Chapter Text
It’s an unseasonably sunny day when Remus receives the email.
When he wakes, the sunlight that bathes his room is all kinds of champagne, shimmering and golden in a way that makes him feel faintly fizzy inside.
The previous weeks have been coloured by blustery rain and a constant, cloying, overcast grey. It’s been the sort of weather that makes Remus, like a fern, want to curl up within himself and never unfurl. Over the past month, he’s found the unfurling more painful and difficult, as if every part of him has become tightly wound within itself. His temper is short, his attention is scrambled, and his tears are never far away.
It’s late in the morning when he gets up to check his phone. He lets himself lay in, ignoring the thrumming under his skin that usually prompts him from his bed as soon as he opens his eyes. Instead, he bathes in the sunlight and watches dust swirl in the light, thinking that even the dead parts of him are revelling in the sun’s warmth.
When he opens his inbox, he expects the odd promotion and uni admin email. Rubbing his face, making his routine spam bin check, as he always does, he’s faced with an email, flagged as important, titled: “Congratulations! You’ve been selected for the 2022 Great British Bake Off!”
Remus blinks, and for a split second, takes no notice of it, “spam, spam, spam,” until— wait, hold on.
He rubs his eyes, so hard he sees impossible colours, and clicks on the email. Not for the first time that year, he feels as if the floor has disappeared from beneath him.
“Fuck!”
“Remus? Is that you, love?”
“Ah, yeah. Sorry Ma!”
Remus stands up from his desk, palms on the wood, and lets his head hang. The sunlight that previously bathed his room has mostly retreated, but still dances on the desk beneath him.
“Fuck fuck fuck...”
He pulls out his phone.
————
Remus: [screenshot]
Marlene: CONGRATS!!!!!!!!!!!!
Marlene: i told you: the best buns in the continent
Marlene: ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
Remus: I genuinely can’t tell if I’m excited or horrified?
Marlene: 2 sides of the same coin pal
Remus: My PhD is currently hanging by a thread
Remus: My research is a mess
Remus: My last chapter was so bad that my supervisor had to stage an intervention
Remus: And now I’m going to be on reality a TV show
Remus: About /baking/
Marlene: are u ok
Remus: Oh no
Marlene: oh no????
Remus: Sorry, almost threw up. We’re good
Marlene: uh
Marlene: remus, babe
Marlene: deep breaths
Remus: Thanks, I’m okay
Remus: I think
Marlene: are u ever not panicking about something?
Remus: This is just the acceptance email
Remus: What will happen when I curdle my custard?
Marlene: ol remus the custard curdler :')
Remus: Burn my pastry??
Marlene: DEEP
Marlene: BREATHS
Remus: Underprove my dough??????
Marlene: i feel so honoured to witness your stream of consciousness. it’s terrifying
Marlene: [twitter screenshot: thesiriusblack: 2022 GBBO, baby! i'll see u all in the tent <3]
Marlene: omfg loooook!
Remus: Omg
Marlene: hehe
Remus: Fuck
Marlene: you still got that poster?
Marlene: mr remus black. lol.
Remus: Nooo
Marlene: i will never let you forget
Remus: I’m a disaster and I’m about to be a disaster on national television
Marlene: shut up! you're endearing as hell!!!
Remus: And now you’re telling me /Sirius Black/ will bear personal witness to my chaos?
Remus: I’m done
Remus: Tell Ma and Lottie I’m leaving everything to them
Marlene: u r so dramatic. everyone thinks ur so calm and collected but they are so wrong
Marlene: also lottie???? a /chicken/ gets first dibs over me?
Marlene: wtf ur not even giving me ur records?
Remus: Not with that attitude
Marlene: rude. even signed phoebe bridgers???
Remus: Lucky Lottie
Marlene: u little bitch
Marlene: anyway one look into your /soulful/ eyes and black will fall in love
Marlene: then he’ll taste ur buns and u will kiss and elope and adopt beautiful children
Remus: That’s inappropriate
Marlene: “the fastest way to every sexy rockstar’s heart is through his stomach” – sophocles or somthin
Marlene: among other appendages
Remus: Cheers son’s crying
Marlene: can’t argue w ancient wisdom
Remus: Gotta go. Don’t tell anyone!
Marlene: lips r sealed
———
Remus takes a deep breath and runs his shaking fingers through his hair.
“Shite. Bake Off. Sirius Black... Shite.”
But try as he might, he can’t stop the smile that blooms across his face in that moment. He’s terrified, is certain it’ll all implode in his face, but they think he’s good.
And in that moment, that’s enough.
***
2 Months later…
“James, I really wish you could see all the doilies. It’s like a kingdom of doilies in here. A doily kingdom.”
“Sirius, say doily one more time.”
“Doily.”
“Doesn’t even sound like a real word. Who even invented doilies? What are they for?”
“Google it.”
“I still can’t believe you’re on Bake Off. My Nan watches Bake Off.”
“Fuck off, it’s totally cool. Kids these days love Bake Off.”
“Yeah it’s cool like Antiques Roadshow and Gardeners' World are cool.”
“Joke’s on you, James: Monty Don is a stud.”
