HP Fic: Gorgon's Lair
Title: Gorgon's Lair
Author: MrsTater
Rating & Warnings: G, none
Format & Word Count: ficlet, 764 words
Summary: When Remus comes home, he must face more than just a Metamorphmagus.
Author's Note: Not sure where this little idea came from; I finally got a little me time the other night, took a notebook in the bath, determined to write something, got the first line, and then the rest of this happened. I have another idea for something a little more light-hearted, but I've been wanting to do something with Remus and Andromeda for a long time. Thanks to godricgal for betaing! Hope y'all like. :)
Gorgon's Lair
"It's not what you are that's shameful," says Andromeda. "It's what you've done."
The words sting. But after a lifetime of pain Remus has grown quite accustomed to it--expects it-- and greets this pain--which he's been expecting since the moment he returned to his in-laws' house a week ago-- like he always does: with a taut, closed-lipped smile over gritted teeth.
"Believe me," he replies, "I've shame enough for all of the above."
He picks up his teacup. Sees images within, as if he were in Divination class, though he knows they are in memory and not tea leaves; Harry's face appears everywhere since Remus fled Grimmauld Place.
He sighs. Places the teacup down again without drinking. Pulls his fingers slowly away from the warm china.
"Can you honestly tell me," his voice is hoarse, "that if Dora had told you about me…about us…at the start, you wouldn't have batted an eye at her going out with a werewolf?"
As to whether Andromeda bats an eye at the question, he doesn't know. He can't look up at her, can't meet her eyes which no doubt hold the truth he wants but fears.
They ought to have called her Medusa. A good name for a member of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. She even had two sisters to play the roles of the other Gorgons. But Andromeda better hair than Medusa. All the Blacks do.
He ought to be ashamed of his lack of courage. A good Gryffindor would look danger and death in the eye.
But surely the question itself counts for something? It is, after all, at last, a confrontation. Airing the assumptions he has made about the distance at which Andromeda holds him.
In true Slytherin form, she rises to the challenge by turning the table.
"I would have appreciated the opportunity to accept your relationship without its being presented to me as if it were a dirty little secret. Nymphadora should have known better than to hide you from us."
Another sting, this time, unexpected. So unexpected that Remus lifts his head--remembering, at the last moment, to avoid Andromeda's eyes.
Since meeting Dora's parents at St. Mungo's more than two years ago, Remus has been known to pass time--a lot of time, when he was underground--giving internal monologues regarding the manifold reasons Ted and Andromeda would be disgusted to learn their only child loved a werewolf. Not once did it crossed his mind that what disgusted them isn't that their daughter loved a werewolf, but that they hadn't known their daughter was in love at all.
It's not what you are that's shameful. It's what you've done.
Or haven't done, in this case.
He can't muster the small, taut smile as he replies, knowing it's the wrong thing to say but not knowing what else he can say, "She was hiding a great deal that year."
"I didn't raise Nymphadora to skulk in the dark! Merlin only knows there's more than enough of that to go around where I come from."
A twitch at the corner of Remus' mouth. He raises his head now, just so that his hair falls into his eyes as he lifts them to meet his mother-in-law's. Speaks quietly, "Now who's ashamed of circumstances beyond control?"
For a moment, Andromeda's gaze flickers, her eyes glossy mirrors, her face stone. Only for a moment. She gives her thick, dark mane of loose hair a toss. Aristocratic. Haughty, even. Remus has seen that look before.
"But I have done nothing I am ashamed of," she asserts, getting up. Then, more softly, "Or, if I have, I've forgiven myself for it."
But she pauses in the doorway, turns back to look at him, her head slightly atilt. Remus thinks of a great black dog, watching. Waiting.
"I…" Remus' voice catches. "I'm not sure I can do that."
An eyebrow arches. He goes on, quickly:
"But I suspect you're going to tell me I have to. Because Dora forgives me. And because…of the baby."
"That's the gist of it, yes," says Andromeda. "Only you forgot the part where…I forgive you, too." The eyes flash. "This time."
Long after she slips out of the kitchen, Remus stares into the dark corridor. Finally, when he is sure Andromeda is gone, he lets out a long breath. That encounter certainly went far better than he dared to hope.
But he wraps slightly trembling fingers around his mug and wonders:
After Perseus emerged, victorious, from battle with Medusa, did he wish for a cup of strong tea?
