ceredwensirius (
ceredwensirius) wrote2010-07-16 07:47 pm
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Entry tags:
Fic: Lemurs, Tigers, and Bears, Oh My! | Remus/Sirius | PG15
Title: Lemurs, Tigers, and Bears, Oh My!
Author: Ceredwensirius
Written For:
gulf_aid_now, recipient
eprime
Prompt: Soon after Hogwarts Sirius attempts creating his first portkey. It is supposed to transport them to someplace near where he's been before, but instead they end up in [fill in the blank]. Wacky adventures ensue. Bonus points if it includes any or all of the following:
James (in a totally non-slashy way, I'm not trying to sneak my OTT in there! *g*)
Snarky banter
Someone flirting with Remus and Sirius gets jealous
Character, Pairing: Sirius, Remus; past Sirius/Remus/James, Sirius/Remus
Word Count: 4,553
Warnings: Just some allusions to sex, coarse language
Rating: PG15
Summary: Sirius has an awesome adventure, but Remus just has a bad day.
Disclaimer: Characters are not mine.
Author‘s Note: I am very pleased to be able to help this effort, even if only in such a small way.
eprime thank you for the opportunity and such a fun prompt! I tried to hit everything but I just couldn’t get the jealousy thing going. It ended badly every time. I kinda sorta got James in there, though not in person. I do hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thank you to
whitmans_kiss for the beta.
Someday, Remus is going to learn his lesson about not going along with all of Padfoot’s half-brewed ideas, particularly when he has that little glint in his eye, the glint that suggests whatever Sirius has been working on is more enthusiasm and gut-feeling than actual research and practical magical theory. The problem with Padfoot and his ideas boils down to James - James who is no longer ever present, thanks to Evans, so there are no more hot and sticky fumbles between three friends to placate the easily bored Sirius - and so Remus has to exert what control he can on his own.
Not that there aren’t hot and sticky fumbles any more, though they are less hot and sticky than they are intense, emotion-filled ecstasy, and that can be difficult to maintain on your own, -so Remus finds himself more and more on the business end of those sparkling grey eyes and impossibly long lashes and “please, Moony, really it’s a grand idea”-s, and Remus is helpless against Sirius’ enchantments. Always.
And, truth be told, that’s the whole problem -enchantments, that is- Sirius’ to be specific, Sirius who hasn’t been redirected into more prurient interests (always the most expedient), and so has applied himself most vigorously to the production of a Port Key.
“Manchester, Moony!” he had cried with a manic shine in his eye. “I am taking you to Manchester for the day!”
And then he had batted those lashes and smiled that smile and Remus had forgotten his own name and grinned and said, “Okay.”
Which, in retrospect, is a ludicrous thing to say to Sirius, especially without qualifications and explanations and lot of other very important multi-syllabic ‘-ations’ to justify Remus’ involvement. Remus requires forethought and planning and details and tea. A lot of tea, over which the aforementioned must be discussed.
Had James been around to whisper hotly in Sirius’ ear that there were better things to do, and grab Remus’ hand and tumble and stumble until they were all gasping and grunting this current catastrophe might never have happened. It really is true what wise old men say: women are a lot of trouble.
One day, he’ll stick his courage to the sticking place and tell Sirius no -one day, he’ll tell him how ridiculous he is- one day he’ll be stronger than that glinting shark’s grin and sultry eye -- but not today.
Today, he was supposed to be in Manchester, but the funny thing about magic is that if you don’t get it just right, one of those pesky laws Remus is always concerned with and Sirius never is can turn the whole thing wonky. Instead of Manchester, it might be Manhattan, or Morocco, or Mumbai, or -
“Sirius, where in the name of Merlin’s moldy socks are we?”
Remus is fairly certain the last time he was in Manchester it was neither this green nor this bright. The trees form a towering protective canopy, and the air is thick and warm, salty and seasoned with a flavor with which Remus is wholly unfamiliar. Sirius is staring about with wide wondering eyes, his smile splitting his face in two, which is both inappropriate and upsetting in the situation. How could he grin like he just won a trip to Neverland?
“No idea. Brilliant, isn’t it?”
Remus scowls at Sirius and hopes it burns holes in his robes, not that it ever does any good. He looks around, and at the edge of the trees there is sand, and somewhere over the sand, a gull cries.
“Sirius! We are lost! We are utterly lost and we seem to be in the jungle and - and - malaria! Sirius! We could get malaria and we have no quinine and-”
Remus’ panic is cut off by a rustling in the trees, and something deep and instinctive inside reminds him that there are larger things in the world than a scrawny werewolf --hungry things, things with teeth. He quiets and hunkers and tries to hide behind wide palmate leaves of some low growing plant, pulling Sirius with him, who seems only excited and eager to see what long-toothed beastie the world is about to gift him with.
“We’re wizards,” reminds Sirius.
“Could be dragons,” counters Remus, pulling harder on Sirius’ sleeve, terrified he’s going to watch him become lunch for an overgrown lizard with a hot grill for breath. Sirius rolls his eyes and acquiesces, and together they peer over the branches as the rustling gets louder and louder still.
Remus wraps his arms around Sirius, looking at his love that he might be seeing only for a few fleeting moments more in this life, and whispers into his neck, “I love you; I just want you to know that.”
Sirius smiles at Remus in that way that he has when he thinks Remus is being Remus and utterly ridiculous and also quite kissable, and Remus mourns the loss of the precipice of love they have been balancing on for months. Then just as Sirius is about to say something in reply there comes a cry like nothing Remus has ever heard.
It is a long, high pitched wail, a chilling, bloodless cry, and instead of dragons, Remus now sees banshees, and his Sirius is going to be taken from this life by some black-hearted bitch. Sirius still isn’t giving the situation the appropriate amount of panic and is instead looking interestedly in the direction of the sound. And then his mouth makes a small ‘o’ of surprise.
“We’re about to die! How can you look like that when you’re about to lose your soul to a banshee!?”
Sirius’ upper lip quivers, and then trembles and then his hand comes up to his face to stifle the snickers, and then Remus Has Had Enough.
