Bits of stories
Sep. 2nd, 2004 09:02 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rynneHere are some bits of stories that I've started and never got around to continuing. Maybe having put them up here will remind me that they still exist. All titles are just working titles, being as the fic is WiP.
Remus wonders why he’s there sometimes. He listens to Mrs Black’s portrait screaming, at the house-elf heads on the walls and the insane living house-elf wandering the house, at the library full of books with pure silver bindings, and then he’s not sure what he’s doing in a place like this, where even the house seems to not welcome him as a halfblood and a werewolf.
But then he sees Sirius wandering around the house, and he is reminded again of why he stays there. He sees Sirius walking around, clutching his wand tightly to his chest. He sees the empty bottles of alcohol lying in Buckbeak’s room, and supposes that Sirius was trying to be clever by hiding them there, and didn’t quite realize that he’d been found out yet. He sees Mrs Black yelling at her son and Kreacher muttering at his master, and sees Sirius’s fingers clench around the smooth shaft of wood he carries around all over before apparently deciding that it’s not worth hexing either the portrait or the elf when he knows that someone would be bound to scold him for it, and lets his fingers relax.
Remus sees scenes like that, and knows why he stays. It’s because Sirius has no one else but him, and also because he has no one else but Sirius. They are all that’s left of the once-proud group who swore their friendship would never be broken. It’s not fair, but Remus had long ago given up all hope that life would be fair. Now all his hope was directed towards just surviving.
“Sirius,” Remus says at the breakfast table, when Remus is not out on a mission and it is just the two of them.
*
Harry shivered in the open air of the cold December night despite his jumper, jeans, and thick socks, and glanced over at his companion for what seemed at least the tenth time that night. Remus Lupin, however, remained as silent as he had been since they’d come out to the back garden of Grimmauld Place, and looked up at the clear skies above them. Harry felt a breeze pass his face and stuck his hands in his pockets, teeth chattering slightly.
“Professor Lupin?” Harry asked, wanting to get whatever Lupin had called him out here for over with so he could go back to the warmth inside the house. It was midnight, and he was already tired and cold. Lupin tore his gaze away from the night sky and finally looked at him, golden-brown eyes piercing.
“‘The stars awaken a certain reverence, because though always present, they are always inaccessible,’” Lupin said softly. Harry blinked and felt a sudden surge of annoyance. Lupin hadn’t brought him out here to be cryptic with him, had he? Seeing the irritated look on Harry’s face, Lupin seemed to shake himself, and smiled. “Emerson,” he explained. “An American Muggle poet and essayist who lived over one hundred years ago. One of his philosophies was that nature and man are part of a universal whole that people could see their souls reflected in.”
Harry blinked. Was that supposed to make sense? he wondered, but kept his thoughts to himself. Instead, he said, “Er, Professor? You didn’t bring me out here to tell me about Muggle philosophy, did you?”
Lupin shook his head, but didn’t offer an explanation yet. “Have a seat, Harry,” he said, gesturing towards the frost-covered grass and taking a seat himself. Carefully, Harry sat down and winced as his legs grew colder. Lupin showed no sign of the cold having affected him, and was back to gazing upward at the stars.
“So…” Harry started as the silence began to grow uncomfortable, “why did you bring me out here? Because you know, it is rather cold…” Harry trailed off.
“Do you know where Canis Major is, Harry?” Lupin asked, leaning back on his elbows. He glanced quickly at Harry, who was looking at him with an eyebrow raised.
“Yeah,” Harry replied. “We learned in Astronomy. It’s…” he leaned back too, trying to spot the constellation. He pointed as he found the grouping of stars with the particularly bright one. “…there. But what does Canis Major have to do with anything?”
“What’s the brightest star called?” Lupin prompted.
“Sirius, the Dog Star,” Harry replied automatically, and then the impact hit his brain and he quickly stood up, nearly slipping on the frost. Once he was upright, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and glared at Lupin, who was looking back at him from his position on the ground, his face expressionless. Harry scuffed a toe against the grass and said, “Look, I know what you’re trying to do, and I’d really rather not. So if it’s all right with you, I’ll just be going back inside now.”
Harry turned to face the house again. Behind him, Lupin asked quietly, “And what am I trying to do?”
“Trying to get me to talk about him,” Harry replied without turning around. “But like I said, I’d really rather not. So I’m go—” he cut his sentence off as a warm hand descended on his shoulder. He hadn’t even heard Lupin get up.
“You aren’t the only one that’s grieving, Harry,” Lupin said softly, and Harry turned around, wrenching himself out of Lupin’s grasp.
“Going to tell me that life goes on, are you?” he asked, his breath starting to come more quickly. “Going to tell me that he’d want me to live as best I can? That he wouldn’t want me to grieve this much?”
