Spider Web (october 31)
When I was writing my halloween fic for scarvesnhats, I realized I had written it to fit with other two of my fics for that community, so now I have a trilogy!
Author: nekare
Title: Spider web
Pairing: Remus/Sirius
Raiting: PG
Word count: 1329
An angsty tribute to the day that made the whole Harry Potter universe interesting. It was originally going to be Sirius' part first and then Remus', but it sounded kind of weird so I changed it; and now I think the ending is a bit weak. Oh well, I still like it a lot. Hope you do too!
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3
October 31, 1981
The spider web in Remus’ head is directing him to gloomy thoughts, silky strands weaving a net of deceive and betrayal he isn’t quite ready to accept yet, not the fact that Sirius may very well be the spy. A cup of tea takes him to the time he had been sick on Fourth Year and James brought him his favorite tea from the kitchens, hidden beneath his Invisibility Cloak; James takes him to Lily and the way she would gaze knowingly at him and leave chocolate on his windowsill every day after the full moon; Lily takes him to Harry and the day Sirius had tried to teach the little baby to dance properly last spring, and Sirius was exactly the kind of thoughts he was trying hard to ignore, to not hear the shouting voices in his head telling him he had made a terrible mistake.
He misses Harry, has missed him so much since the Potters had gone into hiding three days ago, and he had hugged the baby close for more than half an hour, not knowing when he would get the chance to do that again; to tell him the names of everything the boy would point with his chubby fingers and teach him alongside Sirius every single curse word Harry would need in his life and tell him stories of evil princesses and beautiful witches (since he was never one for the ordinary), and maybe when he was feeling specially happy, the story of four different animals, wandering into the night and playing tag outside a candle lighted castle.
A sigh escapes from his chapped lips, and he gets back to his feet, numb limbs after two hours of laying in the couch thinking and missing; and he goes to the kitchen to distract his mind. He raids the refrigerator, and all he finds is a carton of milk, three days away from going stale, but drinks it anyway. He’s been lonelier than ever that he couldn’t even owl away his fears to the Potters and if only it could be carried by an owl, his aching heart.
He sits on the windowsill, the same one he had performed lewd acts on with Sirius only ten days ago (Snow still in his dreams but missing from the permanently grey city, cold air cutting to his bones), and worries instead of misses (and for a moment, he forgets his own suspicions about Sirius being the spy, trusting the heart that remains true to him without his head consent); wondering what the people he cares most for in the world are doing right now, and whether they are safe.
He hopes so, since he knows that without them, he won’t be able to live.
- - - - - - - -
It’s been three days since the Fidelius Charm has been set, and Sirius hasn’t been able to sleep well for at least a week, tossing in his hotel sheets and counting the time since he last saw Remus (ten days, twenty one hours, thirteen minutes, and five seconds) in that snow filled day; so different from the gray nothingness that has chilled his bones for the last part of the month. It most likely won’t snow again until December, and times now are so dark that no one can presume to be alive a couple of months later, the threat of something even worse than death following everyone like a shadow and forcing them to suck dry every single moment of happiness that has survived the war.
(He wishes he could talk to Prongs or at least Lily of this, and reminds himself they’re trying hard to hold onto the happier days too.)
When Sirius finally leaves the impersonal hotel he’s been staying in since he left what had been both his and Remus’ flat, night has fallen, and muggle children all around are dressed in pieces of dreams and beyond imagination; witches and zombies and devils and a few feathery angels strolling down the streets of London while asking for bright colored candy in their anxious voices with make up coating their little faces. (A stolen tradition, sold by the Americans.) He avoids a serial killer and two dinosaurs to get to his bike, and then he has to disillusion himself to not be as visible in the jack-o-lantern lit sky.
The city shines with orange and purple lights from above, a colorful map that leads his path to the nastier side of London, the laughter changing to the deafening silence as he passes the broken windows and trash bins posing as bonfires; the absurd place Peter has chosen as his hideout against Sirius’ better judgment, who has told him time and time again that that was the first place everyone would look for him. Sirius shiveres inside his coat as he parkes the bike, and walkes another block until he reaches the dingy little house Peter is hiding in, windows covered with wooden panels.