“Whatever you say, grandpa. Enjoy your scones and clotted cream.”
“You’re just jealous that I get to mingle with Britain’s premier amateur baking talent.”
“And with any luck, you’ll find your soulmate: your bread-baking, doily-wielding, cake-decorating soulmate.”
“Goodbye Prongs.”
“Oi!—”
Sirius hangs up, and takes a deep breath. The air smells like roses and new carpet, floral and fresh. Looking around, he smiles to himself. It’s all very quaint and cute—almost too cute, even. Yet something about it feels just right.
James had thought he was off his rocker when he’d first applied to be a host on Bake Off, just over a year ago. Unsurprisingly, the public’s reaction had not been much different.
Comments on “Sirius Black to Co-Host 2022 Bake Off”:
VeryConcernedMumsy778: Not Sirius Black,,, he's a bad boy!!! He ruined The Marauders my daughter’s favourite band of all time!! She cried all night when she heard what he did.....
LivingLovingLaughing63: @VeryConcernedMumsy778: I read somewhere that it was because they cut out his rap verse in Raven Clawed Beauty... talk about a narcissist!! Everyone boycott BakeOff2022!
ILoveEggs: A boyband member is hosting Bake Off this year? Who’s next, Taylor Swift? I miss Mel and Sue </3
_BigChungus_: He do be kinda hot tho…
Sirius still doesn’t know where the rumours had come from—Sirius Black To Blame For The Marauders Split? More Likely Than You Think, According To Inside Sources! —but, he supposes, his pseudo bad-boy image likely had something to do with it. The whole rehab thing probably hadn’t helped either.
At first, he’d been devastated. It had broken his heart being framed for the dissolution of the first real family he’d ever known. Still, what had hurt Sirius even more was Fabian and Gideon’s silence through it all, never even issuing a statement to help clear the air. Sure, they’d parted on poor terms, but he didn’t think it had been that poor.
Well, as it turned out, he’d been wrong.
But, as Sirius has learned by now, these things happen. Or, as James likes to say in a poor mockery of Sirius’s drawl, “It isss what it isss.” And instead of letting it consume him as he once might have, Sirius poured all the anger, betrayal, and hurt that he’d accrued in the past twenty-three years into a “Surprisingly Nuanced and Honest,” solo album. And now, he’s moonlighting as a reality TV host.
Really, Sirius thinks, it could be worse.
***
Exhausted after a long train journey, Remus sits down on the bed. It’s covered by a plush, floral quilt that smells like roses, which feels appropriately quaint for the idyllic countryside hotel that’s hosting Bake Off for the next six weeks.
He's made it, from Wales to Windermere, and in a few short hours, he’ll be face to face with the judges, the contestants, and the hosts. While that thought alone threatens to disturb his contentment, he compartmentalises it as a ‘soon’ kind of thought: I’ll think about that soon, I’ll fret about that soon.
For now, Remus, sits on his bed and gazes out the window. From his room, he can see the distant, glittering Lake Windermere. Between the lake and him lies flowers and willow trees, and he imagines reclining beneath a tree reading in the afternoon light. It’s a lovely kind of thought, and the kind of thought he’s realising that he’s sorely missed.
His phone rings, jarring against the distant birdsong and soft breeze.
“Hey Marl.”
“Are you there yet?”
“Yeah, just arrived.”
“Well?”
“Well what?”
“I’ll take that as a no.”
Remus suppresses the urge to roll his eyes—only suppressing it because Marlene isn’t there to see it. “How pleasantly vague.”
“Pleasantly vague, huh? Ouch.”
Remus chuckles tiredly.
“How is it? What’s it like?”
“Well, like I said, I’ve just arrived. It’s lovely though. We’re all staying at this quaint little country hotel, but because it’s Windermere, everything’s Beatrix Potter themed. Even the toilets. I had to wee while staring into Peter Rabbit’s dark, soulless eyes.”
“Oh hush, Peter’s got soul. It’s Cottontail that you’ve gotta watch out for.”
There’s a moment of silence, which Marlene breaks with: “Have you met everyone yet?”
“Nah, not yet. There’s this afternoon tea welcome thing later though. I assume everyone’s arriving at different times. I might go out and have an explore soon, go see the lake and all that. Then I’ll make a cuppa and have a read before I have to socialise.”
Remus can hear Marlene’s muffled snort. “How very you .”
“Why does that sound like an insult?”
“It’s not an insult, it’s merely an observation. Here, let me guess: you’ll sit by the window with your wee cuppa and book, and you’ll think, ‘Hmm, I could really do with something sweet,’ so you’ll retrieve the chocolate that’s hidden in the bottom of your suitcase and dunk it in your tea like the absolute madman you are.”
“Shut up.”
“Who is it, Remus? Le Guin or Hobb? C’mon, I know your habits, you sweet little creature of comfort.”
Remus sighs. “Le Guin, and I just have one block of Lindt at the bottom of my suitcase. Just in case.” Marlene guffaws. “And shut up. Dunking is not that weird.”