“Actually, while he would want you to live as best you can and that he wouldn’t want you to be sad, a part of him would be pleased that you are,” Lupin replied wryly, then gave a small half-smile. “He’d know that it means you care.”
“What about you?” Harry returned, knowing that it was nasty and not caring. Maybe Lupin would stop trying to get him to spill his every emotion if he was insulted. “You appear to be doing well enough. Where’s your grief?” Almost as soon as he said it, he regretted it, regretted implying that Lupin hadn’t cared for Sirius at all when he’d seen evidence of the opposite so many times, but he just wanted Lupin to leave him alone.
“I’ve had practice in containing it,” Lupin replied serenely, though Harry saw pain flash briefly through his eyes. Harry closed his eyes and slumped to the ground again. Idiot, idiot! he berated himself. Pour salt in old wounds, why don’t you?
“Professor, I’m sorry—” he said awkwardly, looking down and idly picking at a few blades of grass.
“Remus,” Lupin interrupted. He smiled when Harry looked up. “Call me Remus. I should have told you that a long time ago.” He knelt down next to Harry on the grass.
“All right then—Remus,” Harry said, trying to smile in return, though giving up when he only produced a sort of half-grimace.
*
It started so innocently. First year, and, “Wouldn’t it be nice if we could have something that would track where everyone was for us?” James said.
Remus thought, Well yes, it would be rather nice, but then they’d be able to track me too, and that wouldn’t be all that nice.
And Sirius was enthusiastic, as always, for anything interesting that James said. He played it down, to seem cool and detached, but it was easy to see the fire in his eyes. “Hmm,” he said, like he was thinking about it, and if it was a good idea or not.
Peter didn’t try to hide his enthusiasm, equal to or greater than Sirius’s for anything that James said. “Brilliant idea!” he exclaimed, as he did to nearly all of James’s plots.
Remus was the only voice of dissent, though it wasn’t even out loud, so it didn’t matter all that much.
Second year, and they still liked the idea.
“We could come see you, in the Shack, and leave when Madam Pomfrey comes,” James said. “We’d know when she was coming because of the spell.”
And Remus thought, But I wouldn’t want you to see me that way, naked and bloody and cold. Being a werewolf isn’t like having a monthly cold, James.
And Sirius agreed with James, as always. The fire in his eyes was still there, even when, or especially when, he looked at Remus and saw a boy with circles under his eyes and long robes to cover cuts and bruises. “And we could do research in the Restricted Section, and know when someone’s coming,” he said, and it was obvious he thought it was a good idea. “And we could find some way to cure you.”
“We can do it, Remus!” Peter enthused. Not only because he agreed with James and Sirius, or not because he wanted to agree with James and Sirius, but also because he didn’t want Remus to be a werewolf. Werewolves were scary creatures, after all.
Remus still wasn’t sold on the idea, but his friends were, and they really were his friends, and what wouldn’t you do for your friends?
Third year, and James still had all the ideas. “Why don’t we make it a map?” he said. “A map of Hogwarts and the grounds, and put the tracking spell on that?”
Remus thought, A map? Of all of Hogwarts? It would have to be an awfully big map then, how else would it fit in all the floors, the towers and the dungeons, and all?
*
Sirius felt as if he were dying, as if bits and pieces of himself were coming loose and tumbling away, and no matter how far he reached out his hand, he couldn’t grasp them and bring them back into himself. He didn’t know where they went, but perhaps they had been eaten by the house. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time the house had eaten something of Sirius’s.
He didn’t think anyone else thought he was dying, if not already dead. He didn’t think that Molly would glare and insult a dead man, or that Mundungus would tease and rib a dead man, or that Harry would pay any attention to what a dead man said. But Molly and Mundungus and Harry weren’t there, and so what did they know? Dead man walking, Sirius thought sometimes without humor, when there was only the creakings of an old house and the mutterings of a mad house-elf to keep him company. Not many seemed to want to stay in the house with him for long, but Sirius didn’t blame them for not wanting to be around a dead man.
Remus was there, though. Or at least, Remus was there more often than anyone else was, because maybe Remus could see the death in Sirius’s face as he walked into Grimmauld Place for the first time in twenty years, and Remus offered to move in with him, and Sirius couldn’t tell him no. He wanted to. He wanted Remus to stay away from the dark dreary house that probably hated him in its own way for what he was and could not help being, because Remus would be better off away from more hate, but Sirius couldn’t say no. Maybe Remus knew that. Maybe Remus looked into his face and saw that he would shatter if left alone in that place for too long, and that was why Remus quietly moved in with him.
Don't know what else to do with them--I don't know if I'll be writing them anymore. Might as well put what I have up, I suppose. When's WiP Amnesty Day again?