“We’re about to be shrieked to death by a banshee and you’re lau-”
Remus’ outrage dies on his lips as a weird looking creature saunters past their tropical hideout . It has a black mask defining its pointed face, soft grey fur, glowing amber eyes, and a long striped tail that reaches up and up with a small lilt at the end. Much to Remus’ chagrin, it is… cute.
“I see what you mean,” says Sirius dryly. “Terrifying beastie, it is.”
Remus narrows his eyes to fix Sirius with another death glare when another such creature passes by, and this one has a smaller version of itself - sans black mask - affixed to its back with tiny hands clinging around its mother’s neck. The set is so adorable Remus has to bite back a small sound of wonder because that would only encourage the imbecile that had got them here in the first place.
“Lemurs!” says said imbecile brightly, like this is the most marvelous thing in the world.
Remus starts to feel dizzy with anger, because if they are in a jungle surrounded by a passing troupe of lemurs that can only mean that they are in -
“Madagascar!” says Remus, outraged. “You fool! You brought us to Madagascar! How are we going to get back to England?”
“I think you’re missing out on the bigger picture,” says Sirius, unaffected.
“Oh, and pray tell what the ‘bigger picture’ is?”
Sirius screws up his face in puzzlement and says “Lemurs!” once again, before promptly turning into Padfoot.
Remus watches in horror as Sirius bounds around under the trees until not one single lemur is left on the ground and the forest canopy is positively alive with alarm cries. Remus tries to catch Padfoot, but four legs are better than two, and he only succeeds in winding himself as the great fool he’s in love with bounds under the trees, barking up at lemurs with delighted abandon.
Remus, livid at this point, pulls his wand out of his pocket and sends a Stinging Hex directly at Padfoot’s rump. Padfoot, predictably, howls in outrage and lifts his lip to Remus, sending forth a low growl. Remus, however, is undeterred.
“Are you aware that lemurs are endangered? The biggest thing they ever see is a fossa, and you - you’re a great big black monster to them.”
Padfoot gives Remus a bland look and yawns.
“Oh, you’re impossible!”
Remus opens his mouth to expound on that thought, but something catches Padfoot’s eye and he darts off into the undergrowth. Remus calls after him, but Padfoot either does not hear him or does not listen. Remus can hear the crashing of branches and loud delighted barking, and then, unfortunately, his brain begins to supply him with all the ways that Padfoot could get hurt. At the top of his list are the smaller menaces in the world, the ones with either too many legs or none at all, the things which nature has provided with fangs and venom. Which, as a matter of course, brings his own situation to mind. He is in a jungle, and all around him are tiny (or not so tiny) blights on creation, all of them prepared to make his last few moments on earth an utter misery.
He calls out to Padfoot into the gloomy green around him, as he edges carefully toward the sun and the sand just beyond the border of the jungle. One of them has to remain alive, he rationalizes, or at least uninjured, if they are to make it back to England. He steps closer and closer to the familiarity of the ocean, and just as he reaches the edge of the forest, there is a great screeching sound, and something small and brown barrels right into his legs. It is a long, limber animal, brown, with a clever cat-like face. It climbs up his legs and, upon realizing where it is, hisses right in his face.
Remus begins to jump around to throw the thing off, and then Padfoot comes out of seemingly nowhere, sees the creature that is hissing at him and woofs delightedly like they are playing in some marvelous game. Remus finally dislodges the creature, taking a nasty nip for his trouble, and then he is Finally Done.
“I am Apparating out of here!” says Remus, panic edging in his voice, knowing full well he can’t Apparate all the way to England. “I don’t care if I get splinched six ways! I am leaving!” And with that he storms out from under the canopy of leaves and branches.
Sirius instantly transforms (Remus can feel the slight ripple of magic) and Remus hears him coming up behind, heavy footfalls in soft sand. Remus resolutely ignores him until Sirius puts a hand on his arm and turns him.
“I’m sorry, Remus,” he says contritely, using those thick full lashes to maximum benefit. They lay against his cheek like dark wings, and Remus can feel his anger ebbing away at the proximity alone. Why can’t he ever stay mad at this fool?
“You and your ideas,” says Remus, but it is without much heat. “How are we going to get home? We’re at the edge of a jungle!”
Sirius smiles and says, “We’ll make another Port Key, of course!”
Remus steps back with a scowl, balling up his fist, he punches Sirius in the arm. Sirius puts up his hands, his expression washed in shocked surprise, but Remus doesn’t care and goes on swinging. Maybe he can beat some sense into Sirius, who steps back quickly, almost tripping over his own feet.
“Stop it! Stop hitting me!” cries Sirius, retreating further back.
“I am not letting you take me on another trip. You have no idea what you’re doing!”
Sirius bends down and picks up a rock, then pulls his wand out. “Oh, have a little faith; it was just a slight miscalculation, is all.”
“A slight miscalculation!” exclaims Remus, his eyes keenly fixed on what Sirius is doing. “We’re in Madagascar!”
Sirius, however, is undeterred and taps his wand to the rock. “Portus!”
Remus backs away quickly, his mind calculating all the places that start with “L” that weren’t London. Sirius leaps forward and grabs his arm, forcing him to touch the rock. The pulling sensation behind his naval is immediate and nauseating. He can barely think as they are pulled through space and time, but what few thoughts he does have all center around homicide.
The first thing he notices once the pulling sensation stops is that he is face down in something very cold. In fact, compared to the warmth of Madagascar --hell, the warmth of London-- this place is positively frigid. When he blinks open his eyes, the reason for that becomes clear. The world has lost all of its color and has been replaced entirely by white.
“Hm,” says Sirius beside him. “Not Manchester.”
“M-M-Manchester!” says Remus, his teeth chattering from the cold. “Y-Y-You had b-b-better be having m-m-me on!”
Sirius blinks at him, then taps Remus over the head, insulating him from the cold around him with a Warming Charm. “I told you I was taking you to Manchester for the day.”
“I rather think the side trip negated that, don’t you?”
“Why? Neither of us were harmed-” Remus holds up his bitten finger to protest that assertion. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake!” says Sirius to Remus’ finger. Before Remus can stop him, Sirius has tapped Remus’ finger and the wound heals over. “As I was saying, neither of us have been harmed, we can still enjoy the day in Manchester.”
