FIC: In Lines of Charcoal for [livejournal.com profile] leafyaki

Dec. 5th, 2008 07:00 pm
[identity profile] paulamcg.livejournal.com posting in [community profile] small_gifts
Title: In Lines of Charcoal
Author: [livejournal.com profile] paulamcg
Written for: [livejournal.com profile] leafyaki
Beta: The amazing [Bad username or site: @ livejournal.com]. Thank you once again for the priceless inspiration, help and encouragement.
Rating: PG for touching
Prompt: All the three prompts: 1. "One imparts an intimate smile, /One chews a grass, one lowers his eyes, bashful, /One is ridiculous with cocky pride – /Six months after this picture they were all dead." - Ted Hughes, 'Six Young Men'
2. Anything to do with winter clothing and the cold
3. Anything to do with artistic boys
Summary: In December 1995 Remus rests in Sirius’s arms at the setting of the full moon. He draws new sketches, and trusts that there is still life waiting for the two of them.
Other notes: This piece can stand on its own, but it also belongs to the story I tell in all my fanfiction.





In Lines of Charcoal




In the beginning there is the touch of a forehead against mine. Sensing all my dimensions with him as a measure, for the first time ever I receive the gifts of my renewed mind and body secure in the knowledge of who I am. He’s been reckless, not only in once again escaping the house. I love him.

Thanks to him there’s no warm trickle of blood from wounds, and I can ignore the echo of the transformation pain still pulsating through me – all I have to do is open my eyes. The first light of dawn draws his eyebrows and hollow cheeks like in lines of charcoal. Yes, this elusive sight will remain another treasure to be transferred into a new sketch for the portrait I’ve been trying to craft secretly. Now I can no longer see more than the shock of his hair against a blurry white background, and white flakes in the black. He is breathing his heat against my neck.

“So tired,” he mumbles. “And you must be.”

In December the night is long for a dog plagued by the human sense of time. In his company I, in turn, have again approached a connection with the wolf’s differently conscious mind... as mine, almost. I’ll be able to relive some of the pleasure. But this is not the moment to do that – when my furless body inevitably contacts with the frozen ground, despite his attempts to protect me.

Our bodies are so entangled that there’s no doubt he’s been holding me close all through the change. What if the two of us are now irrevocably twirled into one? No, he separates himself, also unfastens the cloak from around his shoulders and wraps it around me only.

I feel too weak and too blessed to protest when he struggles to lift me up, then stumbles down the slope. The dog has guided me wisely: there are only a few yards to the old sheep shed where we stayed a month ago until my body became stable enough for Apparition.

Now we are finding warmth in each other, under this thick fine fabric. He asked me to get a cloak like this for him with his gold, and only I wear it, except these nights when neither of us can resist ignoring Dumbledore’s orders – which keep him in the house, and me mainly away from him.

“I wish,” he says, “we could just not go back.”

I stop myself from saying why I need to be back in the house soon: only in order to leave once again without him. I don’t want him to worry about my next mission. I could say we are both needed in this new war – that Harry needs us. But he’s too concerned about Harry, as well, uselessly. All that concern, while the isolation in the house that frightens him hardly allows him to recover from the horrors of his lost years. And I’m too tired to think, but I know I’m already scared. Due to the full moon, last night has been the only time in the month when we could hope there would be nobody around hunting fugitives. Despite the threat outside of and within him, I often catch myself rejoicing in the home I’ve finally found in this love.

He now turns his face up, to look for a response in mine. The only one I can give is lips pressed hard over his mouth. My mind closes in a circle of concern around his.



It’s not long before Christmas when I’m allowed to return to him. I’m selfish enough to feel a jolt of joy as well when I hear from Dumbledore that there’s no one else in the house – that Harry, too, is supposed to spend the holidays at the Weasleys’. My silly cheerfulness is overshadowed by distress as soon as I enter the frigid gloom. How could I expect the shine of my brilliant Sirius’s extraordinary lights to welcome me – the charmed benevolent moon on the top of his tree?

An icy draft guides me to the backyard door, and I find him where I once took him to sit – when it was still summer. He must have heard me enter, as he’s not startled when I say his name, step close behind him, and ruffle his hair. The stone steps are not exactly inviting, but I move ahead to sit down next to him – and have to pick up a book left lying right there… No, it’s the album with the corny picture of two puppies on the cover.

“You’ve decided to look at the photos, after all,” I say.

