hiebliebe (hiebliebe) wrote in fictionfetish,

Old Dusty Fics

This was, I believe, my second attempt at fanfiction writing.
My first being an attempt at Severus/Sirius
(a sequel to "Levinspeed" by Acadine)
This one was supposed to be the first part of a series we were going to do
about what happened in between the lines of the Harry Potter books
The story between Sirius and Remus and so on.
It was quite a task to consider, and it never panned out.
This is GOOD because now we have such a good range of fics among us.
Besides, how boring would some of this be?
Too much heartbreak and BLAH.
Not enough smut.
So here it is.

Chapter One, which doth suck.
"Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments; love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O, no, it is an ever-fixèd mark,
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wand'ring bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his heighth be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved."

He sat alone on a set of cold stone steps, mouthing the words absently, his back towards the large, black, front door of "12 Grimmauld Place" - A towering, ancient house with grimy windows and a generally sepulchral presence.
He huddled into the old metal railing, shaking slightly in the biting wind as ominous, dark clouds began to gather above him.
He ran a finger along the page of a small book as a drop of rain landed on it, darkening the brittle, yellowed paper and revealing the fading letters on the pages behind it. He looked up to the sky as the rain began to rush downwards, loud and freezing and blinding in the afternoon grey of England.
He sighed heavily, his breath a white vapor before him.
Closing the book and placing it inside his coat pocket, he stood and turned around towards the door.
He remained there for a long while, his empty amber eyes staring vacantly as the torrents of rain soaked him completely through, his body numb with cold.
He looked upwards once more towards the pale, obscure moon and felt the delicate burning of tears accumulating and then leaking away, the warmth blending with the cold along his face as they ran down.
Nobody could see him here, a solitary dark figure in the streets, waiting outside someone else's house like an old stray dog. Waiting for someone who would never, ever open that door to him again.
Because he was gone.
These words rushed through his mind several times. It was cold and painful, and sent images racing around with blurring colors and distant whispered words.
He could feel the dull, familiar pain in his chest now. He knelt down, curled up and leaning against the railing once more with his hands covering his face.
His own breath was warm and damp against his eyes, and he could hear himself sobbing uncontrollably.
He looked up and gasped hard for breath, choking.
He pulled his hand through his hair, and sat thoughtless for a minute.
He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, breathing deep and slow, the pain in his chest slowly subsiding, almost unsure of itself.
"but not dead."
And he wasn't. Sometimes he forgot, though - which was really quite easy to do. Sometimes it actually felt better to believe that he was dead. Compared to this, there was comfort in the thought of death. Because death was easy to understand. Or maybe it was the other way around.
He collected himself as the rain slowed to a quiet trickle, and stood close to the door under the small overhang, where he could keep dry. He reached back in his pocket and pulled out his book again, flipping to the page where he had left off. He carefully tore out the page and folded it in half. He knelt down to the old doormat and lifted up its corner to reveal dry, clean stone. He slid the poem underneath, and suddenly noticed a small brass key. He picked it up and let go of the mat. It was heavy and rusty, engraved with a curly-looking "12". He smiled, leaning against the door and admiring the key, remembering.

(FLASHBACK) [NOTE: Chapter 23 of Shoebox happened in May, 1977. Because May = the best month besides July.]

It was July 2nd, 1977 - The day after Remus' second transformation of the Summer.
He had gained a particularly large, deep scar on the back of his left shoulder. He didn't remember how it got there, but he did remember having to pick a bit of sharp wood out of it that morning. It was a nice way to start a Saturday, though, lying starkers on the cold floor of James Potter's basement with a nice, big, bloody gash on your back. At least he wasn't alone.
James was also naked, sprawled out on the white sofa in the middle of the room and snoring loudly, almost inhaling the white stuffing that was protruding from a large hole in the upholstery by his head.
Sirius was -