Remus opens his mouth to give Sirius a litany of reasons why they cannot, in fact, go to Manchester, when behind them comes a rumble like Remus has never heard. It is a low, loud growl, a vicious sounding noise, and both he and Sirius turn to see a polar bear ten yards away and closing fast.
“Although for the moment I think we better run!” says Sirius, grabbing Remus’ hand.
Never in his life has Remus been so frightened or more sure of his imminent death. As they run, he laments the fact that their bones might not be found for years, as there doesn’t seem to be any sign of civilization. He notices Sirius scoop up a broken limb and pull his wand out, and for once Remus can’t find a reason to protest yet another Port Key. When the pulling sensation grabs him behind his navel, the bear is so close on their heels that Remus can feel the tremors that its every footfall pounds into the snow. The last thing he sees is a wide, flat road and a sign stuck in the snow that reads ‘Welcome to Manitoba.’
Remus wonders if it is all a part of Sirius’ plan to humiliate him as much as possible when, once again, he finds himself face down. This time, however, he is in wet and muddy grass - it is not as cold as Manitoba or as warm as Madagascar - and it is raining. Remus lifts his face out of the muck to see Sirius looking around avidly, but at least this time he has the grace not to say, “Hm, not Manchester.”
Remus draws himself into a sitting position, miserable as the rain plasters his hair to his face and neck. With his wand, he cleans off the mud and bits of grass, dries himself thoroughly and casts an Impervious Charm on his person. Sirius has clearly already taken such measures as he looks gorgeous as ever, clean and dry.
“Isn’t it marvelous, Moony? We could be almost anywhere.”
Remus glances at his watch. Right now he wasn’t supposed to be anywhere. He was supposed to be in Manchester, at Christie’s, enjoying a perfect cup of Assam Superb and sampling the decadent and sticky Danish Swirls.
This day was supposed to have been special. Since the business with Evans and James was now official and Prongs no longer sought Sirius out for his sexual mischief, it had just been Remus and Sirius. Between the two of them, their play had taken on a different tone, encompassing a different sort of intensity, and Remus had thought -well, hoped- this was traveling in a permanent direction. They had never talked about what it meant, or even if it meant something at all. He’d thought that perhaps under the manic shine in Sirius’ eyes, there was the desire to call this a date.
Disappointment is an acid-bitter emotion, though; clearly, he had been wrong. Clearly, this was just some adventure to Sirius, and Remus was not along as the preferred partner, but as a poor substitute for James with the added benefit of not being able to tell Sirius no.
Sirius stands up to look around, but Remus keeps his seat. He can see the towering, snow-capped jags of the mountains around them perfectly well from his spot. He can see the forest - a mix of conifers and broad-leafed trees - and the glade in which they’ve landed. Under the trees, the earth sprouts up many varieties of low shrubs and saplings. He doesn’t need to wander about and stick his snout into every waiting flower.
As Remus watches, Sirius changes to Padfoot and snuffles off into the woods. Remus pulls his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around them tightly. So what if he was pouting; this day was bollocks.
“Moony!” calls Sirius from a point to Remus’ left. His voice is strange like he is trying not to shout. “You have to come see this! You’re never going to believe it!”
Remus remains dutiful to his sullen, no-Manchester visiting, fossa-bitten mood and says nothing in return. There was nothing with the power to move him from his spot.
“C’mon, Moony!” calls Sirius again in that strangely controlled voice. “Cutest little tiger cubs you’ve ever seen.”
That being the lone exception.
Remus picks up a rock, draws his wand, and sprints off in the direction of Sirius’ voice. She’s going to eat him! She’s going to eat him! She’s going to eat him!
As he crashes though the underbrush, tripping over fallen braches and catching his feet on protruding rocks, his legs too bloody long, he figures that they must be somewhere in Asia. Where in Asia has mountains and tigers and most likely starts with an “M,” not the more sensible “L”? The great buffoon playing “catch the string” with sodding wild tiger cubs couldn’t be arsed to listen to Remus when he said he wanted to go home to London.
“Moony! They are so cute! Come here already!”
Despite the cheerful delight in Sirius’ carefully pitched voice, Remus envisions an enraged tigress creeping down from a craggy outcropping, ready to defend her nursery and punish Sirius for violating her sanctuary.
When he finally finds Sirius, his legs singing with pain from stubbed toes and bruised shins, the man is lounging casually on a rock, watching a cave mouth some twenty meters away. Within the dome on the leaf-littered floor are two orange and black tiger cubs, wrestling and chuffing at one another.
“Sirius! We have to go before the mother realizes you’re here and eats you!”
“Oh, come on, Remus. It’s the risk that makes it fun, remember?”
“Oh, the risk, the risk, the bloody risk,” says Remus. He is nearing his point of no return with this sodding day. He had braved the very idea of a snarling tigress and charged forward to save his damsel in distress only to discover there is no damsel, and he is the only one distressed. “It’s always about the risk, isn’t it, Sirius? Perhaps that’s all I am to you in the end -an exciting, death-defying ride once a month- plus orgasms!”
Sirius blinks a few times in apparent shock at Remus’ outburst. “What?”
“You are an absolute moron, you know, sitting here watching tiger cubs play with nary a care for the mother. It’s all just one great big game for you, an adrenaline ride, all of it!” says Remus, his voice rising with hysteria. He had, after all, suffered a very bad day.
“Remus, you might want to lower your voice a little,” says Sirius. From the cave the playful chuffing has shifted to worried calls, softer somehow, and plaintive.
“I will not!” says Remus, whose day of stress has finally divorced him from reason. “All I do is worry, worry, worry and you! You just pine after James and take bloody stupid Port Keys to bloody stupid tiger dens and never notice bloody stupid me! If you aren’t going to worry about the mother, why should I?”
Before Sirius could answer there came a deafening roar. Remus felt his knees go weak as he looked up to see the mother charging. Overwhelmed, his brain distanced him from the events unfolding, a self-protective measure to ease the passage from this life to the next. Distantly, he heard Sirius mutter a spell and then something was pressed into his hand. As he felt the pull behind his navel, his mind helpfully supplied him with a blank screen as he blacked out.
