickly, so it has been just brushed off with a shrug. Sirius Black in bad mood, today? Oh, and how was the weather in Yorkshire last weekend?
Sirius didn't even remember how it felt to be in good mood.
Behind his back he heard Remus taking a clean plate, then a quiet rattling of the chair and just the finest sounds of cutlery.
Sirius continued in scrubbing the dirty dishes. Wiping off the pesto-grease from all the spoons and forks, from the plates and bowls, then draining the sink, wash its walls as well, wrinkling the last drops out of the dish towel, then just dropping it next to the tap.
"That was very tasty," Remus said. Colour returned to his face, his lips were full and glossy from the olive oil. His eyes were shining from the incredible feeling of finally having his stomach full of good food. "Tell Molly my best regards, when you see her tonight."
"Certainly not."
"Excuse me?"
"Molly is home with a fever, so I will certainly not see her tonight."
"Molly is ill?" Remus looked puzzled around. "Then who...?"
No, there was no point in playing the modest one. Should Remus believe him or not, it wasn't irrelevant anymore. "I cooked." Sirius confessed and in the next moment he wished he had a camera.
"You...?"
"Yeah me. There was nothing to eat anymore because Molly is ill and others are too busy with their top secret missions!"
Remus flinched. "I... You could have said something."
"What should I say? Moony my dear, we've run out of everything. Do some shopping, would you?"
"Exactly!"
Sirius balled his hands to fists. "No, sorry, you wouldn't do it because you aren't listening anymore. Regardless what I'm telling you."
"That's not true!"
"Yes, it is! Because even if you return here, in your mind you are still on your missions. You think about them when you eat, when you sleep. Even when we... when we... fucked. They are eating you up, Remus! They ate *us* up!"
Remus' jaw tightened, like it always did in these rare moments when Sirius was right. His arms put tightly around his body he looked away, but Sirius managed to see the mix of guilt and anger in Remus' eyes.
Sirius almost regretted his words. Yet during the past weeks he bit his lower lip long enough that it definitely could be declared for a record. His abilities to restrain his frustration were limited. One day it simply had to break out.
Remus remained quiet. The tension between them grew thick and uncomfortable. Sirius wished, prayed, begged for something. A sign of any kind. After all there still has been this 'us' between them both. Right? Right?
Something white loosened from the ceiling and fell onto the sleeve of Remus' robe, stirring the man out of his sulk. Picking it up, Remus stared dumbfounded at the single spaghetti until he got the idea to look up. The realisation hit him. "You... you cooked!"
"Not everything went well, on the first try, actually..."
"You cooked spaghetti!"
Sirius lifted up his eyebrow. "Al dente."
At first, they were just staring at each other until their lips curled up, their grins growing wider and wider until they both couldn't hold it back any more. They burst into laughter, wiping off their tears and holding their bellies. And when they thought they couldn't laugh anymore, they started all over again every time more spaghetti dropped on Sirius' shoulders and into Remus' hair.
In the end they found themselves onto the floor, hiccuping in each other arms.
"It was very tasty."
"Once it was my comfort food, when I was a boy. An old house elf cooked it for me. I found her recipes just yesterday."
"But where did you get all the supplies?"
"I contacted Albus and he sent Dobby here."
"Good old Dobby."
"Yeah."
"They are indeed very tasty."
"Well, not exactly like in Italy..."
"Bah! Forget Italy!" Suddenly, Remus' face was very close. All flushed lips and shiny eyes of a man having a brief moment of good time.
"Moony..." Sirius breathed and drew Remus into a kiss.
There was garlic in Remus' breath and cooked spaghetti in Remus hair. Worn out fabric of thin robes under Sirius' palms, the smell of mud and the cold November rain. All of a sudden Sirius realised he was starving after Remus' presence in his arms. After Remus' mouth, Remus' scars, Remus' knobbly knees, jutting hip bones and prominent ribs. After Remus' cock, and the muffled yelp he always made when Sirius grabbed at his balls.
Hungry and eager they fall over each other, shedding their cloaks, ripping their shirts open, unzipping the flies of their jeans. Their trembling fingers reaching - yes! - right there in the right place with just the right amount of pressure. No searching, no blind fumbling like two teenage boys. These were skilled movements of two men knowing each other throughout the years, able to read each other needs like an open book.
Sirius knew about this sensitive spot, right behind Remus' ear and Remus loved driving Sirius nuts, by licking the vein onto his throat. They both knew that they like being kissed during sex and especially when jerking each other off. And that Sirius would whisper all the sweet endearments and obscenities in Remus' ear like: 'your cock was made for my hand', ‚squeeze me harder, yes like this' and ‚Christ, Moony! I love you so much!' Each of them would increase Remus' breathing and the pace of their hands.
They muffled their groans against each other shoulder when Remus came first and Sirius a moment later.
~*~
They were lying on the kitchen floor, curled around each other, ignoring the spaghetti sporadically snowing down on them.
"You should go." Sirius said. "The meeting already started without you."
"Hmmmm..."
"I will be waiting a bit. Just a bit, 'cos I'm tired tonight. If you are finished then come up. I mean, if you don't have to leave immediately after."
"You don't want to be there?"
"Not tonight."
"As you wish." Remus stood up with a sigh and arranged his robes to look more respectable. "I will come up then, when this is over."
Sirius stood up as well. "Good, that's... that's great."
Remus reached after him, drawing Sirius into the very reluctant, parting kiss. "And Sirius?"
"Yes?"
"Would you cook for me? Again?"
Sirius felt his mouth widen into a big, shit-eating grin. "I would love to."
~*~
Later, on his way back to the bedroom Sirius stopped in front of Nana's head.
Looking around, getting sure that indeed he has been alone, he leaned closer and planted a brief kiss on her nose. "Thank you! For everything!" he muttered before he hurried away.
In the dim light of the torch Nana's grim lips curled up just a tiny bit.
- The End -