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klenaI am into work at 10am...So why am I posting to LJ at nearly 2am? I am GENIUS!
OK. Random stitched together post.
First~!
The start of a Remus/Sirius story (the title of which I can't tell you as it sorta spoils it) that I want advise - critical comments - prompts on.
2000 words under the cut.
Not the most straightforward (or happy) of fics. Punctuation abuse - ahoy!
Darkness
Nothingness
And then…
A spark where there had no been one for a long time.
A gentle heat radiating from it that spread through tired bones and aching muscles and pure-thin blood. And the heat grew - warming - feeling of a shape forming; an old shape - dreamshape - true shape; familiar yet lost to me.
Heat rising. Shooting upwards - building. A fire in my flesh - too too hot - - -
Brain sizzling - memories jumble in the disintegration and stitching together of the cells - a name; I had one once - what - what was ….?
Blisters ‘neath the skin - eyelids glowing-scalding white - - can’t - - the pain - -
Breathe
Pain. Lungs - my lungs hurt. Too tight, can’t get enough air, can’t - can’t --!
Breeze. Fabric over flesh over muscle over bone over soul -
The name almost whispers in the breeze and the breath - the name. My name was….my name was - Sir - -
Light.
~~~~~~~~~~
“Mr Lupin? Mr. Lupin? Wake up please sir.”
I am startled awake, jerking out of my seat beside the fire and I breath, feeling enclosed and encased within my body again. I breathe out before noticing the polite, pinched and vacant face in the flames of the fire.
“Oh hello, please forgive me.”
A brief flash of teeth meant as a reassuring smile. It’s not. Fenrir had a more reassuring smile.
“It’s no bother Mr. Lupin. We have a message for you.”
“From whom?” I am surprised; it is rare anyone looks to contact me now. That is the way I prefer it.
“The Department of Mysteries, redirected through Mr. Arthur Weasley. Will you accept?”
“Yes, of course,” I answer, curiosity piqued. I haven’t heard from Arthur since Charlie’s ‘special’ Anniversary party. (smile - the look on Molly’s face at having to celebrate a werewolf attack on her son)
He’s the same as ever, Arthur. The face is slightly more decorated with worry lines (easing) and smile lines (deepening) and the hair is slightly thinner, slightly patchier but the face is the same, even in the flames. He greets me warmly in that vaguely absent way of his and his eyes burn almost too brightly. His smile is a little too practiced…My hackles raise instinctively and I feel a frown replace my easy (fake) smile.
“Is something wrong Arthur?”
Surprised blink.
“…Ah, not in an exact sense…”
“I don’t understand.”
His lips tighten over his face and he’s showing too much gum for his smile to be called a smile anymore and his eyes are slightly wild. His voice quivers slightly.
“He…Remus…He…He came back.”
“Arthur, who came back?” I snap, fears forming the back of my head, “…Voldemort…?”
“Nonononono…But…Remus, he just - just walked out! Just walked out and then walked out the door!”
“Arthur, focus! Who?”
He doesn’t hear my words, Arthur just rambles, his eyes frightened and lost and young and I pinch the bridge of my nose. I feel a headache coming on.
“Back - he just -- Remus, he just walked out from the other side of the Veil!”
~~~
It’s amazing how everything disappears.
Insignificant details flash past me - slide off my skin as my breath catches in my chest and it hurts and. I don’t want to - I don’t want to believe. It’s been too long, much too long, too much has happened and I missed him so much that I couldn’t even grieve until we were free and I moved on and and.
And.
And yet I find myself moving through the house a great deal faster than I should (old wounds - old bones protest) and the house protests. Throw different robes on, throwing them off as the patches have worn out (when did that happen?), trying to find my wand (beside the tea pot - tea cup left untouched, milk swirling into sludge), keys, quick scrawl of a note; explains to her I’ll be back soon - who else - ?
- - Harry.
Pull yourself together, man.
The world stops whirling, the fabric settles. Old skin feels tight and bones protest at such frantic movement.
Dear God, do I tell him? He finally grieved for - he let him go in the flames of a house gone mad and his madness left and breathed a sigh of relief for him - water running down his face.