Remus comes to slowly. He is dreaming, and in his dreams there is something persistent and wet on his brow. It isn’t slobbery enough to be Padfoot, and this is what drags him out of the dreaming world and into the waking one. As he blinks open his eyes he finds himself looking up into a strange sight. It is a muzzle, white and rounded, blunt at the end out of which laps a weirdly long tongue. His vision is blurred from sleep and from having to squint into the blindingly bright sun. He is unable to identify his visitor, but this has been a bad day for making animal friends. He holds still, hoping to seem unthreatening to whatever it is trying to lick him clean, or possibly taste him. The creature takes a long sniff at him and then it opens its mouth and lets out a loud bleat.
Remus is on his feet in an instant, a shrill cry of panic on his lips as he sprints away from his animal attacker. He pulls his wand out and shoots Stinging Hexes willy nilly behind his back. He runs and runs across the expanse of green fields until his lungs ache and his already battered legs and toes fail him and force him to stop. He can only hope he’s put enough distance between himself and the demon animal in pursuit.
When he turns his head to check the state of his safety, the scene he sees is one, he realizes with resigned horror, that he shall never live down.
Instead of a pursuing carnivore of some degree of viciousness, Remus sees a flock of sheep, scattered and panicked, trying to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the crazy man.
Oh, the irony, thinks Remus. A wolf afraid of sheep. Sirius will still be taking the piss twenty years hence.
Speaking of which, Remus spies the aforementioned at the far end of the field. He is talking to someone beneath a picturesque windmill. They have collapsed against each other, laughing helplessly. Sirius always did make friends a little too easily.
Defeated, Remus decides to prolong the inevitable and sits down in the soft grass. “What an awful day,” he says gloomily. He looks down at the grass and contemplates the variety of greens in a single blade. It is several moments before he hears Sirius approach. Remus ignores him because any sort of reaction will only encourage the bastard.
“Are you ready to go, Don Quixote?” asks Sirius as he sits beside Remus.
Remus ignores him.
“I don’t know who was more surprised, you or that poor sheep,” continues Sirius. “That has to be the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Remus picks at his sleeve and says nothing.
“Oh, come on, Moony. Can’t you see the humor in it?”
Yes. “No, I can’t - not after the day I’ve had. I’m just a bit high-strung at the moment.” Which doesn’t even begin to address the things he had said in what Remus determined to be Manchuria.
Sirius scoffs. “A bit?”
Remus glares at him.
“The, uh, the man I was talking to,” begins Sirius. Remus takes a perverse pleasure in the nervousness weighting his tone.
“Oh, yes,” interrupts Remus waspishly, “the one you were doubled over laughing at me with?”
Sirius looks away and Remus suspects it is to hide a smirk. Bastard.
“He says we’re in Manche, France.”
“Ha!” says Remus. “Don Quixote was from Spain, and it’s La Mancha, not Manche.”
“Still funny,” says Sirius. “And there’s a windmill.”
“I’m not letting you read my books anymore,” huffs Remus. “You don’t get the point of them.”
“The point is that it was hilarious watching you shriek like a twelve-year-old girl and run from sheep. Sheep! You’re a wolf.”
Remus sulks, pulling his legs up and setting his chin on his knobbly knees. It is just more evidence that Sirius doesn’t want a romantic entanglement with him. He wants a mate that he can tease and jostle and joke. If this were the worst date in the history of dates gone wrong he could at least cling to the word ‘date‘ -he doesn’t even have that much.
“All right, stop pouting,” says Sirius, interrupting a brood that was just building up a good head of steam. “I think I know what’s gone wonky.”
“Yeah, so do I,” snaps Remus. “We’re supposed to be in Manchester, not Manche.”
“I think I know why, is what I’m saying.”
“Me too. You’re an idiot.”
Sirius bumps his shoulder playfully and ducks his chin a little to look at Remus from under those thick lashes. “It’s all in the name, see? First it was Madagascar, then Manitoba, then, I’m pretty sure we were in Manchuria. Now we’re here in Manche.”
“How many times have I told you to study the theory? You always go off bollocks first.”
“Keeps it interesting, though, yeah?”
Remus gives him a bland look. Polar bears and mother tigers were not what he would call ‘interesting.’
Sirius sighs and then says, “I think we can Apparate across the channel and then to Manchester.”
“Manchester, still?” says Remus exasperated. To his great surprise, Sirius blushes and looks down.
“I was hoping -well, I mean, I know that you miss James and all, but I was hoping it would be, well, a date. I think we have something -thought you might like to give it a go.” Sirius’ voice is uncharacteristically shy, and he looks to be addressing his trainers.
“What?” says Remus, and would like to kick himself for how stupid he sounds. He tries again. “I mean… what?” Sadly, not any better.
“You were wrong, you know. I’m not pining after James. I mean it was fun and all, but James is James. I’m not, well, not in love with him.
Unfortunately Remus can’t manage anything more intelligent than, “What?” once again.
“Did you mean what you said?” asks Sirius. “What you said in Madagascar, I mean, right before you thought a dragon was about to eat us.”
Remus knows he’s wearing a daft smile when he nods. It’s okay though, because Sirius’ smile is equally daft, and therefore reassuring.
“So,” says Remus. “Manchester?”
Author: Ceredwensirius
Written For:
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Prompt: Soon after Hogwarts Sirius attempts creating his first portkey. It is supposed to transport them to someplace near where he's been before, but instead they end up in [fill in the blank]. Wacky adventures ensue. Bonus points if it includes any or all of the following:
James (in a totally non-slashy way, I'm not trying to sneak my OTT in there! *g*)
Snarky banter
Someone flirting with Remus and Sirius gets jealous
Character, Pairing: Sirius, Remus; past Sirius/Remus/James, Sirius/Remus
Word Count: 4,553
Warnings: Just some allusions to sex, coarse language
Rating: PG15
Summary: Sirius has an awesome adventure, but Remus just has a bad day.
Disclaimer: Characters are not mine.
Author‘s Note: I am very pleased to be able to help this effort, even if only in such a small way.
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Someday, Remus is going to learn his lesson about not going along with all of Padfoot’s half-brewed ideas, particularly when he has that little glint in his eye, the glint that suggests whatever Sirius has been working on is more enthusiasm and gut-feeling than actual research and practical magical theory. The problem with Padfoot and his ideas boils down to James - James who is no longer ever present, thanks to Evans, so there are no more hot and sticky fumbles between three friends to placate the easily bored Sirius - and so Remus has to exert what control he can on his own.
