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nekare at 10:27pm on 16/01/2006 under blanketforts, fic, fireworks series, hp, remus/sirius
nekare at 10:27pm on 16/01/2006 under blanketforts, fic, fireworks series, hp, remus/siriusWee! I'm back with an update. Only two chapters left, at most, but if I'm lucky It'll wrap it up tomorrow. I've just realised there hasn't been any Snape in this. Does that fact shows how I feel about him? Also, full moon tomorrow, since for all intents and purposes this chapter happens on January 13th 1978, but this month's full moon was on the 14th, so I'll just cheat and use that XD
Title: Eat Me Raw
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1639
Author Notes: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
blanketforts, with the prompt: Frozen Windowpanes. Comments will be loved to death!
Fireworks series: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14
There’s frost crawling up the window in Gryffindor Tower the next morning, overcoming the glass with an intricate spider web of lacy ice and falling drops. Remus breaths over it, and takes pleasure as it melts slowly, rivulets of water that feel like his unshed tears.
(Blood tears, that’s what he really wants to shed.)
A stubborn bird that just wouldn’t fly south is standing in a distant branch, the soft red of its chest looks drowned out amidst the snow, and at the same time making the eye forget about the presence of white, color the only thing surviving as the light goes through the pupils.
Opposites, thinks Remus, are everything.
Take life and death, for example.
---
Remus has never hated being in Dumbledore’s office as now, with Lily curling a lock of red hair around her index finger as she struggles to look the Headmaster in the eye; Peter shuffling his feet nervously at his left. James tells the story, and his low voice somehow makes that night sound cheap, easy and slightly boring, instead of summoning forth the bone-chilling images of blood on Voldemort’s toes, rapid heartbeats in the dark under the stone, shudders climbing up his spine with fear and adrenaline and madness.
(He leaves out, though, Remus’ near miss with a curse).
Dumbledore listens, chin supported by his linked hands, moon-shaped glasses sitting at the tip of his nose. Remus listens too, eyes almost closed and with a knot on his stomach wanting to come alive and eat him inside out, slowly, steadily, a masochist kind of torture.
The tale ends, and Dumbledore stands up to pet Fawkes at the side, the phoenix that already knows them so well from so many trips up there to be punished. Silence stretches for a minute, and Sirius starts tapping his fingers against the desk in hopes to stop the silence from being deafening. He fails, and then Dumbledore sits again, an impossible to read expression on his face.
“You do understand you all have detention, don’t you?” This isn’t what they’re expecting, and none of them can help but flinch in confusion. Remus blinks, and after they all look at each other they nod slowly. “Good. Then we can go on to the important matters.”
They just stare at him, and Dumbledore seems to take that as a yes. “This information will be of crucial help to the Order, my dear boys, and in their behalf, I say thank you.”
“What is the-”
“I believe your companions will inform you of that later, Miss Evans.” Dumbledore interrupts Lily managing to pass the sharp gesture for a warm one.
“Oh,”
Dumbledore clears his throat, and speaks again. “I am terribly sad you had to go through this, but I assure you your horrible story won’t be in vain. The Order is already tracking the place, and we think we’ve found a match for the description of the poor girl. Now her relatives will be aware of what happened to her, instead of remaining in anguish over her disappearance.” Remus reckons knowing what became of her would be a more horrible thing to know, but he keeps the thought to himself. “And of course, this is classified information and none of it shall leave the room, right?” Dumbledore’s order is veiled with suggestion, charged with enough of a little bit of magic that they nod immediately.
Remus is itching to get out, to smell the weak winter sunshine again and bury himself in the snow in hopes that his sorrow will bleed into it, tainting it gray and leaving him whole again. They don’t know what to say, so they don’t say anything at all, five child-adults gulping and making a point to look elsewhere.
“You must know that I’m incredibly proud of you, and that if you still wish it, there is a place for all of you in the Order once you’re out of school.”
“No.” says Remus, lips taut and mind set.
“What?” say the other three boys in voices slightly higher than they had probably intended too, looking at him as if he had grown an extra head. Dumbledore looks almost confused also, it such emotion can be on his face. Lily just looks like she’s bursting with questions.
