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small_giftsTitle: Bitter Sweet
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snow_blossoms
Written for:lyras
Rating: PG-13 (angst, drinking, etc.)
Prompt: Snow isn't all fun - it can be deadly if you're far from home.
Summary: Set during PoA. When Remus starts seeing Sirius’ face splashed across every newspaper, sign post, and store window in town he seeks solace in two unlikely places…the bottom of a jug of firewhisky and the snow-covered grounds of Hogwarts. Angstiness follows.
Any other notes, warnings, etc.: Thanks totaigne for the beta!
Sirius always took his coffee with six sugars and a spot of milk, making breakfast waitresses giggle a little before scurrying off into the kitchen. Remus, ever stoic, had the decency to take his black. He would be halfway through his first cup before Sirius was done stirring his coffee to a syrupy toffee color. And afterwards Sirius would taste like a conundrum. Sweet and bitter, all at once, and it kept Remus coming back for more.
These are the absurd thoughts swimming through his mind as snow falls like artificial sweetener all around him. Remus Lupin—Professor now—has long since given up his caffeine addiction and, instead, seeks solace in bottle after bottle of firewhisky. Which, he imagines, is the sole reason he is currently sitting in a puddle of slowly melting snow, contemplating his sorry excuse of a life. And probably the reason he feels like retching into his lap, too.
His head, slowly spinning, falls back until it hits the tree behind him with a resounding plunk, sending a small shower of snow into his lap. It was not a sturdy tree at all, and Remus figures if he throws his head back with enough force, he could perhaps snap its reedy little trunk once and for all. Either that, or his own neck, which maybe wouldn’t be so bad either.
Remus thinks of the little match girl, who died that night, walking into the arms of her dead grandmother. He thinks it would be very easy, to just lie down and let the sugar crust him over. It isn’t even that cold out, not with the liquor thrumming through his veins. But Remus was never too fond of his grandmothers and he wonders if he could trade them in for someone younger and less dead. Remus squints through the darkness, hoping to make out the remembered figure coming for him, ready to shepherd him to Heaven. But no one is there.
Remus curses, in a slurred voice just barely above a whisper, at the splintered piece of bark pressing into his spine. A piece he had most likely ripped from the rest when he had raggedly slid down the unforgiving tree to settle at its base. Remus has never really been one for nature. He always felt a perverse longing to destroy wildlife, to burn whole forests to the ground. It is, Remus supposes, a little like the Wordsworth poem about nuts, which is really more about power and rape anyway. And perhaps it is a small bit normal, then, this longing to break nature the way it has broken him. It is, surely, the lycanthropic side of him. It certainly isn’t the pedantic side, and there aren’t any other sides to Remus anymore, not since he tucked all the young, innocent facets of himself deep inside for the sake of self-preservation.
Remus wonders if perhaps he should have eaten something, as the world around him makes a lazy revolution. There is a feast going on just now, far, far away it felt, within the castle, in a place he cannot bear to call home anymore. Home, home, home. And Remus’ thoughts stray to yellowing carpet and dirty dishes. Socks in the middle of the living room, a threadbare mattress on the floor. And books, books and books. The front door slamming and gray eyes flashing, a lick of the lips and a lap full of overgrown boy.
Remus’ breath catches in his chest because he’s gone and done it again, and this time he can’t wash away the thoughts of him with more whisky. And in Remus’ mind, all he can see is the picture on the front page of the paper. The words there, imprinted on his soul.
Escaped, escaped.
His head knocks hard against the wooden trunk again and Remus hates himself for wanting. It’s a betrayal, he knows. A betrayal of James and Lily and Peter, of his mother and father, of Dumbledore himself. But somewhere out there, Remus also knows that another man waits, shivering in the cold, crying icicles. And maybe he’s waiting for Remus too, and wanting. Remus is under no delusions and tells himself no lies. He’s long since given up on the conspiracy theories and excuses; Sirius Black is a murderer. But that doesn't stop Remus from wishing the years and the truths and the betrayals would melt away until they were skittish colts again testing the waters of friendship and love. It doesn't stop Remus from wanting to be held, for just one more moment.
Because Remus had always known. Sirius could hate as strongly as he could love, and the man had always done both with no regard to the consequences. He acted rashly, impetuously, with a passion Remus could never muster. Sirius was a bundle of contradictions. He was cigarettes and sweets, coffee and sugar, Listerine and sweat. And Remus should have known, he should have done something, but instead he let it all go. He traded his insecurities, his sneaking suspicions, for sloppy kisses and searching fingers. And what hurt the most, was that Remus knew he would do it again. He’d make the same damn mistakes all over again for the chance to see Sirius again. And that was precisely why Remus was slowly drowning himself in guilt and regret and Ogden’s Finest.