Not that there aren’t hot and sticky fumbles any more, though they are less hot and sticky than they are intense, emotion-filled ecstasy, and that can be difficult to maintain on your own, -so Remus finds himself more and more on the business end of those sparkling grey eyes and impossibly long lashes and “please, Moony, really it’s a grand idea”-s, and Remus is helpless against Sirius’ enchantments. Always.
And, truth be told, that’s the whole problem -enchantments, that is- Sirius’ to be specific, Sirius who hasn’t been redirected into more prurient interests (always the most expedient), and so has applied himself most vigorously to the production of a Port Key.
“Manchester, Moony!” he had cried with a manic shine in his eye. “I am taking you to Manchester for the day!”
And then he had batted those lashes and smiled that smile and Remus had forgotten his own name and grinned and said, “Okay.”
Which, in retrospect, is a ludicrous thing to say to Sirius, especially without qualifications and explanations and lot of other very important multi-syllabic ‘-ations’ to justify Remus’ involvement. Remus requires forethought and planning and details and tea. A lot of tea, over which the aforementioned must be discussed.
Had James been around to whisper hotly in Sirius’ ear that there were better things to do, and grab Remus’ hand and tumble and stumble until they were all gasping and grunting this current catastrophe might never have happened. It really is true what wise old men say: women are a lot of trouble.
One day, he’ll stick his courage to the sticking place and tell Sirius no -one day, he’ll tell him how ridiculous he is- one day he’ll be stronger than that glinting shark’s grin and sultry eye -- but not today.
Today, he was supposed to be in Manchester, but the funny thing about magic is that if you don’t get it just right, one of those pesky laws Remus is always concerned with and Sirius never is can turn the whole thing wonky. Instead of Manchester, it might be Manhattan, or Morocco, or Mumbai, or -
“Sirius, where in the name of Merlin’s moldy socks are we?”
Remus is fairly certain the last time he was in Manchester it was neither this green nor this bright. The trees form a towering protective canopy, and the air is thick and warm, salty and seasoned with a flavor with which Remus is wholly unfamiliar. Sirius is staring about with wide wondering eyes, his smile splitting his face in two, which is both inappropriate and upsetting in the situation. How could he grin like he just won a trip to Neverland?
“No idea. Brilliant, isn’t it?”
Remus scowls at Sirius and hopes it burns holes in his robes, not that it ever does any good. He looks around, and at the edge of the trees there is sand, and somewhere over the sand, a gull cries.
“Sirius! We are lost! We are utterly lost and we seem to be in the jungle and - and - malaria! Sirius! We could get malaria and we have no quinine and-”
Remus’ panic is cut off by a rustling in the trees, and something deep and instinctive inside reminds him that there are larger things in the world than a scrawny werewolf --hungry things, things with teeth. He quiets and hunkers and tries to hide behind wide palmate leaves of some low growing plant, pulling Sirius with him, who seems only excited and eager to see what long-toothed beastie the world is about to gift him with.
“We’re wizards,” reminds Sirius.
“Could be dragons,” counters Remus, pulling harder on Sirius’ sleeve, terrified he’s going to watch him become lunch for an overgrown lizard with a hot grill for breath. Sirius rolls his eyes and acquiesces, and together they peer over the branches as the rustling gets louder and louder still.
Remus wraps his arms around Sirius, looking at his love that he might be seeing only for a few fleeting moments more in this life, and whispers into his neck, “I love you; I just want you to know that.”
Sirius smiles at Remus in that way that he has when he thinks Remus is being Remus and utterly ridiculous and also quite kissable, and Remus mourns the loss of the precipice of love they have been balancing on for months. Then just as Sirius is about to say something in reply there comes a cry like nothing Remus has ever heard.
It is a long, high pitched wail, a chilling, bloodless cry, and instead of dragons, Remus now sees banshees, and his Sirius is going to be taken from this life by some black-hearted bitch. Sirius still isn’t giving the situation the appropriate amount of panic and is instead looking interestedly in the direction of the sound. And then his mouth makes a small ‘o’ of surprise.
“We’re about to die! How can you look like that when you’re about to lose your soul to a banshee!?”
Sirius’ upper lip quivers, and then trembles and then his hand comes up to his face to stifle the snickers, and then Remus Has Had Enough.
“We’re about to be shrieked to death by a banshee and you’re lau-”
Remus’ outrage dies on his lips as a weird looking creature saunters past their tropical hideout . It has a black mask defining its pointed face, soft grey fur, glowing amber eyes, and a long striped tail that reaches up and up with a small lilt at the end. Much to Remus’ chagrin, it is… cute.
“I see what you mean,” says Sirius dryly. “Terrifying beastie, it is.”
Remus narrows his eyes to fix Sirius with another death glare when another such creature passes by, and this one has a smaller version of itself - sans black mask - affixed to its back with tiny hands clinging around its mother’s neck. The set is so adorable Remus has to bite back a small sound of wonder because that would only encourage the imbecile that had got them here in the first place.
“Lemurs!” says said imbecile brightly, like this is the most marvelous thing in the world.
Remus starts to feel dizzy with anger, because if they are in a jungle surrounded by a passing troupe of lemurs that can only mean that they are in -
“Madagascar!” says Remus, outraged. “You fool! You brought us to Madagascar! How are we going to get back to England?”
“I think you’re missing out on the bigger picture,” says Sirius, unaffected.
“Oh, and pray tell what the ‘bigger picture’ is?”
Sirius screws up his face in puzzlement and says “Lemurs!” once again, before promptly turning into Padfoot.
Remus watches in horror as Sirius bounds around under the trees until not one single lemur is left on the ground and the forest canopy is positively alive with alarm cries. Remus tries to catch Padfoot, but four legs are better than two, and he only succeeds in winding himself as the great fool he’s in love with bounds under the trees, barking up at lemurs with delighted abandon.
Remus, livid at this point, pulls his wand out of his pocket and sends a Stinging Hex directly at Padfoot’s rump. Padfoot, predictably, howls in outrage and lifts his lip to Remus, sending forth a low growl. Remus, however, is undeterred.
“Are you aware that lemurs are endangered? The biggest thing they ever see is a fossa, and you - you’re a great big black monster to them.”
