The Trouble with Remus’s Fondness for Labels

 

 

“He lost the baby,” Lily breathed, the words cold enough to make the (ineffective) potion in James’s hair freeze solid.  James thought, romantically, that Lily rather looked like the flowers she had planted in their garden, white tulips stained red along the tips of the petals. 

 

“Listen, dear,” began James, in the placating tone he had adopted in their fifth year, when she had taken to hexing him if he came too close.

 

Lily didn’t let him finish.  “He lost the baby in a pile of laundry, and this is your friend, James, and how could you let this happen, and I knew Sirius was a moron, but even I didn’t imagine he was this stupid, the irresponsible lout.”  She had the habit of running six or so sentences into one when she was angry, as if her rage negated the need for punctuation.

 

“Harry just wandered into the laundry pile,” said James, eyes trailing after Lily, who had begun pacing the room.  “He’s just getting up to some mischief, a chip off the old block.”  He beamed even as Lily scowled. 

 

She began straightening the sofa cushions, slapping the dust from them with unnecessary force.  Another habit, it seemed, was to take out her aggression on the furniture — James winced as she “fluffed” the seat of the sofa — even if they were antiques. 

 

“But he’s safe and sound in his crib right now, so why don’t we just let this go and—?”

 

Lily stood up all of a sudden, her face going pink.  “What are they,” she muttered darkly, “fourteen?”  James couldn’t tell exactly what, but she was pinching something between her forefinger and thumb.  “No wonder Sirius was too distracted to watch Harry.  Honestly, they’re idiots, the both of them.  I shouldn’t be surprised, though, really.”  She turned, almost smiling as amusement began to replace the irritation.  “I’m going to check on Harry.  Tell your friends that I expected better.”

 

She paused, adding, “And spell the couch clean, will you?” as she tossed the item to James.

 

Looking down at what he had caught, James saw a pair of white underwear in his hands.  Sure enough, there was a name sewn into the label in tight, even Remus-stitches.  James double-checked to make sure he was reading it right:

 

Property of R. J. Lupin

 

“Oh, Moony,” James sighed, wrinkling his nose at the undergarment.  “You idiot.”

 

Fin.