“I said, thanks but no thanks, Professor. Not any of us will take those places.” The boys stare at him, wide-eyed and mouths open, heads wondering; but Remus knows he can’t drag them again to a certain death, to a murky future plagued with shadows and uncertainties. Not them. Not ever.
“Well speak for yourself,” hisses Sirius while James and Peter are still gaping, eyebrows drawn together and glaring at Remus with that curled lip that marks him as the Heir of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black, filled with disdain and an addicting touch of madness. He stands up as he says: “I’m taking you on the offer, Professor.”
“No you won’t,” challenges Remus, staring straight into the gray eyes that always drive him to his own form of oblivion, steely words pronounced a breath away from each other, marking a tempo of an order he only ever uses when he’s the Alpha male in the pack.
Sirius leans down closer to Remus, shaking an accusatory finger into his face. “You’ve no claim over my actions, Lupin, and I will do as I want to.” There’s childishness in his voice, a spoiled brat that always gets his way, and yet there’s a glimpse of a grown-up in there, fighting for his convictions. There’s rage oppressing Remus’ airway, but just as he is about to open his mouth, Dumbledore – who is frowning slightly, speaks again.
“Did something happen in there to change you mind, Mr. Lupin? Something I should know about?” A not-so-subtle inquiry, a raised eyebrow that demands for the truth.
Green flashes inside Remus’ mind, an imprint of lugubrious fireworks dancing behind his eyelids, and the taste of ashes on his tongue. Everyone looks at him, but no one adds anything after his words.
“No, Professor.”
---
Remus skips classes that day, after he couldn’t bear any more second of James passing note after note to Lily explaining her just what exactly had happened at the Headmaster’s office. He stays by the window in their dorm, trying to read his father’s favorite book and never turning a single page, printed letters mingling and surging from nowhere, swirling and dancing the most subtle of ballets for him, Es standing on tiptoe, Is (mea culpa, mea culpa, mea culpa) pirouetting with red spots blossoming on their tutus.
There’s a bang to the door, and then his three friends are there, Sirius at the lead looking murderous and eatable with his eyes ablaze. “Just what the fuck is wrong with you?” he asks the second Remus sees him, arms crossed against his chest.
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, stop acting innocent,” says Peter, and Remus’ attention is finally on them. If Peter is as angry as well, then he doesn’t have a chance. He sighs, slowly, and lays his head on the frozen window, one eye fixed in the naked trees and the other on his three fuming friends.
“You’re steaming yourself up in guilt, aren’t you?” asks Sirius and manages to make it sound as a statement, as a truth. Remus doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t need to.
“Will you stop it already?” begs James, with his hands going up and down. “Remus none of this was your fault, all right?”
“He would have deserved it.” Sirius serene words puncture a black (or maybe a Black) hole into his brain, and Remus jumps to his feet, face reddening from anger.
“No he wouldn’t have!” He yells, too angry to pretend, too angry to care. “Don’t you see? I’m just the same as him, thinking ending a life might make my problems go away, when the world doesn’t work like that!” Remus is panting, and his voice falls as he adds “I’m just like him. Just like him.”
Sirius moves forward unexpectedly, and he pushes him until the impact with the stone wall drives the breath out of Remus’ lungs. “Don’t ever say that again!” Sirius growls, noses touching, breath entering his own mouth. “You’re nothing like that poor excuse for a human being, and you are worth a thousand of men like him. Don’t, just. Don’t.” Remus can sense more than see the anxious looks James and Peter are sharing across the room, wondering about this new development. Remus wriggles, and Sirius only comes closer.
“I meant it enough for the curse to work, Sirius, just what does that tells you?”
“But you didn’t do it. You didn’t, and that makes you a better person that I or weaker men are. You didn’t, and that makes a world of difference.” Sirius leans his forehead against Remus’, and he suddenly wants to believe him so very much.
“He’s right, Moony. You went against your very brain in order to keep your principles. You should be proud of yourself. I am.”
“I am too,” adds Peter, still looking somewhat edgy, and Remus melts.
He sags to the ground, bringing Sirius along as he clings to his shirt, crying and not stopping, not being able to stop. Sirius holds him in the floor, cradling his head, and James and Peter come to sit on either side of him, but they don’t try to break their embrace.