Remus wonders why he’s there sometimes. He listens to Mrs Black’s portrait screaming, at the house-elf heads on the walls and the insane living house-elf wandering the house, at the library full of books with pure silver bindings, and then he’s not sure what he’s doing in a place like this, where even the house seems to not welcome him as a halfblood and a werewolf.
But then he sees Sirius wandering around the house, and he is reminded again of why he stays there. He sees Sirius walking around, clutching his wand tightly to his chest. He sees the empty bottles of alcohol lying in Buckbeak’s room, and supposes that Sirius was trying to be clever by hiding them there, and didn’t quite realize that he’d been found out yet. He sees Mrs Black yelling at her son and Kreacher muttering at his master, and sees Sirius’s fingers clench around the smooth shaft of wood he carries around all over before apparently deciding that it’s not worth hexing either the portrait or the elf when he knows that someone would be bound to scold him for it, and lets his fingers relax.
Remus sees scenes like that, and knows why he stays. It’s because Sirius has no one else but him, and also because he has no one else but Sirius. They are all that’s left of the once-proud group who swore their friendship would never be broken. It’s not fair, but Remus had long ago given up all hope that life would be fair. Now all his hope was directed towards just surviving.
“Sirius,” Remus says at the breakfast table, when Remus is not out on a mission and it is just the two of them.
*
Harry shivered in the open air of the cold December night despite his jumper, jeans, and thick socks, and glanced over at his companion for what seemed at least the tenth time that night. Remus Lupin, however, remained as silent as he had been since they’d come out to the back garden of Grimmauld Place, and looked up at the clear skies above them. Harry felt a breeze pass his face and stuck his hands in his pockets, teeth chattering slightly.
“Professor Lupin?” Harry asked, wanting to get whatever Lupin had called him out here for over with so he could go back to the warmth inside the house. It was midnight, and he was already tired and cold. Lupin tore his gaze away from the night sky and finally looked at him, golden-brown eyes piercing.
“‘The stars awaken a certain reverence, because though always present, they are always inaccessible,’” Lupin said softly. Harry blinked and felt a sudden surge of annoyance. Lupin hadn’t brought him out here to be cryptic with him, had he? Seeing the irritated look on Harry’s face, Lupin seemed to shake himself, and smiled. “Emerson,” he explained. “An American Muggle poet and essayist who lived over one hundred years ago. One of his philosophies was that nature and man are part of a universal whole that people could see their souls reflected in.”
Harry blinked. Was that supposed to make sense? he wondered, but kept his thoughts to himself. Instead, he said, “Er, Professor? You didn’t bring me out here to tell me about Muggle philosophy, did you?”
Lupin shook his head, but didn’t offer an explanation yet. “Have a seat, Harry,” he said, gesturing towards the frost-covered grass and taking a seat himself. Carefully, Harry sat down and winced as his legs grew colder. Lupin showed no sign of the cold having affected him, and was back to gazing upward at the stars.
“So…” Harry started as the silence began to grow uncomfortable, “why did you bring me out here? Because you know, it is rather cold…” Harry trailed off.
“Do you know where Canis Major is, Harry?” Lupin asked, leaning back on his elbows. He glanced quickly at Harry, who was looking at him with an eyebrow raised.
“Yeah,” Harry replied. “We learned in Astronomy. It’s…” he leaned back too, trying to spot the constellation. He pointed as he found the grouping of stars with the particularly bright one. “…there. But what does Canis Major have to do with anything?”
“What’s the brightest star called?” Lupin prompted.
“Sirius, the Dog Star,” Harry replied automatically, and then the impact hit his brain and he quickly stood up, nearly slipping on the frost. Once he was upright, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and glared at Lupin, who was looking back at him from his position on the ground, his face expressionless. Harry scuffed a toe against the grass and said, “Look, I know what you’re trying to do, and I’d really rather not. So if it’s all right with you, I’ll just be going back inside now.”
Harry turned to face the house again. Behind him, Lupin asked quietly, “And what am I trying to do?”
“Trying to get me to talk about him,” Harry replied without turning around. “But like I said, I’d really rather not. So I’m go—” he cut his sentence off as a warm hand descended on his shoulder. He hadn’t even heard Lupin get up.
“You aren’t the only one that’s grieving, Harry,” Lupin said softly, and Harry turned around, wrenching himself out of Lupin’s grasp.
“Going to tell me that life goes on, are you?” he asked, his breath starting to come more quickly. “Going to tell me that he’d want me to live as best I can? That he wouldn’t want me to grieve this much?”
“Actually, while he would want you to live as best you can and that he wouldn’t want you to be sad, a part of him would be pleased that you are,” Lupin replied wryly, then gave a small half-smile. “He’d know that it means you care.”