Could he finally have agreed to let these few pictures I kept through all those years help him regain more vivid memories?

His face is covered by a veil of unwashed hair, and he still does not react by turning his head.

“No,” he says. “I hate photographs. Muggle photos – the garish colours. And the silly movements in the magical ones – they repeat in my mind and I can’t see anything real. But that thing… your great art… that’s worse.”

He reaches to grab the album from me and that’s when I see the ragged cuffs he’s pulled over his hands from under the sleeves of his robes. He’s wearing my ancient sweatshirt, the one that was falling apart and that I ditched on his demand.

Perhaps that’s not such a bad sign. He’s talking more than usual, too, and I can’t see any bottle. Finally back so close to him I find it hard not to cling to the hope that there’s life still waiting for both of us, shared life.

“I just,” he continues, pressing the album against his chest, “wanted to touch this.”

“You’ve made great progress in touching since I got you back in June,” I say playfully, lifting my arm across his shoulders and reaching to stroke his face. When I feel him tremble I can no longer hold myself back. I try to pull him into a tight embrace, but he remains stiff.

“That is worse,” he repeats.

Uncomprehending, I stare ahead, then lower my eyes – and end up following his persistent gaze. There’s a sheet of thin paper on the patch of snow in front of his feet. It takes an effort not to focus on the fact that he’s wearing only slippers, no socks.

For a brief moment I’m afraid he’s found some of my recent secret drafts. But no, this sketch has fallen from between the pages. I bend to pick it up. He shudders, and when I turn to examine his face, he’s closed his eyes.

Instead, four young men stare at me from this quick charcoal drawing I must have made in May 1981. There’s hardly any perceptible movement here, as I hadn’t quite mastered the magic of real portraits yet. Besides, my three best friends did not exactly pose for me, not to mention allowing a physical and emotional contact at the moment of drawing the final lines.

Peter’s suspicious frown is frozen and lifeless like the stalk of grass between his teeth: in the charcoal stroke there’s nothing left of the once hopeful green of spring. The stiffness in James’s originally relaxed, cocky pose is as uncompromising as that in the tree trunk against which he leans, with his arms crossed over his proud chest. The other two are sitting on the ground side by side, not quite touching. The aspiring artist himself – for a moment carefree, despite the war, and finally bold enough to attempt a tentative self-portrait: newly emerged from a winter’s hardships he believes can’t be surpassed, his figure is frail and the eyes too big… Yes, here I catch a silly movement, as Sirius has just called them: while the fingers of the artist’s free hand stealthily brush those of his lover on the lawn, he lowers his eyes – not bashfully, and just for a second, to depict the two hands, perhaps the movement, as right now he’s in full contact with his emotions, happy in his mind and body – whereas his incredible Sirius… This is the smile I carried with me through the years, as a proof that he had once loved me.

“What I am now,” he says, “is not more alive than they here.”

Before I manage to reply, his eyes open and the sullen statement is followed by more fervent words. “I don’t want to leave behind another twitch of a smile like that. Don’t ever touch me when you draw, if you can’t just give up drawing me. So perhaps you’ll remember me – all of me like this.”

“I do remember and I will remember everything as long as I have my human mind, and with your help, perhaps the wolf will share the ability, too…” I’m talking too much, but I can’t leave it at this. “But that’s not the point. It’s no time for remembering, at least not for remembering this – here and now… This is where we are living and we’ll continue to live a better life, too, yours and mine.”

“For me it is – it’s all about remembering or not remembering. I still just gather memories of you right here and now. Can you understand: each little thing you do… it carves its marks – too significant marks in the empty mind I was left with.”

“Perhaps because I’m your significant other, and you’re mine.” I throw that in too easily, almost cheerfully, compared with the breathless desperation in his nonsensical argument. I don’t want to believe that his mind is so hopelessly damaged – that he can’t even realise mine doesn’t work like that. Perhaps I’m growing impatient, because I’ve been out in the cold for too long, for too many years. Whereas he… well, the cold has inhabited him. “Please, let’s go in, and under some warm covers. I’ll hide this silly sketch. But you shouldn’t declare you hate all art. I know you still can’t remember – but I made a real portrait of you, a water colour, just before… I mean, at the end of October back then. In that painting you were definitely more than a twitch of a smile. I lost it at the same time when I thought I lost you forever. But just because I worked on countless sketches of you, and I was so ambitious about the magic of moving images in the background, too, that it took me months – to capture the change in those birch trees next to our balcony (and I promise someday we’ll go together and check how they have grown) – just because of my devotion to that work, I have never been able to forget a single detail in you… ”

And now I manage to stop. To stop myself from saying, “Not even when I wanted to believe you were dead – that all these four young men were dead.”

