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such_heights) wrote2006-10-04 10:42 pm
such_heights) wrote2006-10-04 10:42 pm
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scarvesnhats Day 04
Intervention
PG-13, 600 words
Black Family, Remus/Sirius
Summary: Sirius is left in Grimmauld Place alone, where memories are strong.
Notes: Regulus wasn't meant to be in this, you know. Funny how he crept in there! Written for the 4th prompt forscarvesnhats, Vienna Teng - An Athiest Christmas Carol.
The night draws in, and Sirius shivers until he thinks to draw the curtains. It would seem that he doesn’t need the Dementors any more to send a chill to his bones. He laughs, because there’s nothing else to do, really. This house is cold, anyway. It was stripped bare of human warmth a long time ago, the last vestiges disappearing round about when Regulus died.
Cold winds of memory blow through the entire rotting place from time to time, and Sirius has to duck his head against the storm.
Sirius tightened his grip on his wand, determined to get it right this time.
‘And bow,’ his father said, nodding imperiously.
‘Why?’ Sirius asked. ‘If you’re about to blast each other, what’s the point?’
‘The boy clearly isn’t ready. Take him back to his brother.’
‘No, wait!’ Sirius protested, but his father wasn’t looking at him any more.
There are memories embedded into every wall, and each one is imprinted vividly into Sirius’ mind – such is the dubious privilege of the long term Azkaban inmate.
Sirius could tell from his brother’s soft breathing that he wasn’t asleep yet.
‘Regulus?’ he ventured.
There was a sleepy murmur in response.
‘What if I don’t want to be the heir any more?’
Silence for a moment, then Regulus sat up a bit. ‘You’ll have to be disowned. They’ll burn you off the tapestry.’
Sirius nodded. ‘That’s what I thought.’
Sometimes, Sirius is tempted to burn the whole sodding thing. But as he finds himself staring at the tapestry once again, he knows it’s useless. And even if it wasn’t, he’s not sure he could. It’s one of the few things left in the world that acknowledges Regulus’ existence, after all.
Sirius had decided he didn’t much fancy school after all. It seemed cruel, leaving Regulus all his own like that.
’We could go anywhere,’ Sirius proclaimed excitedly. ‘Go and live in Tahiti – drink cocktails, dance on the beach, and never have to worry about stupid school!’
Regulus frowned. ‘No we couldn’t, Sirius.’
Sirius decides he’s going to have to decorate. It’s Halloween coming up, after all, and the house could really do with some colour. A few pumpkins around the place would do nicely, he thinks. He wanders into the hall, considering. He looks at the banister, and stops short when he sees a scorch mark on the banisters that’s nearly twenty years old.
’Then you are no son of mine!’ his mother spat, contemptuously disposing of the incriminating letter from Remus in Sirius’ hands with a flick of the wand.
Sirius laughed raucously, blood pumping around his brain, and glad – unspeakably glad. His possessions came ricocheting down the stairs, commanded by force of feeling.
She eyed him for a moment, and then her voice reached a new pitch of frenzy. ‘Get out! GET OUT!’
With a strange, twisted joy, Sirius followed his mother’s instruction for the first time in years. Regulus was sitting on the stairs, just staring impassively at Sirius. Sirius wanted anger, confusion, anything. But his brother did nothing at all, and Sirius blasted the banister by Regulus’ head, and so leaving his last ever mark on the house.
He’s almost tempted to go into the hall and have another go of it – anything to get the circulation going. He doesn’t, though. The past is omnipresent enough as it is. Anyway, he hasn’t got that sort of energy these days.
But the voices are insistent, and Sirius is reduced to sitting, the force of the dead becoming overpowering.
And then there is a sliding of bolts, and Remus is home. Remus, who is warmth and light and life. Remus, who is a living Patronus to drive the dead away. Remus, who is hope, unspeakable hope that reminds Sirius that he is in love.
PG-13, 600 words
Black Family, Remus/Sirius
Summary: Sirius is left in Grimmauld Place alone, where memories are strong.
Notes: Regulus wasn't meant to be in this, you know. Funny how he crept in there! Written for the 4th prompt for
scarvesnhats, Vienna Teng - An Athiest Christmas Carol.The night draws in, and Sirius shivers until he thinks to draw the curtains. It would seem that he doesn’t need the Dementors any more to send a chill to his bones. He laughs, because there’s nothing else to do, really. This house is cold, anyway. It was stripped bare of human warmth a long time ago, the last vestiges disappearing round about when Regulus died.
Cold winds of memory blow through the entire rotting place from time to time, and Sirius has to duck his head against the storm.
Sirius tightened his grip on his wand, determined to get it right this time.
‘And bow,’ his father said, nodding imperiously.
‘Why?’ Sirius asked. ‘If you’re about to blast each other, what’s the point?’
‘The boy clearly isn’t ready. Take him back to his brother.’
‘No, wait!’ Sirius protested, but his father wasn’t looking at him any more.
There are memories embedded into every wall, and each one is imprinted vividly into Sirius’ mind – such is the dubious privilege of the long term Azkaban inmate.
Sirius could tell from his brother’s soft breathing that he wasn’t asleep yet.
‘Regulus?’ he ventured.
There was a sleepy murmur in response.
‘What if I don’t want to be the heir any more?’
Silence for a moment, then Regulus sat up a bit. ‘You’ll have to be disowned. They’ll burn you off the tapestry.’
Sirius nodded. ‘That’s what I thought.’
Sometimes, Sirius is tempted to burn the whole sodding thing. But as he finds himself staring at the tapestry once again, he knows it’s useless. And even if it wasn’t, he’s not sure he could. It’s one of the few things left in the world that acknowledges Regulus’ existence, after all.
Sirius had decided he didn’t much fancy school after all. It seemed cruel, leaving Regulus all his own like that.
’We could go anywhere,’ Sirius proclaimed excitedly. ‘Go and live in Tahiti – drink cocktails, dance on the beach, and never have to worry about stupid school!’
Regulus frowned. ‘No we couldn’t, Sirius.’
Sirius decides he’s going to have to decorate. It’s Halloween coming up, after all, and the house could really do with some colour. A few pumpkins around the place would do nicely, he thinks. He wanders into the hall, considering. He looks at the banister, and stops short when he sees a scorch mark on the banisters that’s nearly twenty years old.
’Then you are no son of mine!’ his mother spat, contemptuously disposing of the incriminating letter from Remus in Sirius’ hands with a flick of the wand.
Sirius laughed raucously, blood pumping around his brain, and glad – unspeakably glad. His possessions came ricocheting down the stairs, commanded by force of feeling.
She eyed him for a moment, and then her voice reached a new pitch of frenzy. ‘Get out! GET OUT!’
With a strange, twisted joy, Sirius followed his mother’s instruction for the first time in years. Regulus was sitting on the stairs, just staring impassively at Sirius. Sirius wanted anger, confusion, anything. But his brother did nothing at all, and Sirius blasted the banister by Regulus’ head, and so leaving his last ever mark on the house.
He’s almost tempted to go into the hall and have another go of it – anything to get the circulation going. He doesn’t, though. The past is omnipresent enough as it is. Anyway, he hasn’t got that sort of energy these days.
But the voices are insistent, and Sirius is reduced to sitting, the force of the dead becoming overpowering.
And then there is a sliding of bolts, and Remus is home. Remus, who is warmth and light and life. Remus, who is a living Patronus to drive the dead away. Remus, who is hope, unspeakable hope that reminds Sirius that he is in love.
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