Unbodying
I mentioned this to faeriemaiden a couple days ago and figured I might as well post it here. It's part of a fic I attempted to write--RT, of course--based on the idea that Remus has read lots of Muggle authors and is a particular fan of Tolkien and C.S. Lewis. I just love that, but the problem with this is that it refers to a quote in Lewis's Out of the Silent Planet that isn't helpful and doesn't actually exist, and anyway the idea of unbodying in there really has nothing whatsoever to do with werewolf transformations, literally or figuratively (though I may be able to manage the latter). Plus I'm not sure I like the way I have Tonks acting here, and the bit about the other Marauders falls flat, I think.
Anyway...I don't know when this is supposed to happen, but Remus is resting in bed here, the morning after a full moon.
“What does it feel like?” she asks. “The transformations?”
His brows contract-even this movement seems to cause him pain-and he says, “It isn’t something I like to dwell on a lot when it’s not actually happening.”
“I’m being insensitive again. Sorry.”
“Well,” he says dryly, “at least you’ve yet to accuse me of being inhuman.”
She’s silent a moment, but she really does want to know; and this isn’t just insensitivity: for all she knows, he can’t talk about it at all. Talking might not help, precisely, but her mum always did believe in it. “I just…I know I can’t really understand, but…I’d like to.”
[snip conversation I haven’t written yet]
“It’s like…” He pauses as if wracking his memory. For once, the act looks painful. “Unbodying,” he says finally.
She wrinkles her nose as if she’s trying to morph. “Aside from sounding rather unpleasant, that doesn’t help much.”
“No, well…I can’t remember any exact quotes…” He gropes for his wand on the bedside table, fingers stiff and tentative. She pushes it into his grasp. He smiles at her, wearily, and Summons a battered paperback from a stack across the room.
She cranes her neck in a futile attempt to read the spine. “Tolkien?”
“C.S. Lewis, actually.”
“I can’t keep all your Muggle authors straight.”
“They’re not my Muggle authors.”
“You read them.”
“All right. Guilty.” He opens it, fingers smoothing the pages aside almost reverently, the way he does with all his most treasured books, and she wonders what sort of history he has with this one, and what memories-good or bad-it contains. “At least Muggle authors can’t Charm the illustrations in their books to wander all over the page until you pay attention to them.”
“Some of us,” she reminds him, “do not have professor-like attention spans.”
He grins, an endearing, little-boy smile, except on Remus it doesn’t look so young. “You should have heard me going on about all my Muggle books in the Gryffindor common room. James and Sirius finally decided the only way to shut me up was to start throwing things at me and hope I’d get distracted trying to fend them off.”
“Did it work?”
“Sometimes.”
“What did Peter do?” she asks without thinking, and wants to snatch the words back.
He looks away, grin fading. “He actually listened. Thought it was interesting. Then he’d team up with me to Charm our books to fly at James and Sirius.”
She remembers Peter from years ago, from before everything, and for once she doesn’t respond.
“Well,” he says. “Here.” He runs his hand down a page; the text looks misshapen from where she sits.
So basically I've got a cute little bit of RT fluff and nowhere to go with it. Bother.
Anyway...I don't know when this is supposed to happen, but Remus is resting in bed here, the morning after a full moon.
“What does it feel like?” she asks. “The transformations?”
His brows contract-even this movement seems to cause him pain-and he says, “It isn’t something I like to dwell on a lot when it’s not actually happening.”
“I’m being insensitive again. Sorry.”
“Well,” he says dryly, “at least you’ve yet to accuse me of being inhuman.”
She’s silent a moment, but she really does want to know; and this isn’t just insensitivity: for all she knows, he can’t talk about it at all. Talking might not help, precisely, but her mum always did believe in it. “I just…I know I can’t really understand, but…I’d like to.”
[snip conversation I haven’t written yet]
“It’s like…” He pauses as if wracking his memory. For once, the act looks painful. “Unbodying,” he says finally.
She wrinkles her nose as if she’s trying to morph. “Aside from sounding rather unpleasant, that doesn’t help much.”
“No, well…I can’t remember any exact quotes…” He gropes for his wand on the bedside table, fingers stiff and tentative. She pushes it into his grasp. He smiles at her, wearily, and Summons a battered paperback from a stack across the room.
She cranes her neck in a futile attempt to read the spine. “Tolkien?”
“C.S. Lewis, actually.”
“I can’t keep all your Muggle authors straight.”
“They’re not my Muggle authors.”
“You read them.”
“All right. Guilty.” He opens it, fingers smoothing the pages aside almost reverently, the way he does with all his most treasured books, and she wonders what sort of history he has with this one, and what memories-good or bad-it contains. “At least Muggle authors can’t Charm the illustrations in their books to wander all over the page until you pay attention to them.”
“Some of us,” she reminds him, “do not have professor-like attention spans.”
He grins, an endearing, little-boy smile, except on Remus it doesn’t look so young. “You should have heard me going on about all my Muggle books in the Gryffindor common room. James and Sirius finally decided the only way to shut me up was to start throwing things at me and hope I’d get distracted trying to fend them off.”
“Did it work?”
“Sometimes.”
“What did Peter do?” she asks without thinking, and wants to snatch the words back.
He looks away, grin fading. “He actually listened. Thought it was interesting. Then he’d team up with me to Charm our books to fly at James and Sirius.”
She remembers Peter from years ago, from before everything, and for once she doesn’t respond.
“Well,” he says. “Here.” He runs his hand down a page; the text looks misshapen from where she sits.
So basically I've got a cute little bit of RT fluff and nowhere to go with it. Bother.