Standing abruptly, I grab his arms, which are still squeezing the puppies, and I pull him up and close, under the cloak. When I no longer hesitate to rub his skin, and to trace all the lines of his face with my lips, I trust that I can show him the two of us as very much alive.

Date: 2008-12-13 03:57 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] leafyaki.livejournal.com
EEEEEEEE!!! THANK YOU! Oh my gosh where to start?

I LOVE how you interpreted the lines! I had imagined them in different positions, wondering how you were gonna depict them, and ohhh the written work far surpasses what I thought! I like how the grass in Peter's mouth is withered like winter, and in contrast Sirius's smile is just beautiful and real and Remus always remembers that. And oh, indeed, six months later they all died in different ways, didn't they? ;___;

This: He reaches to grab the album from me and that’s when I see the ragged cuffs he’s pulled over his hands from under the sleeves of his robes. He’s wearing my ancient sweatshirt, the one that was falling apart and that I ditched on his demand.

Sirius wearing one of Remus's sweatshirts just makes me squee in all kinds of different ways. It's like he's trying to feel Remus close to him again, I don't know how to explain it, but it makes me feel sad but also warm and fuzzy at the same time.

And I adore the love and hope at the end. This: (and I promise someday we’ll go together and check how they have grown) is such a beautiful and hopeful touch. And Sirius hugging the puppies, just wanting to touch something makes me heart wrench hard.

What a lovely gift of just the right amount of angst, hope and love!! I adore it, thank you so much!! *LOVES*

Date: 2008-12-13 04:10 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] lotrwariorgodss.livejournal.com
Oh dear...*sniffle*...poor Sirius. Really, it's almost unfair how much we see of his story in OotP when he's left all alone, depressed out of his mind. You did a lovely job of portraying that desperation, self-disgust, that walking-dead feeling he was no doubt having. But your Remus gave us a little hope that he might be able to heal him - whatever it takes, Remus, you do it! I can stand to see a pretty boy so sad. Lovely entry!

Date: 2008-12-13 04:19 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] minnow-53.livejournal.com
This is a very rich story, though I can't quite explain what I mean. Perhaps it's the wealth of lovely and intricate detail, especially Peter’s suspicious frown is frozen and lifeless like the stalk of grass between his teeth: in the charcoal stroke there’s nothing left of the once hopeful green of spring.

I'm so happy that you end on a hopeful note! I mean, we all know how canon ends, but there's always the possibility that one day the characters can escape from their fates and go a different way. Your self-contained universe is perfect for allowing us that bit of hope... All in all, a lovely story.

Date: 2008-12-13 04:33 pm (UTC)
ext_114030: i'll chase you. to the sun and the moon and back again. i won't stop. (Default)
From: [identity profile] roterhimmel.livejournal.com
I'm sorry, this is a random comment but I just have to squeal: ANOTHER KH FAN!!! *squeals*

Date: 2008-12-13 04:36 pm (UTC)
ext_114030: i'll chase you. to the sun and the moon and back again. i won't stop. (Default)
From: [identity profile] roterhimmel.livejournal.com
Um. Wow. I'm sorry I can't come up with anything else but that. Just. Lovely.

Date: 2008-12-13 05:05 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] leafyaki.livejournal.com
Ohhh no problem at all! I think I remember seeing you posting in the axelxroxas community, so happy to see a KH fan! KH AND RS fan! :D

Date: 2008-12-13 05:27 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] fullmoon-dreams.livejournal.com
Very sad, but absolutely beautiful.

I have always believed that the loss of his memories must be even worse than the loss of so much of his life. I can understand both his point of view and Remus's when it comes to the sketches and drawings, which just makes it all the more tragic. I'm glad there is a little bit of hope at the end though.

Date: 2008-12-13 05:56 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] lyras.livejournal.com
This is a lovely, thoughtful piece; as always with your writing, I feel as if I want to read it several times to really get the most from it.

What if the two of us are now irrevocably twirled into one?

I love this line. To me it expresses perfectly Remus's confusion after his transformation, as well as just how solicitous Sirius has been of him.