"G'morning, Moony."
Right above him as his squinting, tired eyes opened.
By reflex, Remus shot his hands down between his legs -
Sirius grinned, laying a blanket softly over him and sitting on the floor in light blue boxers and white socks.
Remus rubbed his eyes, sitting up.
"Good mor- OW! Merlin's - "
"You alright?"
Remus's hand ran across his shoulder and he flinched.
"What is it?" Sirius asked, turning Remus around to see it, also flinching.
"Ooh, that's a pretty nasty looking battle wound you've got there...does it hurt? --" He pouted.
" -- We'll have James' mum fix it up for you at breakfast. Wouldn't want you to get infected like little Evans over there.
Just look at him, drooling all over himself...so sad."
"Yeah," He yawned. "It's not that bad, but I probably need a blood transfusion. I hope you don't mind."
"Of course not, Moony, love. Please - let me suck the venom from your wounds!" He clutched his chest dramatically with a pained look on his face.
"I wouldn't want you to get any splinters." Remus said, plucking out a sharp sliver of wood.
"Why, Moony! I always knew you were a tree on the inside. Don't be picking out any more twigs, just put on some pants and we'll go get James' mum."
Sirius threw Remus' pants at him as he hopped into his own.
Remus thought for a moment of how much better it would be to have Sirius nursing his wounds than James' mother.
Sirius in a nurse outfit.
Oh God...err...
Naked grandma, naked grandma, naked grandma...
"Jamie, darling, wake up! --" Sirius cried as he hovered over James' naked body.
"-- Jamiekins!" He grabbed his arm and shook him violently.
No reply.
"Oh, Remus. Looks like we're too late...he's died in his sleep."
They both gave up and went upstairs.
Sirius had ice cream for breakfast, and Remus had rubbing alcohol fumes on toast.

That Summer, Sirius and Remus set up their nest at James' house and spent as much time there as they could without seeming like total freeloaders.
They were freeloading, regardless. Mr. and Mrs. Potter were always excessively hospitable, and would probably be willing to let their son's friends eat them out of house and home with a smile on their faces. Despite Mrs. Potter's munificence, all the boys required was the basement. It was well-furnished and impeccably clean at some point in time. There was a large sofa, coffee table, bookshelves (To Remus's excitement), and James' armchair that was his and ONLY his, because sleeping on "Remus and Sirius's love-contaminated couch" was out of the question.

The three of them would go out in the yard in the hot afternoons, and Remus would read in the grass while Sirius and James played quidditch.
It was hard for Remus to read that Summer, though. He would always lose his place when he was staring at Sirius, dark and handsome and graceful and his.
They were determined to milk the end of their youth for all it was worth, and their worries about jobs and money and life and leaving were put on the back burner for a few glorious months.

Everything was perfect.

That night, James and Sirius were flying around in the yard right before sunset. The grey sky concealed the rain clouds, which had slowly accumulated and finally decided to wreak cold, wet havoc when the two boys were out over the trees. Remus shut his book and ran to the front door, waiting for his friends. They flew down as quickly as the first strike of lightning came, and they all rushed inside soaking wet.
"James! Please, sweetums, try not to get everything wet...give me your shirt."
Mrs. Potter shut the door behind the three boys.
"Take off your shoes, all of you. I'll get some dry socks -- Oh, and Sirius dear, your mother owled me yesterday, apparently. She wanted you home as soon as possible, because she's leaving and doesn't want Regulus to be home by himself."
Sirius scoffed. "He's a fifth year, for God's sake..."
"I'm sorry, sweetheart. The owl got here late, you better get home as soon as you can."
"Did she say when she was leaving?"
"She's gone already, I would assume. Said it was urgent business, and your father is off with her as well."
"So Remus can go."
They smiled at each other.
"Well, I suppose so. I think she did mention that she would be coming back soon, so I wouldn't count on free reign all week. Anywho, how are you boys getting home, hm? If you want to floo there-"
"Mum will have closed off the fireplace if she's gone...you know, it would have been nice if that old hag would've told me she was leaving." Sirius sighed.
"We can walk, if you want, Sirius."
"Yeah," he blushed slightly, turning away from Mrs. Potter.
"Maybe she set some wards that I could get through, if I'm lucky, but let's get going. Kreacher might eat Regulus if we don't hurry up."

James gave Remus and Sirius wet hugs, and the two boys walked out into the rain.
The air was warm and humid, and the water was cool against their skin.
It was just starting to go dark, and Sirius grabbed Remus's hand as the streetlights flickered on.
Remus smiled and held on tighter, walking leg-to-leg with Sirius.
"I always wonder if James' mother knows...", he laughed quietly.
"Hah. I'm going to assume she's naive to our...relations if she lets us sleep on the same couch - in a room alone with innocent, virginal James, mind you."


He turned to face the voice, wiping his eyes with his half-dry sleeve.
A tall, pink-haired woman stood at the bottom of the stairs.
"Are you okay, Remus?"
"Yeah, fine. Just....you know."
He looked down.
"Come on, Rem. You should get back home. You're soaked - it's freezing outside."
"Yeah. I suppose."
She waited for him as he stood in front of the door for a second and whispered something she could not hear...
"Happy Birthday, Sirius."
He faced her again and walked slowly down the stairs, never looking her in the eye.
She put her arm around his shoulder when he stood beside her.
"It's alright, Remus. I know....I know...."
Nymphadora Tonks walked along with Remus Lupin, and glanced at the waning moon as they reached the train station.
Remus kept his hands in his pockets.
She didn't know.

  • Post a new comment


    default userpic
  • 1 comment