The guilt is still there, looking wild and hungry, lose on his brain, but he knows one day it will disappear.
(The fall asleep against the wall, and when he wakes up in the middle of the night, he can’t help but trace Sirius lips with his fingertips in a silky touch that is meant to say thank you).
Title: Eat Me Raw
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1639
Author Notes: Written for
blanketforts, with the prompt: Frozen Windowpanes. Comments will be loved to death!Fireworks series: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14
There’s frost crawling up the window in Gryffindor Tower the next morning, overcoming the glass with an intricate spider web of lacy ice and falling drops. Remus breaths over it, and takes pleasure as it melts slowly, rivulets of water that feel like his unshed tears.
(Blood tears, that’s what he really wants to shed.)
A stubborn bird that just wouldn’t fly south is standing in a distant branch, the soft red of its chest looks drowned out amidst the snow, and at the same time making the eye forget about the presence of white, color the only thing surviving as the light goes through the pupils.
Opposites, thinks Remus, are everything.
Take life and death, for example.
---
Remus has never hated being in Dumbledore’s office as now, with Lily curling a lock of red hair around her index finger as she struggles to look the Headmaster in the eye; Peter shuffling his feet nervously at his left. James tells the story, and his low voice somehow makes that night sound cheap, easy and slightly boring, instead of summoning forth the bone-chilling images of blood on Voldemort’s toes, rapid heartbeats in the dark under the stone, shudders climbing up his spine with fear and adrenaline and madness.
(He leaves out, though, Remus’ near miss with a curse).
Dumbledore listens, chin supported by his linked hands, moon-shaped glasses sitting at the tip of his nose. Remus listens too, eyes almost closed and with a knot on his stomach wanting to come alive and eat him inside out, slowly, steadily, a masochist kind of torture.
The tale ends, and Dumbledore stands up to pet Fawkes at the side, the phoenix that already knows them so well from so many trips up there to be punished. Silence stretches for a minute, and Sirius starts tapping his fingers against the desk in hopes to stop the silence from being deafening. He fails, and then Dumbledore sits again, an impossible to read expression on his face.
“You do understand you all have detention, don’t you?” This isn’t what they’re expecting, and none of them can help but flinch in confusion. Remus blinks, and after they all look at each other they nod slowly. “Good. Then we can go on to the important matters.”
They just stare at him, and Dumbledore seems to take that as a yes. “This information will be of crucial help to the Order, my dear boys, and in their behalf, I say thank you.”
“What is the-”
“I believe your companions will inform you of that later, Miss Evans.” Dumbledore interrupts Lily managing to pass the sharp gesture for a warm one.
“Oh,”
Dumbledore clears his throat, and speaks again. “I am terribly sad you had to go through this, but I assure you your horrible story won’t be in vain. The Order is already tracking the place, and we think we’ve found a match for the description of the poor girl. Now her relatives will be aware of what happened to her, instead of remaining in anguish over her disappearance.” Remus reckons knowing what became of her would be a more horrible thing to know, but he keeps the thought to himself. “And of course, this is classified information and none of it shall leave the room, right?” Dumbledore’s order is veiled with suggestion, charged with enough of a little bit of magic that they nod immediately.
Remus is itching to get out, to smell the weak winter sunshine again and bury himself in the snow in hopes that his sorrow will bleed into it, tainting it gray and leaving him whole again. They don’t know what to say, so they don’t say anything at all, five child-adults gulping and making a point to look elsewhere.
“You must know that I’m incredibly proud of you, and that if you still wish it, there is a place for all of you in the Order once you’re out of school.”
“No.” says Remus, lips taut and mind set.
“What?” say the other three boys in voices slightly higher than they had probably intended too, looking at him as if he had grown an extra head. Dumbledore looks almost confused also, it such emotion can be on his face. Lily just looks like she’s bursting with questions.
“I said, thanks but no thanks, Professor. Not any of us will take those places.” The boys stare at him, wide-eyed and mouths open, heads wondering; but Remus knows he can’t drag them again to a certain death, to a murky future plagued with shadows and uncertainties. Not them. Not ever.