Padfoot gives Remus a bland look and yawns.
“Oh, you’re impossible!”
Remus opens his mouth to expound on that thought, but something catches Padfoot’s eye and he darts off into the undergrowth. Remus calls after him, but Padfoot either does not hear him or does not listen. Remus can hear the crashing of branches and loud delighted barking, and then, unfortunately, his brain begins to supply him with all the ways that Padfoot could get hurt. At the top of his list are the smaller menaces in the world, the ones with either too many legs or none at all, the things which nature has provided with fangs and venom. Which, as a matter of course, brings his own situation to mind. He is in a jungle, and all around him are tiny (or not so tiny) blights on creation, all of them prepared to make his last few moments on earth an utter misery.
He calls out to Padfoot into the gloomy green around him, as he edges carefully toward the sun and the sand just beyond the border of the jungle. One of them has to remain alive, he rationalizes, or at least uninjured, if they are to make it back to England. He steps closer and closer to the familiarity of the ocean, and just as he reaches the edge of the forest, there is a great screeching sound, and something small and brown barrels right into his legs. It is a long, limber animal, brown, with a clever cat-like face. It climbs up his legs and, upon realizing where it is, hisses right in his face.
Remus begins to jump around to throw the thing off, and then Padfoot comes out of seemingly nowhere, sees the creature that is hissing at him and woofs delightedly like they are playing in some marvelous game. Remus finally dislodges the creature, taking a nasty nip for his trouble, and then he is Finally Done.
“I am Apparating out of here!” says Remus, panic edging in his voice, knowing full well he can’t Apparate all the way to England. “I don’t care if I get splinched six ways! I am leaving!” And with that he storms out from under the canopy of leaves and branches.
Sirius instantly transforms (Remus can feel the slight ripple of magic) and Remus hears him coming up behind, heavy footfalls in soft sand. Remus resolutely ignores him until Sirius puts a hand on his arm and turns him.
“I’m sorry, Remus,” he says contritely, using those thick full lashes to maximum benefit. They lay against his cheek like dark wings, and Remus can feel his anger ebbing away at the proximity alone. Why can’t he ever stay mad at this fool?
“You and your ideas,” says Remus, but it is without much heat. “How are we going to get home? We’re at the edge of a jungle!”
Sirius smiles and says, “We’ll make another Port Key, of course!”
Remus steps back with a scowl, balling up his fist, he punches Sirius in the arm. Sirius puts up his hands, his expression washed in shocked surprise, but Remus doesn’t care and goes on swinging. Maybe he can beat some sense into Sirius, who steps back quickly, almost tripping over his own feet.
“Stop it! Stop hitting me!” cries Sirius, retreating further back.
“I am not letting you take me on another trip. You have no idea what you’re doing!”
Sirius bends down and picks up a rock, then pulls his wand out. “Oh, have a little faith; it was just a slight miscalculation, is all.”
“A slight miscalculation!” exclaims Remus, his eyes keenly fixed on what Sirius is doing. “We’re in Madagascar!”
Sirius, however, is undeterred and taps his wand to the rock. “Portus!”
Remus backs away quickly, his mind calculating all the places that start with “L” that weren’t London. Sirius leaps forward and grabs his arm, forcing him to touch the rock. The pulling sensation behind his naval is immediate and nauseating. He can barely think as they are pulled through space and time, but what few thoughts he does have all center around homicide.
The first thing he notices once the pulling sensation stops is that he is face down in something very cold. In fact, compared to the warmth of Madagascar --hell, the warmth of London-- this place is positively frigid. When he blinks open his eyes, the reason for that becomes clear. The world has lost all of its color and has been replaced entirely by white.
“Hm,” says Sirius beside him. “Not Manchester.”
“M-M-Manchester!” says Remus, his teeth chattering from the cold. “Y-Y-You had b-b-better be having m-m-me on!”
Sirius blinks at him, then taps Remus over the head, insulating him from the cold around him with a Warming Charm. “I told you I was taking you to Manchester for the day.”
“I rather think the side trip negated that, don’t you?”
“Why? Neither of us were harmed-” Remus holds up his bitten finger to protest that assertion. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake!” says Sirius to Remus’ finger. Before Remus can stop him, Sirius has tapped Remus’ finger and the wound heals over. “As I was saying, neither of us have been harmed, we can still enjoy the day in Manchester.”
Remus opens his mouth to give Sirius a litany of reasons why they cannot, in fact, go to Manchester, when behind them comes a rumble like Remus has never heard. It is a low, loud growl, a vicious sounding noise, and both he and Sirius turn to see a polar bear ten yards away and closing fast.
“Although for the moment I think we better run!” says Sirius, grabbing Remus’ hand.
Never in his life has Remus been so frightened or more sure of his imminent death. As they run, he laments the fact that their bones might not be found for years, as there doesn’t seem to be any sign of civilization. He notices Sirius scoop up a broken limb and pull his wand out, and for once Remus can’t find a reason to protest yet another Port Key. When the pulling sensation grabs him behind his navel, the bear is so close on their heels that Remus can feel the tremors that its every footfall pounds into the snow. The last thing he sees is a wide, flat road and a sign stuck in the snow that reads ‘Welcome to Manitoba.’
Remus wonders if it is all a part of Sirius’ plan to humiliate him as much as possible when, once again, he finds himself face down. This time, however, he is in wet and muddy grass - it is not as cold as Manitoba or as warm as Madagascar - and it is raining. Remus lifts his face out of the muck to see Sirius looking around avidly, but at least this time he has the grace not to say, “Hm, not Manchester.”
Remus draws himself into a sitting position, miserable as the rain plasters his hair to his face and neck. With his wand, he cleans off the mud and bits of grass, dries himself thoroughly and casts an Impervious Charm on his person. Sirius has clearly already taken such measures as he looks gorgeous as ever, clean and dry.
“Isn’t it marvelous, Moony? We could be almost anywhere.”
Remus glances at his watch. Right now he wasn’t supposed to be anywhere. He was supposed to be in Manchester, at Christie’s, enjoying a perfect cup of Assam Superb and sampling the decadent and sticky Danish Swirls.
