[ficlet] Shadows of Perfection
Shadows of Perfection
by Thistlerose
Rating: PG
Ship: James/Lily
Summary: When Harry wants to know the truth about his parents and their marriage, he turns to their last surviving friend.
Word count: approx. 880
A/N: For kit_maxel, with thanks. dramaphile wrote a very lovely remix, which I recommend.
“This one’s my favourite,” Harry said, handing Remus the photograph that had stood on his bedside table for the past four years. “I don’t know anything about it, though. It was with the ones Hagrid gave me at the end of my first year. How old were they? /Where/ were they? Why are they…dancing?”
He watched Remus study the photograph. After a moment, a smile touched the older man’s lips. It was not a happy smile, but it softened the lines of his face, made him appear younger. “I took this photograph,” he said at length. “More than sixteen years ago. This would be the end of November, 1979. This is Kendall, not terribly far from Windermere, where James’ parents lived. Your parents are dancing because they’ve just announced to us that they are expecting you.”
He glanced up at Harry, who shifted in his seat uncomfortably.
“Is something wrong?”
“Oh,” Harry said, picking up his teaspoon and stirring his tea idly. “No. Well, it’s just…” He looked away from his former professor, and down at his teacup. His stirring had lifted the leaves from where they’d settled at the bottom of the cup; they were now moving round the light brown liquid like the autumn leaves in the photograph of his parents. “Well,” he tried again, still avoiding Remus’ eyes, “they look happy.”
“They /were/ happy. Very much so.” The older man was silent for a moment, as though he was considering something. Then he went on, “They loved you from the start. James, of course, already knew Lily was pregnant. But when she told us -- Sirius and me…and Peter -- it was like he was hearing the news for the first time. Before any of us could say anything he’d swept her up and began dancing her round the fountain.”
It took a tremendous effort, but Harry said, “And -- and she was happy?”
Remus sighed. “Harry. I know you’re having trouble reconciling the image of your father that you saw in Professor Snape’s Pensieve with the one you’ve held in your heart for so many years. They’re both accurate. Your father /was/ rather immature at fifteen, and he /did/ like to bully Severus. But he was still one of the best friends I ever had, and he grew up to be one of the best men I have ever known. Lily loved him. He loved her. He'd have done anything for her. And they both loved you.”
Harry lifted his head, but instead of looking at Remus he looked at the open window. It was late in the evening, but it was also summer in Scotland, so the sun was not even close to setting. Long shadows stretched across the far-off green hills and the windows on the shops and other flats gleamed.
Remus said in a gentler tone, “People aren’t perfect. As much as we would sometimes like them to be. Life would be a lot simpler if some people were perfectly good, and others perfectly bad. If the world came in black and white, instead of infinite shades of grey. I’ve come to realise, Harry, that while people aren’t perfect, sometimes emotions can be. Love can be perfect. It might not start out that way. It rarely ends that way. But there are perfect moments. At the moment when I took this photograph, your parents were perfectly in love with each other, and perfectly in love with you.”
Perhaps it was because he was looking at bright sunlight after having been sitting in Remus’ dimly lit living room for several hours, but Harry’s eyes stung. He blinked furiously, unwilling to cry even if it /was/ only because of the light.
“I should be getting back,” he said flatly. “The Dursleys’ll wonder, although -- oh, sod them,” he said abruptly, and turned back to Remus. “Tell me more about my parents. If you want. Stuff you remember. Not just the stuff in the photographs. Not just -- the perfect stuff. Everything. And tell me…” He looked from Remus’ face to the framed photograph, which he still held in his thin, weathered hands. Perhaps it was the lighting, perhaps it was the way he held the photograph, but it suddenly seemed to Harry that his former professor’s hands were as frail as the leaves that fell around the eternally young Lily and James.
“Tell me about Sirius,” he said abruptly, and managed not to choke on the name. “If you want to. And tell me about you. Please.” He wanted to ask Remus if he’d had any perfect moments of his own. He wanted to know that there had been at least one, but he knew that it would be presumptuous of him to ask.
“We can talk some more,” said Remus. “I don’t mind. Although I was hardly the most objective observer…”
Harry met his gaze and tried to return his faint smile.
“Photographs are pleasant reminders to have,” Remus said, “but they don’t tell a complete story. They capture a moment. They don’t tell you what happened before or afterward, what people said, how they felt. I’ll try to tell you everything I can, Harry, about your parents -- and your godfather and -- myself. Everything -- or almost everything -- you want to hear. I don’t want to be the last person who knows what they were really like.”
