Three Queerditch Pub Ficlets
Afternoon session of queerditch_pub. The prompts today were movie titles.
Remus/Hermione: Phantom of the Opera (346 words)
Remus has grown thinner since…since the Incident, as most of them have taken to calling it. Harry doesn't--"When Sirius died," he says, with an edge to his voice that dares her to call what happened anything but death--but he's the only one. The rest of them call it the Incident. Remus never calls it anything at all.
Yes, he's thinner now. And paler. His skin is almost translucent. Not that he doesn't try to be normal. He sits and talks determinedly about everyday matters like the weather, and gardens, and job-hunting. But Hermione gets the feeling, looking at those brown eyes that are full of screams, that Remus is not really here at all.
She hears him late at night, and often into the early morning hours as well, playing classical pieces on the Blacks' piano. Most often it's Chopin and his interminable nocturnes. Sometimes she hears him singing arias. She's looked them up, of course, and they give her chills--the song of a madwoman babbling among the wedding guests, telling them to weep for her earthly remains while she prays for them in heaven. The cheerful song of a doomed brother and sister, reunited after years of misery and isolation, only to fall in love. He plays the "Abscheulicher" aria when he is angriest. She can translate it almost from memory now: "Monster! Whither is thy haste?/ What designs breed thy rage?"
She wonders if the monster he refers to is Bellatrix or himself.
She'd like to make him laugh again, or give him a comforting hug, or kiss him and make him see that there are still things to live for. But one look in those bleak and empty eyes tells her that it would be nonsense to say that to Remus, for Remus is no longer truly alive. Most of him died with Sirius, and the body simply hasn't the sense to stop walking around.
She hates to wish it, but she prays that he'll see his Sirius soon.
Remus Lupin deserves better than the living-death existence of a phantom.
***
Bellatrix/Rodolphus/Rastaban: A Place For Lovers (289 words)
Roldolphus, lying in the middle of the bed the three of them share, thinks of the other two.
He thinks of his Bellatrix. How beautiful she was once. How beautiful they all were, before Azkaban. He can still see her as a bride, inky-black hair spilling across a white pillow, an ink-black mark spilling across white skin. He recalls her grey eyes laughing as he tells her how it is with himself and his brother, and her determination to unite them, not sever them forever.
He thinks of his Rastaban, his baby brother, one of the few Hufflepuff Death Eaters. His brother got the looks in the family, the dark hair and pale complexion of their Black mother, the dark eyes of their Lestrange father. Rodolphus himself inherited chestnut hair and dark eyes, with a swarthy complexion and a stocky build. No beauty he. But Rastaban doesn't see this, has never seen it, and Rodolphus doesn't know why.
He leans over and kisses each of his sleeping lovers, and wishes, as he always does, that he could take them to a place far from war and madness and the damage that Azkaban does. He would like to banish the shadows from Bella's mind, and the confused terror from his brother's eyes. He'd like to banish his own anger, and the faded memories that aren't quite real but that haunt his dreams.
There should be a place where they can heal, can put Azkaban behind them, can try to remember how to love.
He does not think there will be a place to heal in Voldemort's world.
Perhaps the only place they will ever have is this bed, with their arms about each other.
Only here.
Only this.
***
Severus/Regulus: The Black Cauldron--259 Words
Severus tries hard not to think about why he wants this boy, who looks so much like that filthy Muggle-lover Black, in his bed.
It's not that he wants Black in his bed. Black, who is little better than an animal, revolts him.
And it's not that he's never had another man before. He's had Lucius, and been had by him, and he knows that he will belong to Lucius until the day he dies...and possibly even after.
But Regulus--
Regulus is, or seems to be, quiescent, an ordinary Slytherin, a star of no great magnitude. And yet, Severus has surprised looks of rage and bitterness from those dark blue eyes, the sudden shame-filled downcast gaze, the lips tightening in pain that Regulus will never admit to feeling.
So much is simmering beneath the surface in that cauldron of Black. It is like looking at a younger version of himself.
And so he tangles his sallow hands in the long black hair, and tells Regulus--which is the truth--that he is not ashamed to be Regulus's lover, and struggles to bite back the sarcastic remarks, because Regulus is walking wounded, and would not know that he is joking. He tries to heal the wounds that he cannot heal in himself.
And he wonders, as he watches Regulus study or practice Quidditch or sleep, just how much damage he is doing to the boy.
And he wonders if he should do the right thing, and give Regulus up.
