[ Remus might have started talking over William several sentences ago if not for bloody werewolf drama snapping his mouth shut and making his chest constrict. (It doesn't matter to hardly anyone here, he knows that, but it matters to him.) Still, while William is carrying on, Remus considers each of the following, for a very flexible definition of considered that encompasses a lot of half-thoughts and fleeting impulses:
1. Asking why they're arguing about an accidental near-death during school instead of any number of intentional deaths after it.
2. Tracking William down, post-moon misery or no, and punching him in his stupid nose.
3. Promising to tell Sirius to stop calling people prats on the network so often and instead begin calling them murderers behind their backs, or perhaps war criminals with genocidal leanings, depending on what level of detail is most appropriate.
4. Inquiring as to what stupid mess exactly is being started again, is this about William's mother, does he need to talk about it.
5. What is a tulle skirt?
6. He liked William better when he didn't have a soul.
But all of these things remain unspoken—and buried obnoxiously in meta, sorry—because William caps off with coward. In thirteen or so years Remus will pull his wand on Harry Potter over that one. He'd do the same to William, probably, if they were in the same room and if he weren't so incredibly tired. ]
You don't, [ he says, and then ruins his own pissy one-liner by pausing to cough around some of the phlegm that's overcompensating in his raw throat and, in the process, making his comms device fall from where it was lying on his upturned ear. He needs a few seconds to recover it. But then: ] You don't know a bloody thing about me, William. Or him. Just leave him alone.
no subject
1. Asking why they're arguing about an accidental near-death during school instead of any number of intentional deaths after it.
2. Tracking William down, post-moon misery or no, and punching him in his stupid nose.
3. Promising to tell Sirius to stop calling people prats on the network so often and instead begin calling them murderers behind their backs, or perhaps war criminals with genocidal leanings, depending on what level of detail is most appropriate.
4. Inquiring as to what stupid mess exactly is being started again, is this about William's mother, does he need to talk about it.
5. What is a tulle skirt?
6. He liked William better when he didn't have a soul.
But all of these things remain unspoken—and buried obnoxiously in meta, sorry—because William caps off with coward. In thirteen or so years Remus will pull his wand on Harry Potter over that one. He'd do the same to William, probably, if they were in the same room and if he weren't so incredibly tired. ]
You don't, [ he says, and then ruins his own pissy one-liner by pausing to cough around some of the phlegm that's overcompensating in his raw throat and, in the process, making his comms device fall from where it was lying on his upturned ear. He needs a few seconds to recover it. But then: ] You don't know a bloody thing about me, William. Or him. Just leave him alone.
[ 7. Photographs of fish are boring. ]