Twenty-seven: Sandcastles

[tartancravat.livejournal.com]

Title: Sandcastles
Rating: PG
Prompt: # 27 at barefootboys
Word Count: 994
Summary: Being alive is a gift, these days.

August 27^th, 1978

That Sunday, none of them is busy. No one has to work, no one has Order duties or personal engagements, and no one wants to spend the last moments of summer inside moping. It is James’ idea to go to Brighton. It’s a sort of…last hurrah, which depresses Remus a little. It would be all right if it was just a last hurrah of summer, before they went back to school, but there’s no school now to go back to. They’ve been doing the same things all summer they’ll be doing when they go home tomorrow, they’ll be doing the same things on September 1^st, when they do not get on the Hogwarts Express. It’s the last hurrah before they really become adults, and though they’ve all had adult responsibilities for the last year, Remus knows it will feel different.

But he’s not going to think about any of that. He’s going to spend this last golden ridge of summer with his best friends in all the world. Because that’s all he can do.

The sea is clear, and the seaside busy. The five of them amble down the edge of the beach, laughing, talking, seeing the sights, being alive. Being alive is a gift, these days. James and Sirius race ahead, curve back and around, encompassing the world in their arms, the wooden slats of the boardwalk between their fingers and toes. Lily breaks away from the group and spins, arms out, grey-green skirt twirling like a dervish. She is a girl for a moment, the little girl who could make things happen without knowing why, the girl she was when they first knew her. Peter has his camera out, but he isn’t taking pictures. He’s only watching, because it’s better to see with eyes clear than through the lens of a camera.

Remus watches the others, walking slowly, trying not to think. “Sirius!” he shouts as the other boy grabs him by the hand and spins him round.

“Dance, Moony, dance!” Sirius cries back, into the wind, and pulls Remus into a clumsy waltz, an awkward tango. Remus doesn’t pull away, as he would have done once, because he’s holding on to the feeling of sea wind on his cheeks and Sirius’ hands in his.

Can they really call themselves the Marauders any more? It’s been a long time since they’ve pulled a prank, a long time since they’ve snuck around Hogwarts in the dead of night, risking expulsion and their necks. Lily’s with them now, and she’s got a wicked sense of humour and the cleverness to put it to use, but she’s careful, too. Remus is careful, but James never listened to Remus the way he listens to Lily, and Sirius doesn’t listen to anyone. Things have changed, and Remus wonders if he is the only one who’s noticed that the Marauders have become something else. They’ve become James and Lily, Sirius and Remus, Peter.

Mid-afternoon, they buy fish-and-chips. It’s not lunch time, not dinner time, not even really tea time. On any other day, Remus would argue against eating between meals. But not today. Today, he devours his chips in two minutes flat and crumples the greasy paper between his fingers, and then leans over Sirius’ shoulder, attempting to filch chips from him. Sirius dances out of reach, laughing.

The sun sets across the water. They sit on the edge of the boardwalk, feet bare and sand between their toes, talking. James has his arm around Lily’s waist, and her fingers skate across the skin between his belt and the hem of his t-shirt. He’s quieter than usual, though he answers readily when spoken to. There are children playing across the sand, buckets and plastic trowels, building sand castles.

“Marry me, Lily,” James says suddenly. She turns to look at him, mouth open in shock. Sirius, Remus, and Peter are staring too, though Remus is staring more in surprise at James’ timing than shock at the question. It’s like they’ve been on their way here for the last seven years, really.

“But—but we’re only eighteen, we just finished school—” She clears her throat, staring at James. “You mean it?”

“’Course I do. We’re eighteen, and we may not live to see twenty. I don’t want to waste time. Will you marry me, Lily?” The expression of hope on James’ face is almost painful to look at.

“You’re a bloody idiot, Potter; of course I’ll marry you.”

-

Night has fallen truly now, the sky is a dusting of stars. James and Lily have gone AWOL, probably off doing something romantic and sickening. Peter has gone in search of more film for his camera. Remus and Sirius are left lying in the sand, a series of failed sandcastles in a circle around them like a fairy ring.

“Maybe you’re just not meant to be an architect,” Remus says pacifically. “It’s just not in the cards.”

“It’s sand, Moony, everyone can build a sandcastle.”

“Well, maybe you don’t have the right kind of sand.”

Sirius snorts and flings sand at Remus’ left leg. They are silent, listening to the peaceful crashing of waves. “Are you jealous, Remus?” Sirius asks suddenly.

“What?”

“Of James and Lily. Getting married.”

Remus pauses and thinks for so long that Sirius begins to look worried. “No, I’m not jealous,” he says slowly. “I have you. You may not be able to build sandcastles, but you make better scrambled eggs than I do.”

“Oh, is that all?”

“Well, you don’t snore.”

Sirius tackles Remus into the sand, smashing a sandcastle in the way. They grin at each other, nose to nose, and then kiss like it’s the end of the world, like teenagers, like Moony and Padfoot, Remus and Sirius. “I think I’ve got sand in my ear,” Remus mutters, and they can’t help laughing.

In that moment, Remus stops thinking of this as a last hurrah. It is only the beginning.

Day Twenty-Eight