Deciphering Secrets
Title: Deciphering Secrets
Fandom: Harry Potter
Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling's, not mine.
Rating: none
Feedback: I'm a comment whore.
Author’s Notes: This was written for guills_elite Fiction Contest #2. I chose to write a non-interactive piece about Lupin. There was an unfortunate incident in which I realized my canon was all wrong and had to scrap my original and rewrite, but I was still happy with the result.
Remus finished grading the last essay on banshees, a rather thoughtful and well-reasoned composition on how banshees should really be pitied, and not marginalized. However, it hadn’t been the objective of the essay, and he had to give it low marks. It seemed a shame, but then again, Ravenclaws did have a tendency to get off the subject a bit.
He placed the scrolls in his briefcase and snapped it shut. His eyes drifted towards his desk drawer, his fingers tingling to open it. It was becoming an addiction, and what of it? After a moment’s hesitation, he slid the drawer open and pulled out the old piece of parchment. Spreading it out on his desk, he quickly muttered the incantation-feeling foolish as he did every time-and watched as the map formed before his eyes. He was fairly certain it had been James who had come up with the incantation, and Sirius had found it exceedingly amusing, and they had been stuck with it ever since. Remus had thought it silly, and had told them as much, but he had loved that he had known the secret.
Tracing one blunt finger along the lines of the map, he searched again for what he often wondered hopelessly if he would ever find. He had been searching the map every night for the past two weeks, seeking out any sign of Sirius Black, all too aware of the irony of the situation. He was using their old map to track down one of the mapmakers. To hand him back over to Azkaban, and may he rot there. The betrayal of James-
He stifled his thoughts quickly.
It was astonishing that Harry had come into possession of his father’s map. Lupin was vaguely irritated that the boy hadn’t turned it in at once, and yet, here he was, the map in his office. He had fully intended to turn it in to Dumbledore, but he’d had second thoughts. Turning in the map would have meant explanations, and it wasn’t a story he was eager to tell the headmaster. That he had broken the rules as a student, that his friends had become Animagi. That Sirius had escaped Azkaban because of it.
He shook his head fiercely.
That wasn’t the case. Sirius had discovered some other means of escaping the prison, some terrible Dark Art he had learned from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. His thoughts settled somewhat.
There was another reason he kept the map. He thought that if he found Sirius on the map, if he faced him alone, then perhaps he could bring justice upon the man himself, right the wrongs that he had been the cause of. The injustice of James, Lily, and Peter’s deaths still gnawed at him, the broken pieces of his past life were still scattered.
He fought to push back the memories-memories he had been suppressing for the past twelve years, which had been spent feeling alone and utterly forsaken. He focused instead on the task at hand. He had grown very good at that: focusing on what was in front of him and ignoring everything around him. James and Sirius could be jinxing the chandelier to fall on Filch’s head, and as long as Remus had a book under his nose, he was none the wiser.
Certainly, he had behaved cowardly. But it had been the first time he had ever had friends, and his own self doubt had always possessed him, the voice in the back of his head warning him that they would abandon him if… If. They had never turned away, though, despite his monstrosity. They had become better friends for it.
Yet he lost them all in the end.
He hadn’t imagined Sirius capable of such treachery. He and James had been best friends, inseparable, to the bitter end. And yet…. His greying head sunk into his hands. He remembered all too well the day Sirius had chosen to play a practical joke on Severus. Sometimes he still woke up from the nightmares. Remus would have killed him, he would have slashed him open and gorged on him and-should he have seen it then, in that dark humor? Sirius had apologized endlessly to him, but it didn’t erase the deed.
He couldn’t find Sirius on the map, their own secret tool. He had asked himself every night if he truly thought he would. He asked himself every night if he hoped he would. If he could face him if he did find him. He wasn’t sure he had the courage for that.
Still, he did not fold away the map.
Remus hadn’t been there the night they had died. He had witnessed the horrifying scene later, visiting James and Lily’s house. He had needed to see it with his own eyes. And afterwards, he had quietly slipped away to a half-life of poverty and shame, living on the margins of the world, where he should have lived all along. Three of his friends had been killed, the fourth sent to Azkaban, and Remus hadn’t even attended the trial. Sometimes he thought he had been more afraid of the monster in Sirius than he had ever been afraid of himself.
Who was the real monster, then? Had it all been an elaborate lie?
And when all was said and done, what did it come down to?
The answer came simply. It came down to a broken man, sitting in his office late at night, pouring over a map that held the secrets of the dead-and he was unable to decipher them.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling's, not mine.