06/14/04
by Thistlerose
Rating: PG
Ship: James/Lily
Summary: When Harry wants to know the truth about his parents and their marriage, he turns to their last surviving friend.
Word count: approx. 880
A/N: For kit_maxel, with thanks. dramaphile wrote a very lovely remix, which I recommend.
“This one’s my favourite,” Harry said, handing Remus the photograph that had stood on his bedside table for the past four years. “I don’t know anything about it, though. It was with the ones Hagrid gave me at the end of my first year. How old were they? /Where/ were they? Why are they…dancing?”
He watched Remus study the photograph. After a moment, a smile touched the older man’s lips. It was not a happy smile, but it softened the lines of his face, made him appear younger. “I took this photograph,” he said at length. “More than sixteen years ago. This would be the end of November, 1979. This is Kendall, not terribly far from Windermere, where James’ parents lived. Your parents are dancing because they’ve just announced to us that they are expecting you.”
He glanced up at Harry, who shifted in his seat uncomfortably.
“Is something wrong?”
“Oh,” Harry said, picking up his teaspoon and stirring his tea idly. “No. Well, it’s just…” He looked away from his former professor, and down at his teacup. His stirring had lifted the leaves from where they’d settled at the bottom of the cup; they were now moving round the light brown liquid like the autumn leaves in the photograph of his parents. “Well,” he tried again, still avoiding Remus’ eyes, “they look happy.”
“They /were/ happy. Very much so.” The older man was silent for a moment, as though he was considering something. Then he went on, “They loved you from the start. James, of course, already knew Lily was pregnant. But when she told us -- Sirius and me…and Peter -- it was like he was hearing the news for the first time. Before any of us could say anything he’d swept her up and began dancing her round the fountain.”
It took a tremendous effort, but Harry said, “And -- and she was happy?”
Remus sighed. “Harry. I know you’re having trouble reconciling the image of your father that you saw in Professor Snape’s Pensieve with the one you’ve held in your heart for so many years. They’re both accurate. Your father /was/ rather immature at fifteen, and he /did/ like to bully Severus. But he was still one of the best friends I ever had, and he grew up to be one of the best men I have ever known. Lily loved him. He loved her. He'd have done anything for her. And they both loved you.”
Harry lifted his head, but instead of looking at Remus he looked at the open window. It was late in the evening, but it was also summer in Scotland, so the sun was not even close to setting. Long shadows stretched across the far-off green hills and the windows on the shops and other flats gleamed.
Remus said in a gentler tone, “People aren’t perfect. As much as we would sometimes like them to be. Life would be a lot simpler if some people were perfectly good, and others perfectly bad. If the world came in black and white, instead of infinite shades of grey. I’ve come to realise, Harry, that while people aren’t perfect, sometimes emotions can be. Love can be perfect. It might not start out that way. It rarely ends that way. But there are perfect moments. At the moment when I took this photograph, your parents were perfectly in love with each other, and perfectly in love with you.”
Perhaps it was because he was looking at bright sunlight after having been sitting in Remus’ dimly lit living room for several hours, but Harry’s eyes stung. He blinked furiously, unwilling to cry even if it /was/ only because of the light.
“I should be getting back,” he said flatly. “The Dursleys’ll wonder, although -- oh, sod them,” he said abruptly, and turned back to Remus. “Tell me more about my parents. If you want. Stuff you remember. Not just the stuff in the photographs. Not just -- the perfect stuff. Everything. And tell me…” He looked from Remus’ face to the framed photograph, which he still held in his thin, weathered hands. Perhaps it was the lighting, perhaps it was the way he held the photograph, but it suddenly seemed to Harry that his former professor’s hands were as frail as the leaves that fell around the eternally young Lily and James.
“Tell me about Sirius,” he said abruptly, and managed not to choke on the name. “If you want to. And tell me about you. Please.” He wanted to ask Remus if he’d had any perfect moments of his own. He wanted to know that there had been at least one, but he knew that it would be presumptuous of him to ask.
“We can talk some more,” said Remus. “I don’t mind. Although I was hardly the most objective observer…”
Harry met his gaze and tried to return his faint smile.
“Photographs are pleasant reminders to have,” Remus said, “but they don’t tell a complete story. They capture a moment. They don’t tell you what happened before or afterward, what people said, how they felt. I’ll try to tell you everything I can, Harry, about your parents -- and your godfather and -- myself. Everything -- or almost everything -- you want to hear. I don’t want to be the last person who knows what they were really like.”
06/14/04