Fic: Harry Potter; Dog Days of Summer Day 1;
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: PG
Word Count: 506
Warnings: death (though not of a main character)
Pairing/Characters: Sirius Black, James Potter, Remus Lupin, v.v.v. slight R/S
Era: First War
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all its characters belong to J. K. Rowling
Author's Note: Written for dogdaysofsummer '09. Which no doubt I will not be able to keep up with (especially considering I'm in the middle of reel_merlin Round 2) but I thought I'd try.
Summary: The aftermath of an attack in the first war.
His ears are ringing and all the sound he knows must be there is muffled: the shouts of the people, the concerned questions of the healers. All he can hear is the clanging, buzzing, ring as his ears try to come to terms with what they have heard.
Across the street - paces away and miles away - a woman is screaming as someone holds her back. Sirius can’t hear her yells and pleas, but he can read her lips.
‘No… Let me see him! He’s not dead! He’s not dead!’
He’s not dead, over and over again. It echoes round his head, even though the words have no sound. He puts voices to it: Remus, James, Lily, McGonagall sounding resigned, Snape sounding irritated, his mother sounding disappointed. He’s not dead. He tries to put his own voice to it, but he can’t remember what he sounds like.
There is a hand on his shoulder and he jumps, his wand out automatically. He goes from dazed to deadly in less than a second, and the part of him that is beyond the muffling, that is viewing this as some kind of strange dream, that part of him, wonders when he became so good at all of this.
It is James, blood smeared over his top lip and into his mouth. He must be tasting the iron of it. All Sirius can taste is dust.
He lowers his wand and smiles as broadly as he can. James mimes out exaggeratedly that he is deaf, and Sirius nods. He can’t quite shake the feeling of dislocation. Like the throbbing pain that is his body belongs to someone else.
Across the street, the woman makes it past the human blockade and Sirius knows that he should be able to hear the thud of her shoes against the tarmac, but he can’t.
She reaches the person she’s been calling for, and comes crashing to her knees, rolling him over until he lolls against her thighs, head falling back to hit the ground. He looks like a puppet with its strings cut. His face is painted with red and pink, studded with glitter that sparkles in the bright summer sun. Shards and splinters of glass.
The keen of grief she makes then is the first thing that pierces through the fuzzy ringing of his ears. It’s still quiet, but he can hear it. James’ arm falls across his shoulders and they tug each other away.
He is not dead, his brain reminds him.
Resting on the doorstep of a nearby house, with a healer fussing over him, sits Remus, his shoulder looks dislocated and there’s a jagged cut running over his nose, but he’s not dead.
He smiles, slowly, and Sirius grins back. James’ voice filters through the mist into his mind.
“That was a close one.”
And suddenly he can make out the sirens of the emergency vehicles punctuated by the sobs of the woman. It’s like he’s falling back into his body. Everything jolts into focus and it hurts to breathe.
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Rating: PG
Word Count: 506
Warnings: death (though not of a main character)
Pairing/Characters: Sirius Black, James Potter, Remus Lupin, v.v.v. slight R/S
Era: First War
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all its characters belong to J. K. Rowling
Author's Note: Written for dogdaysofsummer '09. Which no doubt I will not be able to keep up with (especially considering I'm in the middle of reel_merlin Round 2) but I thought I'd try.
Summary: The aftermath of an attack in the first war.
His ears are ringing and all the sound he knows must be there is muffled: the shouts of the people, the concerned questions of the healers. All he can hear is the clanging, buzzing, ring as his ears try to come to terms with what they have heard.
Across the street - paces away and miles away - a woman is screaming as someone holds her back. Sirius can’t hear her yells and pleas, but he can read her lips.
‘No… Let me see him! He’s not dead! He’s not dead!’
He’s not dead, over and over again. It echoes round his head, even though the words have no sound. He puts voices to it: Remus, James, Lily, McGonagall sounding resigned, Snape sounding irritated, his mother sounding disappointed. He’s not dead. He tries to put his own voice to it, but he can’t remember what he sounds like.
There is a hand on his shoulder and he jumps, his wand out automatically. He goes from dazed to deadly in less than a second, and the part of him that is beyond the muffling, that is viewing this as some kind of strange dream, that part of him, wonders when he became so good at all of this.
It is James, blood smeared over his top lip and into his mouth. He must be tasting the iron of it. All Sirius can taste is dust.
He lowers his wand and smiles as broadly as he can. James mimes out exaggeratedly that he is deaf, and Sirius nods. He can’t quite shake the feeling of dislocation. Like the throbbing pain that is his body belongs to someone else.
Across the street, the woman makes it past the human blockade and Sirius knows that he should be able to hear the thud of her shoes against the tarmac, but he can’t.
She reaches the person she’s been calling for, and comes crashing to her knees, rolling him over until he lolls against her thighs, head falling back to hit the ground. He looks like a puppet with its strings cut. His face is painted with red and pink, studded with glitter that sparkles in the bright summer sun. Shards and splinters of glass.
The keen of grief she makes then is the first thing that pierces through the fuzzy ringing of his ears. It’s still quiet, but he can hear it. James’ arm falls across his shoulders and they tug each other away.
He is not dead, his brain reminds him.
Resting on the doorstep of a nearby house, with a healer fussing over him, sits Remus, his shoulder looks dislocated and there’s a jagged cut running over his nose, but he’s not dead.
He smiles, slowly, and Sirius grins back. James’ voice filters through the mist into his mind.
“That was a close one.”
And suddenly he can make out the sirens of the emergency vehicles punctuated by the sobs of the woman. It’s like he’s falling back into his body. Everything jolts into focus and it hurts to breathe.
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