Author:
snow_blossomsWritten for:
lyrasRating: PG-13 (angst, drinking, etc.)
Prompt: Snow isn't all fun - it can be deadly if you're far from home.
Summary: Set during PoA. When Remus starts seeing Sirius’ face splashed across every newspaper, sign post, and store window in town he seeks solace in two unlikely places…the bottom of a jug of firewhisky and the snow-covered grounds of Hogwarts. Angstiness follows.
Any other notes, warnings, etc.: Thanks to
taigne for the beta!Sirius always took his coffee with six sugars and a spot of milk, making breakfast waitresses giggle a little before scurrying off into the kitchen. Remus, ever stoic, had the decency to take his black. He would be halfway through his first cup before Sirius was done stirring his coffee to a syrupy toffee color. And afterwards Sirius would taste like a conundrum. Sweet and bitter, all at once, and it kept Remus coming back for more.
These are the absurd thoughts swimming through his mind as snow falls like artificial sweetener all around him. Remus Lupin—Professor now—has long since given up his caffeine addiction and, instead, seeks solace in bottle after bottle of firewhisky. Which, he imagines, is the sole reason he is currently sitting in a puddle of slowly melting snow, contemplating his sorry excuse of a life. And probably the reason he feels like retching into his lap, too.
His head, slowly spinning, falls back until it hits the tree behind him with a resounding plunk, sending a small shower of snow into his lap. It was not a sturdy tree at all, and Remus figures if he throws his head back with enough force, he could perhaps snap its reedy little trunk once and for all. Either that, or his own neck, which maybe wouldn’t be so bad either.
Remus thinks of the little match girl, who died that night, walking into the arms of her dead grandmother. He thinks it would be very easy, to just lie down and let the sugar crust him over. It isn’t even that cold out, not with the liquor thrumming through his veins. But Remus was never too fond of his grandmothers and he wonders if he could trade them in for someone younger and less dead. Remus squints through the darkness, hoping to make out the remembered figure coming for him, ready to shepherd him to Heaven. But no one is there.
Remus curses, in a slurred voice just barely above a whisper, at the splintered piece of bark pressing into his spine. A piece he had most likely ripped from the rest when he had raggedly slid down the unforgiving tree to settle at its base. Remus has never really been one for nature. He always felt a perverse longing to destroy wildlife, to burn whole forests to the ground. It is, Remus supposes, a little like the Wordsworth poem about nuts, which is really more about power and rape anyway. And perhaps it is a small bit normal, then, this longing to break nature the way it has broken him. It is, surely, the lycanthropic side of him. It certainly isn’t the pedantic side, and there aren’t any other sides to Remus anymore, not since he tucked all the young, innocent facets of himself deep inside for the sake of self-preservation.
Remus wonders if perhaps he should have eaten something, as the world around him makes a lazy revolution. There is a feast going on just now, far, far away it felt, within the castle, in a place he cannot bear to call home anymore. Home, home, home. And Remus’ thoughts stray to yellowing carpet and dirty dishes. Socks in the middle of the living room, a threadbare mattress on the floor. And books, books and books. The front door slamming and gray eyes flashing, a lick of the lips and a lap full of overgrown boy.
Remus’ breath catches in his chest because he’s gone and done it again, and this time he can’t wash away the thoughts of him with more whisky. And in Remus’ mind, all he can see is the picture on the front page of the paper. The words there, imprinted on his soul.
Escaped, escaped.
His head knocks hard against the wooden trunk again and Remus hates himself for wanting. It’s a betrayal, he knows. A betrayal of James and Lily and Peter, of his mother and father, of Dumbledore himself. But somewhere out there, Remus also knows that another man waits, shivering in the cold, crying icicles. And maybe he’s waiting for Remus too, and wanting. Remus is under no delusions and tells himself no lies. He’s long since given up on the conspiracy theories and excuses; Sirius Black is a murderer. But that doesn't stop Remus from wishing the years and the truths and the betrayals would melt away until they were skittish colts again testing the waters of friendship and love. It doesn't stop Remus from wanting to be held, for just one more moment.
Because Remus had always known. Sirius could hate as strongly as he could love, and the man had always done both with no regard to the consequences. He acted rashly, impetuously, with a passion Remus could never muster. Sirius was a bundle of contradictions. He was cigarettes and sweets, coffee and sugar, Listerine and sweat. And Remus should have known, he should have done something, but instead he let it all go. He traded his insecurities, his sneaking suspicions, for sloppy kisses and searching fingers. And what hurt the most, was that Remus knew he would do it again. He’d make the same damn mistakes all over again for the chance to see Sirius again. And that was precisely why Remus was slowly drowning himself in guilt and regret and Ogden’s Finest.
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