Author: MrsTater
Rating & Warnings: G, none
Format & Word Count: ficlet, 764 words
Summary: When Remus comes home, he must face more than just a Metamorphmagus.
Author's Note: Not sure where this little idea came from; I finally got a little me time the other night, took a notebook in the bath, determined to write something, got the first line, and then the rest of this happened. I have another idea for something a little more light-hearted, but I've been wanting to do something with Remus and Andromeda for a long time. Thanks to godricgal for betaing! Hope y'all like. :)
Gorgon's Lair
"It's not what you are that's shameful," says Andromeda. "It's what you've done."
The words sting. But after a lifetime of pain Remus has grown quite accustomed to it--expects it-- and greets this pain--which he's been expecting since the moment he returned to his in-laws' house a week ago-- like he always does: with a taut, closed-lipped smile over gritted teeth.
"Believe me," he replies, "I've shame enough for all of the above."
He picks up his teacup. Sees images within, as if he were in Divination class, though he knows they are in memory and not tea leaves; Harry's face appears everywhere since Remus fled Grimmauld Place.
He sighs. Places the teacup down again without drinking. Pulls his fingers slowly away from the warm china.
"Can you honestly tell me," his voice is hoarse, "that if Dora had told you about me…about us…at the start, you wouldn't have batted an eye at her going out with a werewolf?"
As to whether Andromeda bats an eye at the question, he doesn't know. He can't look up at her, can't meet her eyes which no doubt hold the truth he wants but fears.
They ought to have called her Medusa. A good name for a member of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. She even had two sisters to play the roles of the other Gorgons. But Andromeda better hair than Medusa. All the Blacks do.
He ought to be ashamed of his lack of courage. A good Gryffindor would look danger and death in the eye.
But surely the question itself counts for something? It is, after all, at last, a confrontation. Airing the assumptions he has made about the distance at which Andromeda holds him.
In true Slytherin form, she rises to the challenge by turning the table.
"I would have appreciated the opportunity to accept your relationship without its being presented to me as if it were a dirty little secret. Nymphadora should have known better than to hide you from us."
Another sting, this time, unexpected. So unexpected that Remus lifts his head--remembering, at the last moment, to avoid Andromeda's eyes.
Since meeting Dora's parents at St. Mungo's more than two years ago, Remus has been known to pass time--a lot of time, when he was underground--giving internal monologues regarding the manifold reasons Ted and Andromeda would be disgusted to learn their only child loved a werewolf. Not once did it crossed his mind that what disgusted them isn't that their daughter loved a werewolf, but that they hadn't known their daughter was in love at all.
It's not what you are that's shameful. It's what you've done.
Or haven't done, in this case.
He can't muster the small, taut smile as he replies, knowing it's the wrong thing to say but not knowing what else he can say, "She was hiding a great deal that year."
"I didn't raise Nymphadora to skulk in the dark! Merlin only knows there's more than enough of that to go around where I come from."
A twitch at the corner of Remus' mouth. He raises his head now, just so that his hair falls into his eyes as he lifts them to meet his mother-in-law's. Speaks quietly, "Now who's ashamed of circumstances beyond control?"
For a moment, Andromeda's gaze flickers, her eyes glossy mirrors, her face stone. Only for a moment. She gives her thick, dark mane of loose hair a toss. Aristocratic. Haughty, even. Remus has seen that look before.
"But I have done nothing I am ashamed of," she asserts, getting up. Then, more softly, "Or, if I have, I've forgiven myself for it."
But she pauses in the doorway, turns back to look at him, her head slightly atilt. Remus thinks of a great black dog, watching. Waiting.
"I…" Remus' voice catches. "I'm not sure I can do that."
An eyebrow arches. He goes on, quickly:
"But I suspect you're going to tell me I have to. Because Dora forgives me. And because…of the baby."
"That's the gist of it, yes," says Andromeda. "Only you forgot the part where…I forgive you, too." The eyes flash. "This time."
Long after she slips out of the kitchen, Remus stares into the dark corridor. Finally, when he is sure Andromeda is gone, he lets out a long breath. That encounter certainly went far better than he dared to hope.
But he wraps slightly trembling fingers around his mug and wonders:
After Perseus emerged, victorious, from battle with Medusa, did he wish for a cup of strong tea?