It’s not fair. The whole fucking world suddenly isn’t fair.
It…It might not be him.
It might not be him.
Very, very true - would be fair to get his hopes up until I -- until we know - it could be old magic; mysteries and - ha ha, the clues in the name, really.
I delude myself further, taking comfort in the lie, when the truth is (imissyouso) I want him to myself for a while; a heartbeat, a breath..
A lifetime.
Crack of Apparition.
~~~~~~~~
I am there.
Arthur doesn’t smile now, but neither does he look so lost. I remain calm for his sake even though I can feel my very veins hammering against my skin; can hear nothing but my heartbeat.
We make idle small talk as we walk along the corridors, his footsteps slightly heavier than is strictly necessary. Curious eyes watch as we pass, none question aloud but the silence is deafening with the unsaid.
And then -
Oh I smell him before I see him. And, not for the first time, I wish I was never bitten and never had such a sensitive nose.
There is blood, but of course, and the intangible clear scent of magic and the heavy smell of soil and of old dog (familiar dog - pack - my pack) and trees so strong my eyes water and my other senses are drown out.
Arthur gestures to a door in front of us, says it isn’t his place and leaves just a little too quickly to be called calm.
I feel my heart rise up and beatbeatbeat and seize
And I open the door.
~~~~~
Light like I have never seen floods me; drowns me - can’t breath, panic, panic- air!
I lop into the corner (safety in corners, monsters can’t get me), using legs that are becoming familiar-familiar and not just dream-things.
A shadow falls across me in the shape of a man (a man? How do I know this?) and he comes closer and my senses go into overdrive - -
- running through woods and trees and mulch, the pads of my feet beating a trail, my trail into the earth -
- smell of love and someone I -
I know this smell.
A whimper comes from my throat - raw and old wounds surfacing.
Eyes glint amber as they fall upon me and I preferred it when I was drowning in the light.
I know this face!
But there is nothing where a name should be - nothing where a memory should be, only the faint tingle of recognition that fades - slides away.
There are scars upon him, ones I can not see, and his hair is as silver as the moon - (the moon was both friend and foe to you) -
I cry out with a whimper again, curl in more to this unfamiliar body as my head fractures and splinters and is left empty with the wake of that flash.
He drops to his knees and I can no longer meet his eyes that brim with things I know I should have.
Long, trembling fingers reach out as if to touch me and then curl back into the safety, the sanctity of his palm (scar curling around, breaching that territory). He makes noises in the back of his throat as if words have failed him.
Finally, after minutes-hours-days-seconds of not meeting his eyes and listening to his breathing, barely remembered and achingly familiar -
He asks
“….Sirius?”
I say his name for the first time, more a rush of air that a name, finally managing to say it after years with gaps without that word. I breath deeply
He shivers…
pain I can’t - can’t - almost- there is - -
And slumps against the wall. Curves his head into the nape of the neck I know (knew, I correct myself) so well and then lifts his head to look at - to look me in the eyes.
“Who is Sirius?”
And there is nothing there.
~~~~~~~~~
And so it goes. I take him from the place he fell and bring him to my home. He looks momentarily uncomfortable upon stepping over the threshold before adjusting ever so slightly.
Instinct rears.
“…Tea?” He says, sniffing the air - then stopping as if confused as to why he did such a thing.
I can think of nothing - smile (feeling my face crack with lack of use) and say gently
“Would you like some?”
We sit and I feel the gulf between us.
“Milk, two sugars is it?” He asks, all careful words and repressed emotions. I fancy I’ve seen this scene before but I haven’t. I think about this for a minute - searching, hacking away at the chasms, and finding nothing - frustration that dies the second I feel it - and reply
“I don’t know.”
I feel his heart stop then beat painfully - there is a furrow between his eyes that passes quickly - and a wounded silence.
I apologise but I don’t know what for.
This seems to trouble him more yet he lets it slide. He has that air about him. There is a tease of a smile on his lips and a veil on his eyes as he says
“Well, I’ll just let you decide for yourself then, yes?”
It hurts again. He sits there and sips at his tea as if nothing has happened, as if it hasn’t been years and there is no longer a world at war or a godson nearby who had his heart broken and then had to save everyone else from the same pain.