This day was supposed to have been special. Since the business with Evans and James was now official and Prongs no longer sought Sirius out for his sexual mischief, it had just been Remus and Sirius. Between the two of them, their play had taken on a different tone, encompassing a different sort of intensity, and Remus had thought -well, hoped- this was traveling in a permanent direction. They had never talked about what it meant, or even if it meant something at all. He’d thought that perhaps under the manic shine in Sirius’ eyes, there was the desire to call this a date.
Disappointment is an acid-bitter emotion, though; clearly, he had been wrong. Clearly, this was just some adventure to Sirius, and Remus was not along as the preferred partner, but as a poor substitute for James with the added benefit of not being able to tell Sirius no.
Sirius stands up to look around, but Remus keeps his seat. He can see the towering, snow-capped jags of the mountains around them perfectly well from his spot. He can see the forest - a mix of conifers and broad-leafed trees - and the glade in which they’ve landed. Under the trees, the earth sprouts up many varieties of low shrubs and saplings. He doesn’t need to wander about and stick his snout into every waiting flower.
As Remus watches, Sirius changes to Padfoot and snuffles off into the woods. Remus pulls his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around them tightly. So what if he was pouting; this day was bollocks.
“Moony!” calls Sirius from a point to Remus’ left. His voice is strange like he is trying not to shout. “You have to come see this! You’re never going to believe it!”
Remus remains dutiful to his sullen, no-Manchester visiting, fossa-bitten mood and says nothing in return. There was nothing with the power to move him from his spot.
“C’mon, Moony!” calls Sirius again in that strangely controlled voice. “Cutest little tiger cubs you’ve ever seen.”
That being the lone exception.
Remus picks up a rock, draws his wand, and sprints off in the direction of Sirius’ voice. She’s going to eat him! She’s going to eat him! She’s going to eat him!
As he crashes though the underbrush, tripping over fallen braches and catching his feet on protruding rocks, his legs too bloody long, he figures that they must be somewhere in Asia. Where in Asia has mountains and tigers and most likely starts with an “M,” not the more sensible “L”? The great buffoon playing “catch the string” with sodding wild tiger cubs couldn’t be arsed to listen to Remus when he said he wanted to go home to London.
“Moony! They are so cute! Come here already!”
Despite the cheerful delight in Sirius’ carefully pitched voice, Remus envisions an enraged tigress creeping down from a craggy outcropping, ready to defend her nursery and punish Sirius for violating her sanctuary.
When he finally finds Sirius, his legs singing with pain from stubbed toes and bruised shins, the man is lounging casually on a rock, watching a cave mouth some twenty meters away. Within the dome on the leaf-littered floor are two orange and black tiger cubs, wrestling and chuffing at one another.
“Sirius! We have to go before the mother realizes you’re here and eats you!”
“Oh, come on, Remus. It’s the risk that makes it fun, remember?”
“Oh, the risk, the risk, the bloody risk,” says Remus. He is nearing his point of no return with this sodding day. He had braved the very idea of a snarling tigress and charged forward to save his damsel in distress only to discover there is no damsel, and he is the only one distressed. “It’s always about the risk, isn’t it, Sirius? Perhaps that’s all I am to you in the end -an exciting, death-defying ride once a month- plus orgasms!”
Sirius blinks a few times in apparent shock at Remus’ outburst. “What?”
“You are an absolute moron, you know, sitting here watching tiger cubs play with nary a care for the mother. It’s all just one great big game for you, an adrenaline ride, all of it!” says Remus, his voice rising with hysteria. He had, after all, suffered a very bad day.
“Remus, you might want to lower your voice a little,” says Sirius. From the cave the playful chuffing has shifted to worried calls, softer somehow, and plaintive.
“I will not!” says Remus, whose day of stress has finally divorced him from reason. “All I do is worry, worry, worry and you! You just pine after James and take bloody stupid Port Keys to bloody stupid tiger dens and never notice bloody stupid me! If you aren’t going to worry about the mother, why should I?”
Before Sirius could answer there came a deafening roar. Remus felt his knees go weak as he looked up to see the mother charging. Overwhelmed, his brain distanced him from the events unfolding, a self-protective measure to ease the passage from this life to the next. Distantly, he heard Sirius mutter a spell and then something was pressed into his hand. As he felt the pull behind his navel, his mind helpfully supplied him with a blank screen as he blacked out.
Remus comes to slowly. He is dreaming, and in his dreams there is something persistent and wet on his brow. It isn’t slobbery enough to be Padfoot, and this is what drags him out of the dreaming world and into the waking one. As he blinks open his eyes he finds himself looking up into a strange sight. It is a muzzle, white and rounded, blunt at the end out of which laps a weirdly long tongue. His vision is blurred from sleep and from having to squint into the blindingly bright sun. He is unable to identify his visitor, but this has been a bad day for making animal friends. He holds still, hoping to seem unthreatening to whatever it is trying to lick him clean, or possibly taste him. The creature takes a long sniff at him and then it opens its mouth and lets out a loud bleat.
Remus is on his feet in an instant, a shrill cry of panic on his lips as he sprints away from his animal attacker. He pulls his wand out and shoots Stinging Hexes willy nilly behind his back. He runs and runs across the expanse of green fields until his lungs ache and his already battered legs and toes fail him and force him to stop. He can only hope he’s put enough distance between himself and the demon animal in pursuit.
When he turns his head to check the state of his safety, the scene he sees is one, he realizes with resigned horror, that he shall never live down.
Instead of a pursuing carnivore of some degree of viciousness, Remus sees a flock of sheep, scattered and panicked, trying to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the crazy man.
Oh, the irony, thinks Remus. A wolf afraid of sheep. Sirius will still be taking the piss twenty years hence.
Speaking of which, Remus spies the aforementioned at the far end of the field. He is talking to someone beneath a picturesque windmill. They have collapsed against each other, laughing helplessly. Sirius always did make friends a little too easily.
Defeated, Remus decides to prolong the inevitable and sits down in the soft grass. “What an awful day,” he says gloomily. He looks down at the grass and contemplates the variety of greens in a single blade. It is several moments before he hears Sirius approach. Remus ignores him because any sort of reaction will only encourage the bastard.
“Are you ready to go, Don Quixote?” asks Sirius as he sits beside Remus.