“It is weird. Dunking biscuits is perfectly acceptable, but chocolate ? Absolutely barbaric. Doesn’t it get all messy? Eugh. Even the thought of it disturbs me.”
“Look, don’t get fresh with me, Miss—”
“Get Fresh !? They replaced you with an even weirder clone upon entry. I love it.”
“I told you: you can’t trust Peter Rabbit. He’s up to no good.”
“Clearly. Alright, I’ll leave you to your precious pre-socialising rituals. Lovely chat.”
“Take care, Marl.”
“You too, Remus. Oh, one more thing.”
“Yes?”
“Happy dunking—”
***
Remus spends the afternoon quietly exploring the town and lakeside. Rather morbidly, he thinks Windermere would be a wonderful place to come to die, and he pictures himself as the Queen of Shalott, sweetly gliding out to the centre of the lake, where he simply ceases to exist. Real death is messy, Remus thinks. It’s a destructive force that wreaks and warps. But out here, it could be gentle. Peaceful , even.
Several hours later, he finds himself at the afternoon tea, which has been set up in the manicured gardens of the hotel. There aren’t too many people there, just the other contestants, crew, the judges, and the hosts, but Remus still finds himself feeling overwhelmed, especially when he glimpses a shock of black hair across the lawn.
He mingles with some of the contestants who are also standing around the food table. Kingsley, Remus observes, is quietly confident and almost unfairly handsome. The other man, Arthur, has kind eyes and is an extremely good listener. He laughs and smiles after everything that Kingsley and Remus say, every smile helping Remus feel more at ease.
As they watch the hotel staff lay the table—scones, sandwiches, and Victoria sponge—Arthur confides in him, “I didn’t think I’d get in, you know. I’ve been baking for twenty years, but most of the time it’s a complete disaster! You really never know what’s going to happen once you put something in the oven…”
Hearing this has the dual effect of soothing Remus and as making him more nervous. Like Arthur, many of his bakes have been coloured by disaster: he will never forget his first attempt at sourdough, which was an unmitigated disaster of truly epic proportions that almost put him off baking altogether. Even so, Remus is very aware that he doesn’t have the experience that the other contestants likely have. He’s only really, seriously , been baking for the past few months, which puts him at an automatic disadvantage.
“Are those cucumber sandwiches? Fuck yes.” Remus’ head whips up at the sound of the voice, and when he sees who it is, his heart gives a sharp jolt. There he is, Sirius Black, gloriously clad in a white silk shirt and black velvet pants.
Perhaps it’s because of Sirius’s larger-than-life presence on stage, but Remus had always expected to be looking up at him, as one gazes up at a statue. Instead, he finds himself with a perfect view of the crown of Sirius’s head. It’s not that he’s short—he’s nearly as tall as Remus, actually—but there’s something so human about Sirius’s height that catches Remus off-guard.
At that thought, Sirius looks up, his eyes meeting Remus’s. In photos, his eyes always looked like molten silver—beautiful, sharp, and cold—but the eyes in front of Remus aren’t the quicksilver that he’d expected. They’re stormy and remind him of the rough waters of the Welsh coast where Remus grew up; familiar instead of foreign.
“Afternoon, I’m Sirius. Are you a contestant?”
“Uh, I—yeah. I am. A contestant, that is.”
Sirius smiles around a mouthful of his sandwich, little crumbs clinging to his bottom lip, which he swipes away with his tongue. “My bathroom has a Peter Rabbit mural in the shower. Does yours? I feel like I should wear my knickers in the shower; I don't want to scandalise the poor rabbit.”
A nervous laugh rips through Remus's chest. “Yeah, um. He’s above my toilet. Eye level.”
Despite Remus's awkwardness, Sirius laughs, but before he’s able to reply, he’s whisked off by the production team, his half-eaten sandwich in hand.
As he's steered away, he turns back to Remus, waving his sandwich in some kind of farewell gesture, and says, “Nice to meet you, contestant!”
Remus watches Sirius’s retreating form, biting his lip, before turning back to Kingsley and Arthur, who are in an impassioned discussion about the advantages and disadvantages of Italian and Swiss meringue.
Remus knows he shouldn’t be surprised that Sirius is just a regular person—the kind of regular person who enjoys cucumber sandwiches, apparently—instead of some magical entity.
Still, there’s something kind of magical about him, Remus can't help thinking.
***
thesiriusblack: why are cucumber sandwiches so delicious? when individually the components are so eh?? please, twitter scientists, i'm begging you to solve this mystery
***
Later when Remus gets back to his room, his cautious excitement has largely worn off and is replaced with the sort of wearyness that he often experiences after socialisation. And, in the silence of his room, he’s reunited with an uncomfortable emptiness that’s made itself at home within his chest for the past four months. It makes him feel exposed, as if his body itself is an open wound. It’s these moments that he's come to fear the most: the nothingness and the silence.
It makes him want to run. He’s good at that; at running. This time, though, he’s determined to see Bake Off through. At the very least, it's something to focus on, to fixate on, for the next six weeks. Remus will deal with everything else when he has to: for possibly the first time in his life, he is resolute that he’ll deal with the future when it happens.
For now, he just has to survive the weekend.