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magnetic_pole
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small_giftsTitle: train (terrain) tracks
Author:glass_icarus
Written for:magnetic_pole
Rating: G
Summary and/or Prompt: Request was for "public transportation (magical or Muggle)."
Any other random notes, warnings, etc.: Title pun borrowed from Purvi Shah's poetry book (Terrain Tracks), for which I beg a thousand pardons. Happy holidays, Maggie!
The rhythmic sound of the train washes over Sirius. He leans back in his seat, thinking of the Hogwarts Express. In the light of sunset, he can almost see Remus laughing beside him, resting his head on Sirius' shoulder.
Sirius reaches out and touches empty air.
(It took James to shout him out of his shocked stupor, when he discovered that Moony had left him; but it took Lily to negotiate their delicate truce. "You can't be stubborn, Sirius," she said, and he laughed. Stubborn? With Moony, he had precious little pride; he'd discovered long ago that he was no good without Remus. Remus was his best thing, the one person he'd fight tooth and nail to keep, to protect, to love. In Remus was his entire world.)
Night falls as he sits, staring out the window. The sky turns purple-blue, stars winking into sight. His car is almost empty, so there is no one to complain when he stretches his legs, propping his feet up on the seat across from him. The tracks curve away into the darkness of the countryside, steel shadows almost invisible to his light-accustomed eyes. The moon edges into one corner of the glass as the train turns; Sirius touches it with gentle fingers.
"Moony," he whispers, smiling, but of course there is no one there to respond.
(Lily forced him to stay in London until they worked things out: many letters exchanged, and some Floo calls. The Floo calls were few and far between, as the sight of Remus' worn, tired face made Sirius anxious and restlessly impatient. Sometimes, he would listen to reason; sometimes, James had to tackle him and sit on his head. Lily knew when to pick her battles.)
He fancies he can hear the soft hum of the reading light, flickering above his head. It reminds him painfully of Remus, so often found asleep with a book in his hand, the bedside table lamp still bright in his eyes. An attendant pushes a cart past Sirius' seat, tin carafes and plastic mugs rattling gently down the aisle. Sirius sighs and reaches up to turn off the light, leaving only a dim reflection of his face in the darkened window. Are we there yet? Are we there yet? sing the tracks, until Sirius can no longer tell if he is awake or asleep.
(Four months, three weeks, and six days after he'd found his flat bereft of all things Moony, Sirius found himself trudging to the Muggle post office with a box of Remus' favorite tea. Lily found him malingering outside a nearby Marks & Spencer, staring moodily at the pale-brown hair of the plastic model in the shop window, and had to laugh. Hooking her arm through his, she dragged him to a safe Apparition point and promptly side-alonged him to Godric's Hollow. "All right," she said, ruffling his hair fondly as he nursed his headache, "all right. I'll talk to him." Sirius only nodded, too dizzy to reply.)
Sirius watches the trees scroll by, their dark fingers grasping at the stars. Only ten minutes to the next stop; only ten minutes to Remus. There is a certain serenity that comes with being between places, a curious comfort to be found in transit. Absently, his fingers trace the ragged edge of Remus' last letter, tucked in his pocket: a promise, of sorts, a bargain- that neither of them will walk away from their problems, that they will not take refuge in silence and uncertainty.
(You can come for a week, Remus had written. I'll pick you up at the station. Then, almost as an afterthought, I miss you. Three lines only, to make Sirius smile like the sun.)
Sirius presses his forehead against the window. Don't give up on me, he thinks, as the station lights waver into view, glaring brighter and brighter as the train approaches. There is a figure on the platform, shabbier and more silver-tinged than he remembers. The moon hangs low upon the horizon, a hope, a reminder.
The train stops. Sirius walks through the open door, bag slung over one shoulder.
Remus smiles. "Padfoot. We have many things to talk about."
Author:
glass_icarusWritten for:
magnetic_poleRating: G
Summary and/or Prompt: Request was for "public transportation (magical or Muggle)."
Any other random notes, warnings, etc.: Title pun borrowed from Purvi Shah's poetry book (Terrain Tracks), for which I beg a thousand pardons. Happy holidays, Maggie!
The rhythmic sound of the train washes over Sirius. He leans back in his seat, thinking of the Hogwarts Express. In the light of sunset, he can almost see Remus laughing beside him, resting his head on Sirius' shoulder.
Sirius reaches out and touches empty air.
(It took James to shout him out of his shocked stupor, when he discovered that Moony had left him; but it took Lily to negotiate their delicate truce. "You can't be stubborn, Sirius," she said, and he laughed. Stubborn? With Moony, he had precious little pride; he'd discovered long ago that he was no good without Remus. Remus was his best thing, the one person he'd fight tooth and nail to keep, to protect, to love. In Remus was his entire world.)