Poor Sirius, so ...(I can't quite come up with the right word, so I'll settle for) "reproached" by the drawing of the four of them, and by his own ghostly existence.

This is the smile I carried with me through the years, as a proof that he had once loved me.

A lovely detail.

Like Minnow I loved the description of Peter, which says so much and is so vivid - and the interpretation of the prompt in the picture fits perfectly. The ending is so very wistful and hopeful; I do like to think that Remus managed to comfort Sirius during their year at no. 12 Grimmauld Place.

I also loved the idea that Remus is collecting sketches for a new portrait. Have you by any chance written more about the completion of that yet?

Date: 2008-12-13 11:23 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] laroseminuit.livejournal.com
Remus as an artist is something I can't resist. I also love your idea about how magical paintings work. The level of detail in this piece is amazing. I could almost breathe the cold air.
"To stop myself from saying, “Not even when I wanted to believe you were dead – that all these four young men were dead.”" <-- favorite line. I can't decide who had it worse during those twelve years: Sirius, who couldn't think about the happy times without losing them, or Remus, who couldn't think about the happy times without feeling betrayed.

Date: 2008-12-13 11:56 pm (UTC)

Date: 2008-12-14 03:16 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] werewolfsfan.livejournal.com
This is intricate and deep. There's a very intimate feeling in their interactions and I especially love how it begins with Remus receiving comfort from Sirius' embrace and it ends with Remus taking Sirius into his arms.

Date: 2008-12-14 04:54 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] mindabbles.livejournal.com
How very lovely. It was so interesting, and right, how Sirius could be so loving and present with Remus in the first scene, but then seem so disconnected in the second. It squeezed my heart that he simply wanted to hold the album (with puppies on it!). Remus' hope was beautiful. Very nice!

Date: 2008-12-14 04:17 pm (UTC)
ext_114030: i'll chase you. to the sun and the moon and back again. i won't stop. (KH: akuroku1)
From: [identity profile] roterhimmel.livejournal.com
*g*
I was always looking at your icon and thinking... wait, that can't be one from HP... doesn't make sense... and then I though, 'WTF ROXAS AND SORA', then I checked their eye colour and BAM there it was. I'm so happy to see another KH fan :D So you like Akuroku?

Date: 2008-12-14 04:59 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] leafyaki.livejournal.com
:D Yessum, the icon I'm currently using says all X) I was reading the list of fics people recommended you and my options of recommending were slowly cut down one by one until I needed to find new ones to recommend! *saddened*

So yep, I certainly do! Oh, and cause paulamcg asked in one of the comments further down, KH is "Kingdom Hearts", an awesome game (:

Date: 2008-12-14 05:03 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] leafyaki.livejournal.com
:D You certainly did tie the three prompts together very nicely, I'm awed at that X) So yep, do banish the doubts, I adore this fic!

Your Remus is an artist...I must read all your fics, now.

Once again, thank you!!! XD

Date: 2008-12-14 11:58 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] cindergal.livejournal.com
This is really lovely. Your writing is very poetic. I love that even though we see how much both have lost, they are each able to bring comfort when the other most needs it.

Date: 2008-12-15 05:55 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] taigne.livejournal.com
I read this a few days ago and didn't have time to comment, so I had to come back and read it again! I love all your fic, it's so vivid and alway sucks me right it, this one very much so.

I think the first person is very well used, it takes the reader right in too experience all Remus' worries and hesitations and know exactly what he sees.

I love the dialogue too, it's full of real things people say, and I can really hear them saying it all. I think my favourite line is:

"Can you understand: each little thing you do… it carves its marks – too significant marks in the empty mind I was left with.”

Which really sums up what Remus means to Sirius, and maybe it's not all good, but he thinks he needs it. You show a very real and multi-faceted relationship, is what I think I'm trying to say! It's brill, and thank you for writing!

Date: 2008-12-15 08:06 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] brighty18.livejournal.com
This was really incredible, my dear. You conveyed such a powerful sense of true love and infinite understanding on both sides.

Our bodies are so entangled that there’s no doubt he’s been holding me close all through the change. What if the two of us are now irrevocably twirled into one? No, he separates himself, also unfastens the cloak from around his shoulders and wraps it around me only.

Melts...

I love atist!Remus and the significance of the drawing(s) as opposed to photographs and what they speak of truth. Oh, and poor fragile Sirius who is still able to give so much during full moons. You paint such a beautifully believable portrait of his mental state post-Azkaban. I never see him as insane, just... damaged in some ways. Like PTSD, I guess. But still so able to love and to give and to understand!