The house is heavily warded, and Sirius has to undo a shocking number of spells just to open it with a creaky sound, what could easily be the last warning of a Death Eater attack. “Peter, It’s me,” He says just above a whisper to the dusty room, all shades of darkness painting it. There’s nothing in the house that could indicate someone was living in there, and Sirius walks through the empty rooms with a frown in his face, watching the spider webs shine silver with the moonlight that filters through a hole in the roof, spelling desolation and abandon along with the dust that makes his eyes water in thick black letters Sirius isn’t ready to read. The door had been closed and there is no sign of struggle. No Death Eater has fought Peter. (He hopes Peter had at least fought himself).
“Wormtail?” He calls softly again, even when he already knows the answer. Peter isn’t there, and has never been there, Sirius probably being the first human being entering the mice infected house in years. The realization of this hits him hard in the head, and an ethereal cloud of dust rises when he falls to his knees in the middle of the room, laughing hysterically at his own blindness.
Peter has played them all.
Two minutes later, the full impact of the betrayal makes him jump onto his feet and run outside, leaving the door open and getting to his bike in record time; fear toying with his entrails as he sets course to Godric’s Hollow, thinking desperately of James and Lily and Harry and Remus’ faces, and then of the Peter he had always thought he knew so well; heart pounding wildly against his ribcage as he follows the path weaved by starlight and his own memory of the house that holds so many cherished memories and the one he hopes he will be able to see now he has shown he’s every bit of the idiot everyone thinks he is (They were right, everyone that thought his head was fucking worthless), suspecting Remus (heart broken and face devoid of blood, suspected and suspecting in turn) and giving their only last hope to the very spy (free to laugh at them in their stupidity)he had been accused to be.
He hears the wails of baby Harry before he touches the ground, and when he sees Hagrid moving through the destroyed house trying to shush the little bundle in his arms (his parents corpses cold just a few steps away), he can't stop the tears that formed in his eyes (sadness liquefied) and the oath for revenge written in blood inside his head, darkness drowning him but refusing him the quick death of asphyxiation.
He kisses Harry’s newly scarred forehead one last time, closed his eyes and apparated to London, pursuing the ghost of a friend and choking on his misery.
In his haste, he forgets to owl Remus.
Author: nekare
Title: Spider web
Pairing: Remus/Sirius
Raiting: PG
Word count: 1329
An angsty tribute to the day that made the whole Harry Potter universe interesting. It was originally going to be Sirius' part first and then Remus', but it sounded kind of weird so I changed it; and now I think the ending is a bit weak. Oh well, I still like it a lot. Hope you do too!
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3
October 31, 1981
The spider web in Remus’ head is directing him to gloomy thoughts, silky strands weaving a net of deceive and betrayal he isn’t quite ready to accept yet, not the fact that Sirius may very well be the spy. A cup of tea takes him to the time he had been sick on Fourth Year and James brought him his favorite tea from the kitchens, hidden beneath his Invisibility Cloak; James takes him to Lily and the way she would gaze knowingly at him and leave chocolate on his windowsill every day after the full moon; Lily takes him to Harry and the day Sirius had tried to teach the little baby to dance properly last spring, and Sirius was exactly the kind of thoughts he was trying hard to ignore, to not hear the shouting voices in his head telling him he had made a terrible mistake.
He misses Harry, has missed him so much since the Potters had gone into hiding three days ago, and he had hugged the baby close for more than half an hour, not knowing when he would get the chance to do that again; to tell him the names of everything the boy would point with his chubby fingers and teach him alongside Sirius every single curse word Harry would need in his life and tell him stories of evil princesses and beautiful witches (since he was never one for the ordinary), and maybe when he was feeling specially happy, the story of four different animals, wandering into the night and playing tag outside a candle lighted castle.
A sigh escapes from his chapped lips, and he gets back to his feet, numb limbs after two hours of laying in the couch thinking and missing; and he goes to the kitchen to distract his mind. He raids the refrigerator, and all he finds is a carton of milk, three days away from going stale, but drinks it anyway. He’s been lonelier than ever that he couldn’t even owl away his fears to the Potters and if only it could be carried by an owl, his aching heart.
