R/S 3-part Fic, part 3
Jun. 4th, 2005 12:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thrihyrneOkay. All done now. R rating for implied m/m relations, and general angst. And yes, I had to put a Weasley in there. ;) Suppose I could use a beta now, too.
third: characterised by extensive bodily damage; often fatal
There was a muffled booming sound, followed by a more audible, "Oh, fuck!"
Remus grabbed his wand, abandoning his tidying, and raced down the hall to find out what was happening. An Imperturbable had been cast on the door, but he quickly disarmed it and threw the heavy door open.
"Lupin! Sorry- I didn't think anyone was here."
George- or Fred, Remus couldn't tell- stood, surrounded by a fog of smoke, looking sheepish.
"Just trying out a new product. Usually do it at the shop, but I figured this place would be empty. Guess I was wrong." He waved his hands to clear away the offending haze.
"It's all right. I thought I was alone, too." Remus crossed his arms, looking at the remnants of the small explosion. "I'll leave you to it then."
George looked uncharacteristically serious. "Thanks. And I'm sorry about Black. I didn't know him well or anything, but still."
For a few moments, Remus couldn't come up with a meaningful reply.
"I am too," he said eventually. The vast depths of his loss couldn't be contained in words, so he turned and walked back to his room, casting a locking spell on it this time. All of his affairs were in order, he merely needed to leave the few letters: one to Dumbledore, of course; one to Molly, who had been a beacon of comfort during the past few weeks; and one to Harry, who perhaps would never understand.
He glanced around the room he and Sirius had shared, even though they'd kept up appearances and Remus really did have his own room, he just hadn't slept there. A slim volume on the bookshelf caught his eye: Auden. Muggle poet, but it seemed to fit. He pocketed the book and took the parchments in hand and went down to the kitchen in Grimmauld Place. He considered having tea, but decided he may as well get on with things, so he placed the letters on the table and went outside to Apparate.
Remus found himself looking at a dilapidated house, well into disrepair. His parents were long dead, and he'd never sold the place, hoping that one day he and Sirius would have it as a sort of isolated getaway, since it was in the middle of nowhere, Scotland. He spent some time wandering the wooded grounds before going inside. There was still a kettle, and the water appeared to be running, so he made himself a cup of tea with a decades-old tea bag. As he sat at the table, his fingers cradling the cup, he contemplated the past two years.
Sirius had been innocent, as he'd believed all along, even though the cost of that had worn him as thin as his threadbare robes. The past year had been bliss, as well as aggravating; Sirius was still Sirius, after all: petulant, needy, and everything Remus had ever desired.
Now he was gone. Remus was again without his packmate, made all the worse due to their far too brief reunion.
The tea grew cold. With steady hands he put the cup on the table and reached into his robe for the book of poetry. He skimmed through several pages before a set of lines jumped out at him.
A smile played on his lips despite the wretched misery he felt which resolutely refused to depart. Sirius had kindled a light in him, one Remus had thought he would have a lifetime to nurture. Fate had obviously had quite contradictory ideas. He thought of the lines on Sirius' face and how smoothed they'd become the last time they made love, Sirius murmuring profanities and benedictions, their bodies as familiar to each other as breathing, and as vital. A memory assaulted him of a Muggle minister they'd seen on the telly they'd had while living in London, roaring about wheat being separated from the chaff and the latter being thrown on the fire. They'd laughed at the time at his absurdity, but that was what Remus had become, a husk, a shell of a person filled to bursting with emptiness.
He got up and rummaged around to find a dust-covered bottle of firewhiskey. He poured himself a small tumbler, which he downed. In his mind he left his parting goodbyes, then cast an incendio on his robes.
Like the scorching tongue of a lover, the fire claimed him.
third: characterised by extensive bodily damage; often fatal
There was a muffled booming sound, followed by a more audible, "Oh, fuck!"
Remus grabbed his wand, abandoning his tidying, and raced down the hall to find out what was happening. An Imperturbable had been cast on the door, but he quickly disarmed it and threw the heavy door open.