Instead he is totally oblivious - some false hope of mine believe there is something in his eyes that could be called recognition - and he looks around me in vague, distant wonderment like a child - like an empty shell.
And yet, there I assumed Sir…he doesn’t have any memories. Just because he did not remember his own name and hasn’t said mine or asked about Harry doesn’t mean…
…..doesn’t mean he has no memories….
There is silence and I refold my fingers around the cup of tea, flair of amusement at the quaint little country scene painted on it - geese, a country girl, a farm and all that lark. And then suddenly I can’t stand it - can’t stand these half-caught looks - and I feel myself stand and the cup falls from my hands and I shout
“Who am I? Just stop looking at me like that and just tell me what’s going on - tell me my name - fuck, tell me yours! Where are we - why am I in the country when I was in London and what the fuck has happened to my memories?!”
The frustration leaves me in a rush and I drop into the chair with a sigh. I drop my head into my hands and watch the tea spread all over the lino floor and in between the shattered geese and hills and bonnet/vague face of the girl.
He laughs. He has a strange laugh - husky and wild and heartbroken, as if he’s never laughed without there being some pain. Not like the way he presents himself or how he speaks. I look up.
“Oh dear, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” he chuckles some more and rubs his eyes which is more of a tired gesture. And then sharp eyes like knives, teeth, glass are focused on me so I drop my eyes again.
“You don’t remember anything, yet you remember London?”
“……Huh?”
“You don’t remember your name, or mine or anyone’s but you remember what tea is and what London is?”
I’m puzzled and I lift my head from the broken geese, I match his state.
“Yes.”
“What date is Hallowe’en?”
“October 31st.”
“What country are we in?”
“Britain.”
“What was your wand’s core?”
“…What?”
“What was the first spell you learnt?”
“…I…”
“Did you have any siblings?”
“I - I…” And then pain
a face - raven hair - dark eyes - wide smile. Bow shaped lips, secret blood - abandon - never should have left me that way - that house
And he hushes me, hand on mine across the table and I didn’t even realise I was screaming. I pant and I can’t understand these images - flashes of something that should mean something to me.
“I can’t remember me - oh please…” I only feel the water when it reaches my cheeks and I look at him, “please help me remember…”
The man is startled, stunned into motion and he puts his arms around me protectively and my brain flares with solar images of something gone before I see it and I slide out of consciousness, whispering
“oh remus please, please help me.”
And...um...
drabbles are coming...yeah...
Oh. Another meme.
Actually I cheated. There are a few that have song titles - I want to know who the artist is. 20 random songs from the Media Player.
And no Goggle-ing. :D
1. Gonna call her on the telephone - have her over 'cause I'm all alone.
2. Oh how I wish for soothing rain - All I wish is to dream again
3. I should have seen it when my hope was new - my heart is black and body is blue
4. This is what you'll get. This is what you'll get when you mess with us.
5. What did that prick whisper to you? was it playful and flirty or degrading and dirty - I know you like it both ways.
6. My eyes are hurting 'cause the cheap nylon curtains let's the sunlight creep in through from the clouds...Guesing times like this remind that I've got to keep my feet on the ground
7. I've been there now I know what to say "King of Yesterday" guessed by ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
whitehaiku
8. So save me, I'm waiting, I'm needing...Here me bleeding? "Secret Smile" guessed by darthzal
9. Dearly Beloved
10. But I could not recall a more perfect fall 'cause when I looked up into your eyes it didn't hurt at all.
11. And someone is calling my name from the back of the restaurant
12. But my dreams they aren't as empty as my conscience seems to be "Behind Blue Eyes" as guessed by darthzal
13. And then there's those other things...which for several reasons we won't mention
14. Do you believe in what you feel? It doesn't seem to be anyone else agrees with me
15. I dare you to move - I dare you to life yourself up off the floor "Dare You To Move" - guessed by trowicia
16. His welfare is of my concern....No burden is he to bear
17. Nothing's gonna change my world....nothing's gonna change my world... "Across the Universe" guessed by trowicia
18. We drink 'til we're drowning - walk to the ocean, wade in in our workboots "The Ocean" guessed by whitehaiku :D
19. Oh is this the flood of fortune that pours itself upon me? Oh see how I drown in this sea
20. When we are older you'll understand it's enough when I say so and maybe...some things are that simple
Bed I SWEAR
[Edit] ....How do you insert idents on Lj entries?