He sits on the windowsill, the same one he had performed lewd acts on with Sirius only ten days ago (Snow still in his dreams but missing from the permanently grey city, cold air cutting to his bones), and worries instead of misses (and for a moment, he forgets his own suspicions about Sirius being the spy, trusting the heart that remains true to him without his head consent); wondering what the people he cares most for in the world are doing right now, and whether they are safe.
He hopes so, since he knows that without them, he won’t be able to live.
- - - - - - - -
It’s been three days since the Fidelius Charm has been set, and Sirius hasn’t been able to sleep well for at least a week, tossing in his hotel sheets and counting the time since he last saw Remus (ten days, twenty one hours, thirteen minutes, and five seconds) in that snow filled day; so different from the gray nothingness that has chilled his bones for the last part of the month. It most likely won’t snow again until December, and times now are so dark that no one can presume to be alive a couple of months later, the threat of something even worse than death following everyone like a shadow and forcing them to suck dry every single moment of happiness that has survived the war.
(He wishes he could talk to Prongs or at least Lily of this, and reminds himself they’re trying hard to hold onto the happier days too.)
When Sirius finally leaves the impersonal hotel he’s been staying in since he left what had been both his and Remus’ flat, night has fallen, and muggle children all around are dressed in pieces of dreams and beyond imagination; witches and zombies and devils and a few feathery angels strolling down the streets of London while asking for bright colored candy in their anxious voices with make up coating their little faces. (A stolen tradition, sold by the Americans.) He avoids a serial killer and two dinosaurs to get to his bike, and then he has to disillusion himself to not be as visible in the jack-o-lantern lit sky.
The city shines with orange and purple lights from above, a colorful map that leads his path to the nastier side of London, the laughter changing to the deafening silence as he passes the broken windows and trash bins posing as bonfires; the absurd place Peter has chosen as his hideout against Sirius’ better judgment, who has told him time and time again that that was the first place everyone would look for him. Sirius shiveres inside his coat as he parkes the bike, and walkes another block until he reaches the dingy little house Peter is hiding in, windows covered with wooden panels.
The house is heavily warded, and Sirius has to undo a shocking number of spells just to open it with a creaky sound, what could easily be the last warning of a Death Eater attack. “Peter, It’s me,” He says just above a whisper to the dusty room, all shades of darkness painting it. There’s nothing in the house that could indicate someone was living in there, and Sirius walks through the empty rooms with a frown in his face, watching the spider webs shine silver with the moonlight that filters through a hole in the roof, spelling desolation and abandon along with the dust that makes his eyes water in thick black letters Sirius isn’t ready to read. The door had been closed and there is no sign of struggle. No Death Eater has fought Peter. (He hopes Peter had at least fought himself).
“Wormtail?” He calls softly again, even when he already knows the answer. Peter isn’t there, and has never been there, Sirius probably being the first human being entering the mice infected house in years. The realization of this hits him hard in the head, and an ethereal cloud of dust rises when he falls to his knees in the middle of the room, laughing hysterically at his own blindness.
Peter has played them all.
Two minutes later, the full impact of the betrayal makes him jump onto his feet and run outside, leaving the door open and getting to his bike in record time; fear toying with his entrails as he sets course to Godric’s Hollow, thinking desperately of James and Lily and Harry and Remus’ faces, and then of the Peter he had always thought he knew so well; heart pounding wildly against his ribcage as he follows the path weaved by starlight and his own memory of the house that holds so many cherished memories and the one he hopes he will be able to see now he has shown he’s every bit of the idiot everyone thinks he is (They were right, everyone that thought his head was fucking worthless), suspecting Remus (heart broken and face devoid of blood, suspected and suspecting in turn) and giving their only last hope to the very spy (free to laugh at them in their stupidity)he had been accused to be.
He hears the wails of baby Harry before he touches the ground, and when he sees Hagrid moving through the destroyed house trying to shush the little bundle in his arms (his parents corpses cold just a few steps away), he can't stop the tears that formed in his eyes (sadness liquefied) and the oath for revenge written in blood inside his head, darkness drowning him but refusing him the quick death of asphyxiation.
He kisses Harry’s newly scarred forehead one last time, closed his eyes and apparated to London, pursuing the ghost of a friend and choking on his misery.
In his haste, he forgets to owl Remus.