Half-Staff (Half Mast)
Harry Potter.
Abortive, aborted, distorted; one version of a request ages ago. Will never be finished in this form. Here instead of elsewhere because my login is stuffed up.
Distant Voices
Notes: AU, same 'verse as "A Sorta Fairytale With You", roughly Prisoner of Azkaban era. All mistakes are mine; all characters and related indicia are property of JKR. All prefacing italic quotes are from the song "Hurricane" by Bush and do not belong to me. I'm not making any money therefrom, hereby, or herewith.
.:.
Scars ripped open by the sun
Daylight comes but not soon enough
Speed down your track in search of you
Strapped to the back of what we do
.:.
Remus Lupin took his briefcase and coat down from the rail and waited for the passengers in the rows ahead of him to file out before scooting away from his seat. Once most of them were gone, he slid through the aisles and escaped unnoticed.
He moved quickly, as fast as he could go without being accused of running. He wasn't frightened or upset. He just hated the sound of trains. The roar they made, the great screaming whistle and grinding collisions of metal that happened whenever large machines got underway. He hustled through the terminal and tried to keep his hat on his head.
The hat was important. It hid the rapidly-spreading, heavy silver patches sprouting on his head. The ones that were obviously not his own darker, thinner hair.
It was good he left Hogwarts when he had. He had exactly one draught of wolfsbane left; he'd stretched them out between changes. It was what made him so careful with the tattered briefcase. Losing or spilling it now would be unfortunate.
He realized, for the millionth time, that this was a very bad idea. And for the millionth time, he decided he did not care. He'd made a lifetime of reading signs. He followed the moon, he was ensnared by the moon, and it had taught him subtlety. He sensed danger much more swiftly than anyone he knew. Quicker even than Sirius, who understood so much better than the others.
He was going to live with Sirius. He had the answering letter in dashed-off hard script with tall fishooking f's, Sirius' surprised and pleased "Yes, let's do! Buckbeak is thrilled. - Padfoot". It would be just like old times.
But first Remus had other visits to make. There was disaster coming. She needed to be warned. She didn't deserve it. No, not strictly; but neither did he. It wasn't his place to pass judgment. And with Narcissa Malfoy he might even be scared to try.
His briefcase wobbled a little in his hand as he started down the road.
.:.
Ages of change ahead of us
I'd rather starve than fake a life
.:.
There were tiny shreds of leaf, no bigger than the tips of needles, gathering in the bottom of her green tea. Narcissa had taken a liking to green tea over the years, but she still couldn't stand the way the leaf bits gathered in the bottom. She picked up her spoon and stirred aimlessly, making sure never to touch the sides of the cup; clanking was for barbarians and clods.
The leaves swirled and danced. Most of them clung to the back of the spoon, dark wrinkled obscene disturbances on its perfect sheen. And now she was trapped--there was no way to get rid of them, to pry them loose from the spoon, without ruining also the perfect blank cream of the napkin.
She scraped the spoon against the cup with a delicate sigh and glared at the tea leaves in disapproval. And waited. She was neither fond of nor used to waiting. No one had made her wait for anything once she was married. Malfoys did not wait. The very idea was scandal personified. Yet here she sat, waiting.
The tea was quite cold by the time he arrived. She knew instantly that it was him; he had the same awkward hitch to his walk, always swaying a little, as though he had too many feet. And anyway, that tattered wreck he was lugging around had his name on it.
He flushed a little when he spotted her, then went white. Both expressions were equally sickly. He was a disheveled pile of ragged angles, and possibly--she cringed--possibly not the cleanest he had ever been.
"What's wrong with you?" she blurted, on her feet before she could stop herself.
"Pleasure to see you, Narcissa."
"You look terrible!" Her eyes were wide. "It's...You look like you have consumption."
In years gone by, that would have cut him down instantly. It cut him still. But life had made him learn better. There was no such thing as mercy, therefore he expected none. He only missed a few beats, and his expression did not change.
"Nice dress," he said, calm. "Did your husband choose it for you?"
She had always been harder than he was, but not lately. Too much had happened to her, too quickly. Her husband, her son...The arguments that never seemed to stop, the insistance that Draco was meant for glory and Durmstrang. Lupin's jibe still bounced off, but it left some cracks in the facade. Her hands closed, just once, tightly.
"Lucius," she said, and that was all, and sat down again.
"I missed the transfer," he said, spreading his hands awkwardly. His nails were sharper and thicker than she remembered. "I do apologize."
"Please sit," she murmured. It was not a request.
"Absolutely." The word had steel in it, and when he smiled she noticed his teeth were pointed.
There was a sudden, alarming insistence in the back of her head. Fairytale murmurings. She wanted to laugh at them--they were absurd!--and found she had no breath to do it with.
"War." The word was not loud, but it made her flinch.
"What is it good for?" she asked after smoothing her skirt with a cultured lift of eyebrow.
He would have spit out his tea if he had been drinking any. He tried to hide a grin behind the tiny menu on crepe paper. She remembered! This might not be so horrible.
"It comes," he said, hating the awkwardness of it. The immediacy of what he knew, of what the moon insisted, crushed language and demanded the present tense. "Swift. Terrible." The menu crumpled in his grip. "Leave here. Take your son. Get somewhere safe."