Night falls as he sits, staring out the window. The sky turns purple-blue, stars winking into sight. His car is almost empty, so there is no one to complain when he stretches his legs, propping his feet up on the seat across from him. The tracks curve away into the darkness of the countryside, steel shadows almost invisible to his light-accustomed eyes. The moon edges into one corner of the glass as the train turns; Sirius touches it with gentle fingers.
"Moony," he whispers, smiling, but of course there is no one there to respond.
(Lily forced him to stay in London until they worked things out: many letters exchanged, and some Floo calls. The Floo calls were few and far between, as the sight of Remus' worn, tired face made Sirius anxious and restlessly impatient. Sometimes, he would listen to reason; sometimes, James had to tackle him and sit on his head. Lily knew when to pick her battles.)
He fancies he can hear the soft hum of the reading light, flickering above his head. It reminds him painfully of Remus, so often found asleep with a book in his hand, the bedside table lamp still bright in his eyes. An attendant pushes a cart past Sirius' seat, tin carafes and plastic mugs rattling gently down the aisle. Sirius sighs and reaches up to turn off the light, leaving only a dim reflection of his face in the darkened window. Are we there yet? Are we there yet? sing the tracks, until Sirius can no longer tell if he is awake or asleep.
(Four months, three weeks, and six days after he'd found his flat bereft of all things Moony, Sirius found himself trudging to the Muggle post office with a box of Remus' favorite tea. Lily found him malingering outside a nearby Marks & Spencer, staring moodily at the pale-brown hair of the plastic model in the shop window, and had to laugh. Hooking her arm through his, she dragged him to a safe Apparition point and promptly side-alonged him to Godric's Hollow. "All right," she said, ruffling his hair fondly as he nursed his headache, "all right. I'll talk to him." Sirius only nodded, too dizzy to reply.)
Sirius watches the trees scroll by, their dark fingers grasping at the stars. Only ten minutes to the next stop; only ten minutes to Remus. There is a certain serenity that comes with being between places, a curious comfort to be found in transit. Absently, his fingers trace the ragged edge of Remus' last letter, tucked in his pocket: a promise, of sorts, a bargain- that neither of them will walk away from their problems, that they will not take refuge in silence and uncertainty.
(You can come for a week, Remus had written. I'll pick you up at the station. Then, almost as an afterthought, I miss you. Three lines only, to make Sirius smile like the sun.)
Sirius presses his forehead against the window. Don't give up on me, he thinks, as the station lights waver into view, glaring brighter and brighter as the train approaches. There is a figure on the platform, shabbier and more silver-tinged than he remembers. The moon hangs low upon the horizon, a hope, a reminder.
The train stops. Sirius walks through the open door, bag slung over one shoulder.
Remus smiles. "Padfoot. We have many things to talk about."
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no subject
Date: 2007-01-02 04:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-03 05:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-02 04:31 pm (UTC)how very, very lovely. i love the slight hints at the beginning, the impending doom and the so much loved maybe-happy ending. just, so lovely. before it was revealed that sirius was off to see remus, i was almost afraid of reading the ending -- i just had to have at least a somewhat happy ending to this, and that it was.
Sirius reaches out and touches empty air.
&
Are we there yet? Are we there yet? sing the tracks
were such brilliantly touching lines, the both of them. so beautiful, and the images this has painted -- sirius standing outside marks & spencer, sirius with remus' favourite tea, remus' letter which so very clearly was read so very often -- were also so incredibly beautiful. and the ending, oh. very lovely!
no subject
Date: 2007-01-03 05:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-02 06:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-03 05:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-02 07:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-03 05:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-02 11:47 pm (UTC)Don't give up on me, he thinks, as the station lights waver into view, glaring brighter and brighter as the train approaches. There is a figure on the platform, shabbier and more silver-tinged than he remembers. The moon hangs low upon the horizon, a hope, a reminder.
I like this part a lot. :-)
no subject
Date: 2007-01-03 05:25 am (UTC)I am intrigued by why exactly Remus left- heh, yes. i didn't want to go into depressing details; at least not for a holiday exchange!
no subject
Date: 2007-01-03 08:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-03 06:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-03 11:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-03 06:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-03 12:46 pm (UTC)I think the part that hit me was the posting of the tea. (So British!) Just heartbreaking.
no subject
Date: 2007-01-03 06:41 pm (UTC)(the part that hit me was the posting of the tea.-- *hides empty cup*)
no subject
Date: 2007-01-04 12:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-04 12:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-05 04:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-03 05:16 pm (UTC)Enjoyed!
no subject
Date: 2007-01-03 06:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-04 06:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-01-05 12:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-14 12:13 am (UTC)"Moony," he whispers, smiling, but of course there is no one there to respond.
That is such a warm, fuzzy, adorable image and I love it, though in the context of the story it's really terribly sad.
=) The ending of this makes me so smiley! And three cheers for trains.
no subject
Date: 2007-03-15 08:43 pm (UTC)