Rating: none
Feedback: I'm a comment whore.
Author’s Notes: This was written for guills_elite Fiction Contest #2. I chose to write a non-interactive piece about Lupin. There was an unfortunate incident in which I realized my canon was all wrong and had to scrap my original and rewrite, but I was still happy with the result.
Remus finished grading the last essay on banshees, a rather thoughtful and well-reasoned composition on how banshees should really be pitied, and not marginalized. However, it hadn’t been the objective of the essay, and he had to give it low marks. It seemed a shame, but then again, Ravenclaws did have a tendency to get off the subject a bit.
He placed the scrolls in his briefcase and snapped it shut. His eyes drifted towards his desk drawer, his fingers tingling to open it. It was becoming an addiction, and what of it? After a moment’s hesitation, he slid the drawer open and pulled out the old piece of parchment. Spreading it out on his desk, he quickly muttered the incantation-feeling foolish as he did every time-and watched as the map formed before his eyes. He was fairly certain it had been James who had come up with the incantation, and Sirius had found it exceedingly amusing, and they had been stuck with it ever since. Remus had thought it silly, and had told them as much, but he had loved that he had known the secret.
Tracing one blunt finger along the lines of the map, he searched again for what he often wondered hopelessly if he would ever find. He had been searching the map every night for the past two weeks, seeking out any sign of Sirius Black, all too aware of the irony of the situation. He was using their old map to track down one of the mapmakers. To hand him back over to Azkaban, and may he rot there. The betrayal of James-
He stifled his thoughts quickly.
It was astonishing that Harry had come into possession of his father’s map. Lupin was vaguely irritated that the boy hadn’t turned it in at once, and yet, here he was, the map in his office. He had fully intended to turn it in to Dumbledore, but he’d had second thoughts. Turning in the map would have meant explanations, and it wasn’t a story he was eager to tell the headmaster. That he had broken the rules as a student, that his friends had become Animagi. That Sirius had escaped Azkaban because of it.
He shook his head fiercely.
That wasn’t the case. Sirius had discovered some other means of escaping the prison, some terrible Dark Art he had learned from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. His thoughts settled somewhat.
There was another reason he kept the map. He thought that if he found Sirius on the map, if he faced him alone, then perhaps he could bring justice upon the man himself, right the wrongs that he had been the cause of. The injustice of James, Lily, and Peter’s deaths still gnawed at him, the broken pieces of his past life were still scattered.
He fought to push back the memories-memories he had been suppressing for the past twelve years, which had been spent feeling alone and utterly forsaken. He focused instead on the task at hand. He had grown very good at that: focusing on what was in front of him and ignoring everything around him. James and Sirius could be jinxing the chandelier to fall on Filch’s head, and as long as Remus had a book under his nose, he was none the wiser.
Certainly, he had behaved cowardly. But it had been the first time he had ever had friends, and his own self doubt had always possessed him, the voice in the back of his head warning him that they would abandon him if… If. They had never turned away, though, despite his monstrosity. They had become better friends for it.
Yet he lost them all in the end.
He hadn’t imagined Sirius capable of such treachery. He and James had been best friends, inseparable, to the bitter end. And yet…. His greying head sunk into his hands. He remembered all too well the day Sirius had chosen to play a practical joke on Severus. Sometimes he still woke up from the nightmares. Remus would have killed him, he would have slashed him open and gorged on him and-should he have seen it then, in that dark humor? Sirius had apologized endlessly to him, but it didn’t erase the deed.
He couldn’t find Sirius on the map, their own secret tool. He had asked himself every night if he truly thought he would. He asked himself every night if he hoped he would. If he could face him if he did find him. He wasn’t sure he had the courage for that.
Still, he did not fold away the map.
Remus hadn’t been there the night they had died. He had witnessed the horrifying scene later, visiting James and Lily’s house. He had needed to see it with his own eyes. And afterwards, he had quietly slipped away to a half-life of poverty and shame, living on the margins of the world, where he should have lived all along. Three of his friends had been killed, the fourth sent to Azkaban, and Remus hadn’t even attended the trial. Sometimes he thought he had been more afraid of the monster in Sirius than he had ever been afraid of himself.
Who was the real monster, then? Had it all been an elaborate lie?
And when all was said and done, what did it come down to?
The answer came simply. It came down to a broken man, sitting in his office late at night, pouring over a map that held the secrets of the dead-and he was unable to decipher them.