Abortive, aborted, distorted; one version of a request ages ago. Will never be finished in this form. Here instead of elsewhere because my login is stuffed up.
Distant Voices
Notes: AU, same 'verse as "A Sorta Fairytale With You", roughly Prisoner of Azkaban era. All mistakes are mine; all characters and related indicia are property of JKR. All prefacing italic quotes are from the song "Hurricane" by Bush and do not belong to me. I'm not making any money therefrom, hereby, or herewith.
.:.
Scars ripped open by the sun
Daylight comes but not soon enough
Speed down your track in search of you
Strapped to the back of what we do
.:.
Remus Lupin took his briefcase and coat down from the rail and waited for the passengers in the rows ahead of him to file out before scooting away from his seat. Once most of them were gone, he slid through the aisles and escaped unnoticed.
He moved quickly, as fast as he could go without being accused of running. He wasn't frightened or upset. He just hated the sound of trains. The roar they made, the great screaming whistle and grinding collisions of metal that happened whenever large machines got underway. He hustled through the terminal and tried to keep his hat on his head.
The hat was important. It hid the rapidly-spreading, heavy silver patches sprouting on his head. The ones that were obviously not his own darker, thinner hair.
It was good he left Hogwarts when he had. He had exactly one draught of wolfsbane left; he'd stretched them out between changes. It was what made him so careful with the tattered briefcase. Losing or spilling it now would be unfortunate.
He realized, for the millionth time, that this was a very bad idea. And for the millionth time, he decided he did not care. He'd made a lifetime of reading signs. He followed the moon, he was ensnared by the moon, and it had taught him subtlety. He sensed danger much more swiftly than anyone he knew. Quicker even than Sirius, who understood so much better than the others.
He was going to live with Sirius. He had the answering letter in dashed-off hard script with tall fishooking f's, Sirius' surprised and pleased "Yes, let's do! Buckbeak is thrilled. - Padfoot". It would be just like old times.
But first Remus had other visits to make. There was disaster coming. She needed to be warned. She didn't deserve it. No, not strictly; but neither did he. It wasn't his place to pass judgment. And with Narcissa Malfoy he might even be scared to try.
His briefcase wobbled a little in his hand as he started down the road.
.:.
Ages of change ahead of us
I'd rather starve than fake a life
.:.
There were tiny shreds of leaf, no bigger than the tips of needles, gathering in the bottom of her green tea. Narcissa had taken a liking to green tea over the years, but she still couldn't stand the way the leaf bits gathered in the bottom. She picked up her spoon and stirred aimlessly, making sure never to touch the sides of the cup; clanking was for barbarians and clods.
The leaves swirled and danced. Most of them clung to the back of the spoon, dark wrinkled obscene disturbances on its perfect sheen. And now she was trapped--there was no way to get rid of them, to pry them loose from the spoon, without ruining also the perfect blank cream of the napkin.
She scraped the spoon against the cup with a delicate sigh and glared at the tea leaves in disapproval. And waited. She was neither fond of nor used to waiting. No one had made her wait for anything once she was married. Malfoys did not wait. The very idea was scandal personified. Yet here she sat, waiting.
The tea was quite cold by the time he arrived. She knew instantly that it was him; he had the same awkward hitch to his walk, always swaying a little, as though he had too many feet. And anyway, that tattered wreck he was lugging around had his name on it.
He flushed a little when he spotted her, then went white. Both expressions were equally sickly. He was a disheveled pile of ragged angles, and possibly--she cringed--possibly not the cleanest he had ever been.
"What's wrong with you?" she blurted, on her feet before she could stop herself.
"Pleasure to see you, Narcissa."
"You look terrible!" Her eyes were wide. "It's...You look like you have consumption."
In years gone by, that would have cut him down instantly. It cut him still. But life had made him learn better. There was no such thing as mercy, therefore he expected none. He only missed a few beats, and his expression did not change.
"Nice dress," he said, calm. "Did your husband choose it for you?"
She had always been harder than he was, but not lately. Too much had happened to her, too quickly. Her husband, her son...The arguments that never seemed to stop, the insistance that Draco was meant for glory and Durmstrang. Lupin's jibe still bounced off, but it left some cracks in the facade. Her hands closed, just once, tightly.
"Lucius," she said, and that was all, and sat down again.
"I missed the transfer," he said, spreading his hands awkwardly. His nails were sharper and thicker than she remembered. "I do apologize."
"Please sit," she murmured. It was not a request.
"Absolutely." The word had steel in it, and when he smiled she noticed his teeth were pointed.
There was a sudden, alarming insistence in the back of her head. Fairytale murmurings. She wanted to laugh at them--they were absurd!--and found she had no breath to do it with.
"War." The word was not loud, but it made her flinch.
"What is it good for?" she asked after smoothing her skirt with a cultured lift of eyebrow.
He would have spit out his tea if he had been drinking any. He tried to hide a grin behind the tiny menu on crepe paper. She remembered! This might not be so horrible.
"It comes," he said, hating the awkwardness of it. The immediacy of what he knew, of what the moon insisted, crushed language and demanded the present tense. "Swift. Terrible." The menu crumpled in his grip. "Leave here. Take your son. Get somewhere safe."