“Well speak for yourself,” hisses Sirius while James and Peter are still gaping, eyebrows drawn together and glaring at Remus with that curled lip that marks him as the Heir of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black, filled with disdain and an addicting touch of madness. He stands up as he says: “I’m taking you on the offer, Professor.”
“No you won’t,” challenges Remus, staring straight into the gray eyes that always drive him to his own form of oblivion, steely words pronounced a breath away from each other, marking a tempo of an order he only ever uses when he’s the Alpha male in the pack.
Sirius leans down closer to Remus, shaking an accusatory finger into his face. “You’ve no claim over my actions, Lupin, and I will do as I want to.” There’s childishness in his voice, a spoiled brat that always gets his way, and yet there’s a glimpse of a grown-up in there, fighting for his convictions. There’s rage oppressing Remus’ airway, but just as he is about to open his mouth, Dumbledore – who is frowning slightly, speaks again.
“Did something happen in there to change you mind, Mr. Lupin? Something I should know about?” A not-so-subtle inquiry, a raised eyebrow that demands for the truth.
Green flashes inside Remus’ mind, an imprint of lugubrious fireworks dancing behind his eyelids, and the taste of ashes on his tongue. Everyone looks at him, but no one adds anything after his words.
“No, Professor.”
---
Remus skips classes that day, after he couldn’t bear any more second of James passing note after note to Lily explaining her just what exactly had happened at the Headmaster’s office. He stays by the window in their dorm, trying to read his father’s favorite book and never turning a single page, printed letters mingling and surging from nowhere, swirling and dancing the most subtle of ballets for him, Es standing on tiptoe, Is (mea culpa, mea culpa, mea culpa) pirouetting with red spots blossoming on their tutus.
There’s a bang to the door, and then his three friends are there, Sirius at the lead looking murderous and eatable with his eyes ablaze. “Just what the fuck is wrong with you?” he asks the second Remus sees him, arms crossed against his chest.
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, stop acting innocent,” says Peter, and Remus’ attention is finally on them. If Peter is as angry as well, then he doesn’t have a chance. He sighs, slowly, and lays his head on the frozen window, one eye fixed in the naked trees and the other on his three fuming friends.
“You’re steaming yourself up in guilt, aren’t you?” asks Sirius and manages to make it sound as a statement, as a truth. Remus doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t need to.
“Will you stop it already?” begs James, with his hands going up and down. “Remus none of this was your fault, all right?”
“He would have deserved it.” Sirius serene words puncture a black (or maybe a Black) hole into his brain, and Remus jumps to his feet, face reddening from anger.
“No he wouldn’t have!” He yells, too angry to pretend, too angry to care. “Don’t you see? I’m just the same as him, thinking ending a life might make my problems go away, when the world doesn’t work like that!” Remus is panting, and his voice falls as he adds “I’m just like him. Just like him.”
Sirius moves forward unexpectedly, and he pushes him until the impact with the stone wall drives the breath out of Remus’ lungs. “Don’t ever say that again!” Sirius growls, noses touching, breath entering his own mouth. “You’re nothing like that poor excuse for a human being, and you are worth a thousand of men like him. Don’t, just. Don’t.” Remus can sense more than see the anxious looks James and Peter are sharing across the room, wondering about this new development. Remus wriggles, and Sirius only comes closer.
“I meant it enough for the curse to work, Sirius, just what does that tells you?”
“But you didn’t do it. You didn’t, and that makes you a better person that I or weaker men are. You didn’t, and that makes a world of difference.” Sirius leans his forehead against Remus’, and he suddenly wants to believe him so very much.
“He’s right, Moony. You went against your very brain in order to keep your principles. You should be proud of yourself. I am.”
“I am too,” adds Peter, still looking somewhat edgy, and Remus melts.
He sags to the ground, bringing Sirius along as he clings to his shirt, crying and not stopping, not being able to stop. Sirius holds him in the floor, cradling his head, and James and Peter come to sit on either side of him, but they don’t try to break their embrace.
The guilt is still there, looking wild and hungry, lose on his brain, but he knows one day it will disappear.
(The fall asleep against the wall, and when he wakes up in the middle of the night, he can’t help but trace Sirius lips with his fingertips in a silky touch that is meant to say thank you).
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