OK. Random stitched together post.
First~!
The start of a Remus/Sirius story (the title of which I can't tell you as it sorta spoils it) that I want advise - critical comments - prompts on.
2000 words under the cut.
Not the most straightforward (or happy) of fics. Punctuation abuse - ahoy!
Darkness
Nothingness
And then…
A spark where there had no been one for a long time.
A gentle heat radiating from it that spread through tired bones and aching muscles and pure-thin blood. And the heat grew - warming - feeling of a shape forming; an old shape - dreamshape - true shape; familiar yet lost to me.
Heat rising. Shooting upwards - building. A fire in my flesh - too too hot - - -
Brain sizzling - memories jumble in the disintegration and stitching together of the cells - a name; I had one once - what - what was ….?
Blisters ‘neath the skin - eyelids glowing-scalding white - - can’t - - the pain - -
Breathe
Pain. Lungs - my lungs hurt. Too tight, can’t get enough air, can’t - can’t --!
Breeze. Fabric over flesh over muscle over bone over soul -
The name almost whispers in the breeze and the breath - the name. My name was….my name was - Sir - -
Light.
~~~~~~~~~~
“Mr Lupin? Mr. Lupin? Wake up please sir.”
I am startled awake, jerking out of my seat beside the fire and I breath, feeling enclosed and encased within my body again. I breathe out before noticing the polite, pinched and vacant face in the flames of the fire.
“Oh hello, please forgive me.”
A brief flash of teeth meant as a reassuring smile. It’s not. Fenrir had a more reassuring smile.
“It’s no bother Mr. Lupin. We have a message for you.”
“From whom?” I am surprised; it is rare anyone looks to contact me now. That is the way I prefer it.
“The Department of Mysteries, redirected through Mr. Arthur Weasley. Will you accept?”
“Yes, of course,” I answer, curiosity piqued. I haven’t heard from Arthur since Charlie’s ‘special’ Anniversary party. (smile - the look on Molly’s face at having to celebrate a werewolf attack on her son)
He’s the same as ever, Arthur. The face is slightly more decorated with worry lines (easing) and smile lines (deepening) and the hair is slightly thinner, slightly patchier but the face is the same, even in the flames. He greets me warmly in that vaguely absent way of his and his eyes burn almost too brightly. His smile is a little too practiced…My hackles raise instinctively and I feel a frown replace my easy (fake) smile.
“Is something wrong Arthur?”
Surprised blink.
“…Ah, not in an exact sense…”
“I don’t understand.”
His lips tighten over his face and he’s showing too much gum for his smile to be called a smile anymore and his eyes are slightly wild. His voice quivers slightly.
“He…Remus…He…He came back.”
“Arthur, who came back?” I snap, fears forming the back of my head, “…Voldemort…?”
“Nonononono…But…Remus, he just - just walked out! Just walked out and then walked out the door!”
“Arthur, focus! Who?”
He doesn’t hear my words, Arthur just rambles, his eyes frightened and lost and young and I pinch the bridge of my nose. I feel a headache coming on.
“Back - he just -- Remus, he just walked out from the other side of the Veil!”
~~~
It’s amazing how everything disappears.
Insignificant details flash past me - slide off my skin as my breath catches in my chest and it hurts and. I don’t want to - I don’t want to believe. It’s been too long, much too long, too much has happened and I missed him so much that I couldn’t even grieve until we were free and I moved on and and.
And.
And yet I find myself moving through the house a great deal faster than I should (old wounds - old bones protest) and the house protests. Throw different robes on, throwing them off as the patches have worn out (when did that happen?), trying to find my wand (beside the tea pot - tea cup left untouched, milk swirling into sludge), keys, quick scrawl of a note; explains to her I’ll be back soon - who else - ?
- - Harry.
Pull yourself together, man.
The world stops whirling, the fabric settles. Old skin feels tight and bones protest at such frantic movement.