"Lupin! Sorry- I didn't think anyone was here."
George- or Fred, Remus couldn't tell- stood, surrounded by a fog of smoke, looking sheepish.
"Just trying out a new product. Usually do it at the shop, but I figured this place would be empty. Guess I was wrong." He waved his hands to clear away the offending haze.
"It's all right. I thought I was alone, too." Remus crossed his arms, looking at the remnants of the small explosion. "I'll leave you to it then."
George looked uncharacteristically serious. "Thanks. And I'm sorry about Black. I didn't know him well or anything, but still."
For a few moments, Remus couldn't come up with a meaningful reply.
"I am too," he said eventually. The vast depths of his loss couldn't be contained in words, so he turned and walked back to his room, casting a locking spell on it this time. All of his affairs were in order, he merely needed to leave the few letters: one to Dumbledore, of course; one to Molly, who had been a beacon of comfort during the past few weeks; and one to Harry, who perhaps would never understand.
He glanced around the room he and Sirius had shared, even though they'd kept up appearances and Remus really did have his own room, he just hadn't slept there. A slim volume on the bookshelf caught his eye: Auden. Muggle poet, but it seemed to fit. He pocketed the book and took the parchments in hand and went down to the kitchen in Grimmauld Place. He considered having tea, but decided he may as well get on with things, so he placed the letters on the table and went outside to Apparate.
Remus found himself looking at a dilapidated house, well into disrepair. His parents were long dead, and he'd never sold the place, hoping that one day he and Sirius would have it as a sort of isolated getaway, since it was in the middle of nowhere, Scotland. He spent some time wandering the wooded grounds before going inside. There was still a kettle, and the water appeared to be running, so he made himself a cup of tea with a decades-old tea bag. As he sat at the table, his fingers cradling the cup, he contemplated the past two years.
Sirius had been innocent, as he'd believed all along, even though the cost of that had worn him as thin as his threadbare robes. The past year had been bliss, as well as aggravating; Sirius was still Sirius, after all: petulant, needy, and everything Remus had ever desired.
Now he was gone. Remus was again without his packmate, made all the worse due to their far too brief reunion.
The tea grew cold. With steady hands he put the cup on the table and reached into his robe for the book of poetry. He skimmed through several pages before a set of lines jumped out at him.
- Save him from hostile capture,
From sudden tiger's spring at corner;
Protect his house,
His anxious house where days are counted
A smile played on his lips despite the wretched misery he felt which resolutely refused to depart. Sirius had kindled a light in him, one Remus had thought he would have a lifetime to nurture. Fate had obviously had quite contradictory ideas. He thought of the lines on Sirius' face and how smoothed they'd become the last time they made love, Sirius murmuring profanities and benedictions, their bodies as familiar to each other as breathing, and as vital. A memory assaulted him of a Muggle minister they'd seen on the telly they'd had while living in London, roaring about wheat being separated from the chaff and the latter being thrown on the fire. They'd laughed at the time at his absurdity, but that was what Remus had become, a husk, a shell of a person filled to bursting with emptiness.
He got up and rummaged around to find a dust-covered bottle of firewhiskey. He poured himself a small tumbler, which he downed. In his mind he left his parting goodbyes, then cast an incendio on his robes.
Like the scorching tongue of a lover, the fire claimed him.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-04 07:54 pm (UTC)He got up and rummaged around to find a dust-covered bottle of firewhiskey. He poured himself a small tumbler, which he downed. In his mind he left his parting goodbyes, then cast an incendio on his robes.
Like the scorching tongue of a lover, the fire claimed him.
Out-freaking-standing.
*wild applause*
(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-04 11:53 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-08 04:39 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-08 07:54 pm (UTC)Thank you so very much. It is a rather bleak take on our dear Werewolf, and only corresponds to this particular triad of stories, and my trip to Scotland.
Thanks for reading, though, and I love your icon!!! Thanks also for the update with your adult drabbles. I adored both of them. :)
(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-08 10:35 pm (UTC)And glad you enjoyed the drabbles. Adult drabbles are a very weird thing to try to write.