And then he wonders how long he can make it last.
Remus/Hermione: Phantom of the Opera (346 words)
Remus has grown thinner since…since the Incident, as most of them have taken to calling it. Harry doesn't--"When Sirius died," he says, with an edge to his voice that dares her to call what happened anything but death--but he's the only one. The rest of them call it the Incident. Remus never calls it anything at all.
Yes, he's thinner now. And paler. His skin is almost translucent. Not that he doesn't try to be normal. He sits and talks determinedly about everyday matters like the weather, and gardens, and job-hunting. But Hermione gets the feeling, looking at those brown eyes that are full of screams, that Remus is not really here at all.
She hears him late at night, and often into the early morning hours as well, playing classical pieces on the Blacks' piano. Most often it's Chopin and his interminable nocturnes. Sometimes she hears him singing arias. She's looked them up, of course, and they give her chills--the song of a madwoman babbling among the wedding guests, telling them to weep for her earthly remains while she prays for them in heaven. The cheerful song of a doomed brother and sister, reunited after years of misery and isolation, only to fall in love. He plays the "Abscheulicher" aria when he is angriest. She can translate it almost from memory now: "Monster! Whither is thy haste?/ What designs breed thy rage?"
She wonders if the monster he refers to is Bellatrix or himself.
She'd like to make him laugh again, or give him a comforting hug, or kiss him and make him see that there are still things to live for. But one look in those bleak and empty eyes tells her that it would be nonsense to say that to Remus, for Remus is no longer truly alive. Most of him died with Sirius, and the body simply hasn't the sense to stop walking around.
She hates to wish it, but she prays that he'll see his Sirius soon.
Remus Lupin deserves better than the living-death existence of a phantom.
***
Bellatrix/Rodolphus/Rastaban: A Place For Lovers (289 words)
Roldolphus, lying in the middle of the bed the three of them share, thinks of the other two.
He thinks of his Bellatrix. How beautiful she was once. How beautiful they all were, before Azkaban. He can still see her as a bride, inky-black hair spilling across a white pillow, an ink-black mark spilling across white skin. He recalls her grey eyes laughing as he tells her how it is with himself and his brother, and her determination to unite them, not sever them forever.
He thinks of his Rastaban, his baby brother, one of the few Hufflepuff Death Eaters. His brother got the looks in the family, the dark hair and pale complexion of their Black mother, the dark eyes of their Lestrange father. Rodolphus himself inherited chestnut hair and dark eyes, with a swarthy complexion and a stocky build. No beauty he. But Rastaban doesn't see this, has never seen it, and Rodolphus doesn't know why.
He leans over and kisses each of his sleeping lovers, and wishes, as he always does, that he could take them to a place far from war and madness and the damage that Azkaban does. He would like to banish the shadows from Bella's mind, and the confused terror from his brother's eyes. He'd like to banish his own anger, and the faded memories that aren't quite real but that haunt his dreams.
There should be a place where they can heal, can put Azkaban behind them, can try to remember how to love.
He does not think there will be a place to heal in Voldemort's world.
Perhaps the only place they will ever have is this bed, with their arms about each other.
Only here.
Only this.
***
Severus/Regulus: The Black Cauldron--259 Words
Severus tries hard not to think about why he wants this boy, who looks so much like that filthy Muggle-lover Black, in his bed.
It's not that he wants Black in his bed. Black, who is little better than an animal, revolts him.
And it's not that he's never had another man before. He's had Lucius, and been had by him, and he knows that he will belong to Lucius until the day he dies...and possibly even after.
But Regulus--
Regulus is, or seems to be, quiescent, an ordinary Slytherin, a star of no great magnitude. And yet, Severus has surprised looks of rage and bitterness from those dark blue eyes, the sudden shame-filled downcast gaze, the lips tightening in pain that Regulus will never admit to feeling.
So much is simmering beneath the surface in that cauldron of Black. It is like looking at a younger version of himself.
And so he tangles his sallow hands in the long black hair, and tells Regulus--which is the truth--that he is not ashamed to be Regulus's lover, and struggles to bite back the sarcastic remarks, because Regulus is walking wounded, and would not know that he is joking. He tries to heal the wounds that he cannot heal in himself.
And he wonders, as he watches Regulus study or practice Quidditch or sleep, just how much damage he is doing to the boy.
And he wonders if he should do the right thing, and give Regulus up.
And then he wonders how long he can make it last.