Dear God, do I tell him? He finally grieved for - he let him go in the flames of a house gone mad and his madness left and breathed a sigh of relief for him - water running down his face.
It’s not fair. The whole fucking world suddenly isn’t fair.
It…It might not be him.
It might not be him.
Very, very true - would be fair to get his hopes up until I -- until we know - it could be old magic; mysteries and - ha ha, the clues in the name, really.
I delude myself further, taking comfort in the lie, when the truth is (imissyouso) I want him to myself for a while; a heartbeat, a breath..
A lifetime.
Crack of Apparition.
~~~~~~~~
I am there.
Arthur doesn’t smile now, but neither does he look so lost. I remain calm for his sake even though I can feel my very veins hammering against my skin; can hear nothing but my heartbeat.
We make idle small talk as we walk along the corridors, his footsteps slightly heavier than is strictly necessary. Curious eyes watch as we pass, none question aloud but the silence is deafening with the unsaid.
And then -
Oh I smell him before I see him. And, not for the first time, I wish I was never bitten and never had such a sensitive nose.
There is blood, but of course, and the intangible clear scent of magic and the heavy smell of soil and of old dog (familiar dog - pack - my pack) and trees so strong my eyes water and my other senses are drown out.
Arthur gestures to a door in front of us, says it isn’t his place and leaves just a little too quickly to be called calm.
I feel my heart rise up and beatbeatbeat and seize
And I open the door.
~~~~~
Light like I have never seen floods me; drowns me - can’t breath, panic, panic- air!
I lop into the corner (safety in corners, monsters can’t get me), using legs that are becoming familiar-familiar and not just dream-things.
A shadow falls across me in the shape of a man (a man? How do I know this?) and he comes closer and my senses go into overdrive - -
- running through woods and trees and mulch, the pads of my feet beating a trail, my trail into the earth -
- smell of love and someone I -
I know this smell.
A whimper comes from my throat - raw and old wounds surfacing.
Eyes glint amber as they fall upon me and I preferred it when I was drowning in the light.
I know this face!
But there is nothing where a name should be - nothing where a memory should be, only the faint tingle of recognition that fades - slides away.
There are scars upon him, ones I can not see, and his hair is as silver as the moon - (the moon was both friend and foe to you) -
I cry out with a whimper again, curl in more to this unfamiliar body as my head fractures and splinters and is left empty with the wake of that flash.
He drops to his knees and I can no longer meet his eyes that brim with things I know I should have.
Long, trembling fingers reach out as if to touch me and then curl back into the safety, the sanctity of his palm (scar curling around, breaching that territory). He makes noises in the back of his throat as if words have failed him.
Finally, after minutes-hours-days-seconds of not meeting his eyes and listening to his breathing, barely remembered and achingly familiar -
He asks
“….Sirius?”
I say his name for the first time, more a rush of air that a name, finally managing to say it after years with gaps without that word. I breath deeply
He shivers…
pain I can’t - can’t - almost- there is - -
And slumps against the wall. Curves his head into the nape of the neck I know (knew, I correct myself) so well and then lifts his head to look at - to look me in the eyes.
“Who is Sirius?”
And there is nothing there.
~~~~~~~~~
And so it goes. I take him from the place he fell and bring him to my home. He looks momentarily uncomfortable upon stepping over the threshold before adjusting ever so slightly.
Instinct rears.
“…Tea?” He says, sniffing the air - then stopping as if confused as to why he did such a thing.
I can think of nothing - smile (feeling my face crack with lack of use) and say gently
“Would you like some?”
We sit and I feel the gulf between us.
“Milk, two sugars is it?” He asks, all careful words and repressed emotions. I fancy I’ve seen this scene before but I haven’t. I think about this for a minute - searching, hacking away at the chasms, and finding nothing - frustration that dies the second I feel it - and reply
“I don’t know.”
I feel his heart stop then beat painfully - there is a furrow between his eyes that passes quickly - and a wounded silence.
I apologise but I don’t know what for.
This seems to trouble him more yet he lets it slide. He has that air about him. There is a tease of a smile on his lips and a veil on his eyes as he says
“Well, I’ll just let you decide for yourself then, yes?”