“What about you?” Harry returned, knowing that it was nasty and not caring. Maybe Lupin would stop trying to get him to spill his every emotion if he was insulted. “You appear to be doing well enough. Where’s your grief?” Almost as soon as he said it, he regretted it, regretted implying that Lupin hadn’t cared for Sirius at all when he’d seen evidence of the opposite so many times, but he just wanted Lupin to leave him alone.
“I’ve had practice in containing it,” Lupin replied serenely, though Harry saw pain flash briefly through his eyes. Harry closed his eyes and slumped to the ground again. Idiot, idiot! he berated himself. Pour salt in old wounds, why don’t you?
“Professor, I’m sorry—” he said awkwardly, looking down and idly picking at a few blades of grass.
“Remus,” Lupin interrupted. He smiled when Harry looked up. “Call me Remus. I should have told you that a long time ago.” He knelt down next to Harry on the grass.
“All right then—Remus,” Harry said, trying to smile in return, though giving up when he only produced a sort of half-grimace.
*
It started so innocently. First year, and, “Wouldn’t it be nice if we could have something that would track where everyone was for us?” James said.
Remus thought, Well yes, it would be rather nice, but then they’d be able to track me too, and that wouldn’t be all that nice.
And Sirius was enthusiastic, as always, for anything interesting that James said. He played it down, to seem cool and detached, but it was easy to see the fire in his eyes. “Hmm,” he said, like he was thinking about it, and if it was a good idea or not.
Peter didn’t try to hide his enthusiasm, equal to or greater than Sirius’s for anything that James said. “Brilliant idea!” he exclaimed, as he did to nearly all of James’s plots.
Remus was the only voice of dissent, though it wasn’t even out loud, so it didn’t matter all that much.
Second year, and they still liked the idea.
“We could come see you, in the Shack, and leave when Madam Pomfrey comes,” James said. “We’d know when she was coming because of the spell.”
And Remus thought, But I wouldn’t want you to see me that way, naked and bloody and cold. Being a werewolf isn’t like having a monthly cold, James.
And Sirius agreed with James, as always. The fire in his eyes was still there, even when, or especially when, he looked at Remus and saw a boy with circles under his eyes and long robes to cover cuts and bruises. “And we could do research in the Restricted Section, and know when someone’s coming,” he said, and it was obvious he thought it was a good idea. “And we could find some way to cure you.”
“We can do it, Remus!” Peter enthused. Not only because he agreed with James and Sirius, or not because he wanted to agree with James and Sirius, but also because he didn’t want Remus to be a werewolf. Werewolves were scary creatures, after all.
Remus still wasn’t sold on the idea, but his friends were, and they really were his friends, and what wouldn’t you do for your friends?
Third year, and James still had all the ideas. “Why don’t we make it a map?” he said. “A map of Hogwarts and the grounds, and put the tracking spell on that?”
Remus thought, A map? Of all of Hogwarts? It would have to be an awfully big map then, how else would it fit in all the floors, the towers and the dungeons, and all?
*
Sirius felt as if he were dying, as if bits and pieces of himself were coming loose and tumbling away, and no matter how far he reached out his hand, he couldn’t grasp them and bring them back into himself. He didn’t know where they went, but perhaps they had been eaten by the house. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time the house had eaten something of Sirius’s.
He didn’t think anyone else thought he was dying, if not already dead. He didn’t think that Molly would glare and insult a dead man, or that Mundungus would tease and rib a dead man, or that Harry would pay any attention to what a dead man said. But Molly and Mundungus and Harry weren’t there, and so what did they know? Dead man walking, Sirius thought sometimes without humor, when there was only the creakings of an old house and the mutterings of a mad house-elf to keep him company. Not many seemed to want to stay in the house with him for long, but Sirius didn’t blame them for not wanting to be around a dead man.
Remus was there, though. Or at least, Remus was there more often than anyone else was, because maybe Remus could see the death in Sirius’s face as he walked into Grimmauld Place for the first time in twenty years, and Remus offered to move in with him, and Sirius couldn’t tell him no. He wanted to. He wanted Remus to stay away from the dark dreary house that probably hated him in its own way for what he was and could not help being, because Remus would be better off away from more hate, but Sirius couldn’t say no. Maybe Remus knew that. Maybe Remus looked into his face and saw that he would shatter if left alone in that place for too long, and that was why Remus quietly moved in with him.
Don't know what else to do with them--I don't know if I'll be writing them anymore. Might as well put what I have up, I suppose. When's WiP Amnesty Day again?
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Date: 2004-09-02 11:46 pm (UTC)These are BEAUTIFUL. I have to say, though, the Harry and Remus one completely stole my heart, and crumpled it into small pieces painfully.
Harry blinked and felt a sudden surge of annoyance. Lupin hadn’t brought him out here to be cryptic with him, had he?
EEEEE. I adore your Harry, even when he is depressed and grieving. And your Remus, is, as always, perfect.
*fangirls*