Remus ignores him.
“I don’t know who was more surprised, you or that poor sheep,” continues Sirius. “That has to be the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Remus picks at his sleeve and says nothing.
“Oh, come on, Moony. Can’t you see the humor in it?”
Yes. “No, I can’t - not after the day I’ve had. I’m just a bit high-strung at the moment.” Which doesn’t even begin to address the things he had said in what Remus determined to be Manchuria.
Sirius scoffs. “A bit?”
Remus glares at him.
“The, uh, the man I was talking to,” begins Sirius. Remus takes a perverse pleasure in the nervousness weighting his tone.
“Oh, yes,” interrupts Remus waspishly, “the one you were doubled over laughing at me with?”
Sirius looks away and Remus suspects it is to hide a smirk. Bastard.
“He says we’re in Manche, France.”
“Ha!” says Remus. “Don Quixote was from Spain, and it’s La Mancha, not Manche.”
“Still funny,” says Sirius. “And there’s a windmill.”
“I’m not letting you read my books anymore,” huffs Remus. “You don’t get the point of them.”
“The point is that it was hilarious watching you shriek like a twelve-year-old girl and run from sheep. Sheep! You’re a wolf.”
Remus sulks, pulling his legs up and setting his chin on his knobbly knees. It is just more evidence that Sirius doesn’t want a romantic entanglement with him. He wants a mate that he can tease and jostle and joke. If this were the worst date in the history of dates gone wrong he could at least cling to the word ‘date‘ -he doesn’t even have that much.
“All right, stop pouting,” says Sirius, interrupting a brood that was just building up a good head of steam. “I think I know what’s gone wonky.”
“Yeah, so do I,” snaps Remus. “We’re supposed to be in Manchester, not Manche.”
“I think I know why, is what I’m saying.”
“Me too. You’re an idiot.”
Sirius bumps his shoulder playfully and ducks his chin a little to look at Remus from under those thick lashes. “It’s all in the name, see? First it was Madagascar, then Manitoba, then, I’m pretty sure we were in Manchuria. Now we’re here in Manche.”
“How many times have I told you to study the theory? You always go off bollocks first.”
“Keeps it interesting, though, yeah?”
Remus gives him a bland look. Polar bears and mother tigers were not what he would call ‘interesting.’
Sirius sighs and then says, “I think we can Apparate across the channel and then to Manchester.”
“Manchester, still?” says Remus exasperated. To his great surprise, Sirius blushes and looks down.
“I was hoping -well, I mean, I know that you miss James and all, but I was hoping it would be, well, a date. I think we have something -thought you might like to give it a go.” Sirius’ voice is uncharacteristically shy, and he looks to be addressing his trainers.
“What?” says Remus, and would like to kick himself for how stupid he sounds. He tries again. “I mean… what?” Sadly, not any better.
“You were wrong, you know. I’m not pining after James. I mean it was fun and all, but James is James. I’m not, well, not in love with him.
Unfortunately Remus can’t manage anything more intelligent than, “What?” once again.
“Did you mean what you said?” asks Sirius. “What you said in Madagascar, I mean, right before you thought a dragon was about to eat us.”
Remus knows he’s wearing a daft smile when he nods. It’s okay though, because Sirius’ smile is equally daft, and therefore reassuring.
“So,” says Remus. “Manchester?”
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And, aww, I'm sorry sheep weird you out. I mostly think they have funny little faces, but I suppose the males with their horns can be dangerous.
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LOTS! (x a million)
First I see Sirius/Remus/James under the pairing!! I proclaim my love for you. I cackle gleefully. Then I read the summary and get a huge grin before I even start reading the story.
I love the hot sticky fumbles and Remus' obsession with Sirius' sparkling grey eyes and long dark lashes (and his utter capitulation to Sirius' whims in the face of), and Remus declaring his love for fear of dragon attack, and lemurs, shark grins, and Padfoot yawning at Remus, and Sirius laughing his arse off at Remus and the sheep, and pouting Remus, and inarticulate Remus, and daft smiles, geographic locations of the 'M' variety, and, oh, just about every last word!
This was fantastic and fun and both boys are completely adorable. Thank you! Thank you! I love what you did with this prompt SO much! I will crowing about this on my journal tomorrow you can be sure. (But I have to go to bed now because I am exhausted from a horribly long, tiring day and we have house guests now, so my computer time is being infringed on!) But I just had to read this again. ;) Thank you!!
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Honestly, I laughed from beginning to end, but the best part was the subtle undercurrent of love and how they got together. I liked how easily they morphed from the Sirius/Remus/James thing to really being the couple that they clearly are meant to be.
“You were wrong, you know. I’m not pining after James. I mean it was fun and all, but James is James. I’m not, well, not in love with him.
Unfortunately Remus can’t manage anything more intelligent than, “What?” once again.
“Did you mean what you said?” asks Sirius. “What you said in Madagascar, I mean, right before you thought a dragon was about to eat us.”
Remus knows he’s wearing a daft smile when he nods. It’s okay though, because Sirius’ smile is equally daft, and therefore reassuring.
Exactly!
Between Remus running from the sheep and the tiger cubs, it was rather a perfect animal day, was it not? And speaking of animals, I love when you write Padfoot. You can totally tell that you are a "dog person," and I'm assuming that your Boxer is as crazy as Padfoot and/or Malcolm. It's funny how obvious it is when people who don't like (or understand, as much as one can understand) dogs try to write about them.
This was really wonderful!
PS I'm loving your new fic journal, too.
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Madagascar was oodles of fun to write about and I am totally jealous myself. Its a shame Remus couldn't just enjoy himself but I suppose getting bitten by a fossa is enough to ruin one's day.
Ha! My boxer is a nut! I swear he is spring loaded. He bounces when I'm trying to get the leash on for walkies. He is as crazy as Padfoot and can't understand why folks that don't know him don't want 85 pounds of energetic dog loving them.
I'm pleased you enjoyed and thanks for the compliment on the journal. It is still a work in progress.
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Thank you for giving this a read and for the lovely review.
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If I could cast only one spell, I do believe that I would choose apparition.
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And I like to think they apparated into Manchester and had that date.
Thank you for giving this a read for the lovely review.
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Thanks for giving this a read and for the lovely review.
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