It hurts again. He sits there and sips at his tea as if nothing has happened, as if it hasn’t been years and there is no longer a world at war or a godson nearby who had his heart broken and then had to save everyone else from the same pain.
Instead he is totally oblivious - some false hope of mine believe there is something in his eyes that could be called recognition - and he looks around me in vague, distant wonderment like a child - like an empty shell.
And yet, there I assumed Sir…he doesn’t have any memories. Just because he did not remember his own name and hasn’t said mine or asked about Harry doesn’t mean…
…..doesn’t mean he has no memories….
There is silence and I refold my fingers around the cup of tea, flair of amusement at the quaint little country scene painted on it - geese, a country girl, a farm and all that lark. And then suddenly I can’t stand it - can’t stand these half-caught looks - and I feel myself stand and the cup falls from my hands and I shout
“Who am I? Just stop looking at me like that and just tell me what’s going on - tell me my name - fuck, tell me yours! Where are we - why am I in the country when I was in London and what the fuck has happened to my memories?!”
The frustration leaves me in a rush and I drop into the chair with a sigh. I drop my head into my hands and watch the tea spread all over the lino floor and in between the shattered geese and hills and bonnet/vague face of the girl.
He laughs. He has a strange laugh - husky and wild and heartbroken, as if he’s never laughed without there being some pain. Not like the way he presents himself or how he speaks. I look up.
“Oh dear, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” he chuckles some more and rubs his eyes which is more of a tired gesture. And then sharp eyes like knives, teeth, glass are focused on me so I drop my eyes again.
“You don’t remember anything, yet you remember London?”
“……Huh?”
“You don’t remember your name, or mine or anyone’s but you remember what tea is and what London is?”
I’m puzzled and I lift my head from the broken geese, I match his state.
“Yes.”
“What date is Hallowe’en?”
“October 31st.”
“What country are we in?”
“Britain.”
“What was your wand’s core?”
“…What?”
“What was the first spell you learnt?”
“…I…”
“Did you have any siblings?”
“I - I…” And then pain
a face - raven hair - dark eyes - wide smile. Bow shaped lips, secret blood - abandon - never should have left me that way - that house
And he hushes me, hand on mine across the table and I didn’t even realise I was screaming. I pant and I can’t understand these images - flashes of something that should mean something to me.
“I can’t remember me - oh please…” I only feel the water when it reaches my cheeks and I look at him, “please help me remember…”
The man is startled, stunned into motion and he puts his arms around me protectively and my brain flares with solar images of something gone before I see it and I slide out of consciousness, whispering
“oh remus please, please help me.”
And...um...
drabbles are coming...yeah...
Oh. Another meme.
Actually I cheated. There are a few that have song titles - I want to know who the artist is. 20 random songs from the Media Player.
And no Goggle-ing. :D
1. Gonna call her on the telephone - have her over 'cause I'm all alone.
2. Oh how I wish for soothing rain - All I wish is to dream again
3. I should have seen it when my hope was new - my heart is black and body is blue
4. This is what you'll get. This is what you'll get when you mess with us.
5. What did that prick whisper to you? was it playful and flirty or degrading and dirty - I know you like it both ways.
6. My eyes are hurting 'cause the cheap nylon curtains let's the sunlight creep in through from the clouds...Guesing times like this remind that I've got to keep my feet on the ground
whitehaikudarthzal9. Dearly Beloved
10. But I could not recall a more perfect fall 'cause when I looked up into your eyes it didn't hurt at all.
11. And someone is calling my name from the back of the restaurant
darthzal13. And then there's those other things...which for several reasons we won't mention
14. Do you believe in what you feel? It doesn't seem to be anyone else agrees with me
trowicia16. His welfare is of my concern....No burden is he to bear
trowiciawhitehaiku :D19. Oh is this the flood of fortune that pours itself upon me? Oh see how I drown in this sea
20. When we are older you'll understand it's enough when I say so and maybe...some things are that simple
Bed I SWEAR
[Edit] ....How do you insert idents on Lj entries?
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-04-18 03:31 am (UTC)Lyrics:
15. "Dare You to Move" - Switchfoot
17. "Across the Universe" - The Beatles