Truly lovely and uplifting!! This may just be my favorite thing I've read so far!

Date: 2008-12-18 06:37 pm (UTC)
ext_114030: i'll chase you. to the sun and the moon and back again. i won't stop. (Default)
From: [identity profile] roterhimmel.livejournal.com
Har har! You don't want to know how MANY fictions I've recently read that really did me in, about Akuroku. I even kind of abandoned Riku/Sora (which was my first KH-couple I ever liked (back before the days of KH1 when I was all Kairi/Sora))... and Akuroku is just, nghuidhgkn. Or something. If you need some recs just call me I shall happily deliver you pages full of it *g*

(and, uh, I hope we don't spam this thread?)

Date: 2008-12-23 07:33 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] brighty18.livejournal.com
I always imagine that that very idea being needed gives Sirius some sense of structure/direction/purpose which keeps him focused and would make him feel more "sane." Madness creeps up in moments of loneliness and alienation rather than when one is busy and feeling important. Poor Sirius.

And isn't awareness (or fear) of madness a sign of being well-enough to function? Self-realization is hugely important, is it not?

I'd love to read more of your work. Do you have a link?

It's funny about art in the wizarding world. As an (amateur) photographer I find the concept of wizarding photography rather annoying. The beauty of photographs is they play with light/shadow and capture a single image at a single moment in time. Wizarding photographs rather ruin that. So what is role of creativity in that process? And isn't it at least mildly disturbing that your subject moves and performs actions outside of your control? Wizard paintings seem the same way. Meh! That's one of the many reasons why I think that Remus' art worked so well and was so significant. He managed to be engage it on a very meaningful level.

Date: 2008-12-29 07:10 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] a_shadow_there.livejournal.com
Your writing is just beautiful. There's so much pain here, but still hope. Just…beautiful, really.

xxx

Date: 2008-12-31 09:15 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] lazy-neutrino.livejournal.com
that all these four young men were dead.

Such a beautiful and heart=breaking story. Your descriptions of James and especially of Peter in the picture brought back to me so strongly the tragedy of these four. A lovely story.

Date: 2009-01-01 11:47 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] blackliquorice.livejournal.com
Remus as an artist is interesting. I like that.

Date: 2009-08-13 04:18 am (UTC)
epithalamium: (Default)
From: [personal profile] epithalamium
Finally! I saved your one-shot fics in a Word Document so I can read them back home (I go to internet cafes because I don't have connection of my own right now) and I only got to comment today. *sigh*

But on to more important things:
My dear, you paint scenes and emotions in the same way that I imagine your Remus paints pictures. Your words flow very smoothly, very elegant and beautiful, and you choose your details to set up a scene with a quiet vengeance!

I love your Remus, actually, and I get a feeling from what I've read that you care very much about your (well, Rowling's really, but who cares?) characters in a way that I never really felt from the canon books. This is probably a bad way of complementing anyone, but well, I really love how you explore the psyche of each of your characters.

Also, the way that you described the first war is just amazing. This is exactly why I don't agree with people when they say that the books are really just kiddie stuff. And this is also why I must admit more fondness for the first generation than Harry's own. With Remus and the rest, the war against Voldemort is still an uncertain thing. They have no idea what his weaknesses are, if he has any. It's all fear and vagueness and danger, and unlike Harry, who knew that the Dark Lord had failed once and can fail again, Remus and his friends didn't even have that reassurance.

You write of the first war as if it was a sort of creeping shadow, looming over their existence, real and a great threat. And you write of these people facing that, and you give us a better idea of how really brave they are, and I really love it!

Now I'm off to read more... :)

Date: 2009-08-14 06:07 am (UTC)
epithalamium: (Default)
From: [personal profile] epithalamium
I write so little about the war (in this piece).

I'm sorry! That comment goes for the other fics I have read, "Images of the Past" in particular. I just thought it would be best to say it all in one comment instead of flooding your inbox. :)

In the stories that I have read, you didn't really talk about the war directly (as in, like it can be described in a History of Magic class, for one), but that what makes the idea and the war's presence so powerful, I think. Because we only feel it looming instead of seeing it directly.

And I hope to see new stories from you too! (Even though I haven't even read half of what you have already written. I always love having things to look forward to.)



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