Hush
Title: Hush
Characters/Pairings: Sirius/Regulus, Sirius/Remus
Word Count: 704
Author's Notes: Again, I wrote this one a while ago, but never considered it finished until now. I made it a bit longer and changed some things to make it canon-compliant. I don't really know if it's good anymore I've looked at it so much over the past six months, but I still like it. I posted the original, as well.
***
You hardly ever think about him. It was fifteen years ago-a war, a lifetime.
You stalk the halls of Number 12, Grimmauld Place, feeling trapped, caged-a wild animal captured and bound. Your thoughts don’t leave the walls of your childhood, and your memories of this place suffocate you until you can hardly breathe. The house that used to be your home smothers you, and you remember only vaguely that he ever called this place home, as well.
Your hate is etched so strongly into every feature of the house and all you can think about while inside it is how once, long ago, you escaped.
Trapped again by the walls of your fathers, there’s nowhere else to go and they whisper it to you constantly until you can’t sleep, can’t eat, can’t think about anything except those summers with James and the jagged truth that he is dead-that there’s no one left who can make you forget. Only fleeting memories come back to you as Remus wraps his hand around your cock in a certain way or fucks you, hard, like he once did.
You speak of him to no one, except that one time to Harry, but even then you scorned his name and berated his death as a coward, as a stupid little boy even while you knew that he was far from stupid, or cowardly.
Inside Grimmauld Place again, the times you spent with him in this house are too painful to recall (because memories of him cannot fulfill you the way you need) but you remember, as if through a fog, that they came to you once in Azkaban. It was a near revelation, ten years in, when you felt your sanity slipping through the cracks, even as a dog. It was a painful memory, of course (as were they all), but one that clung deep in your mind and festered there, its roots threading through your very being and keeping a hold on your sanity.
Now free from that place, locked in another, the memory blossoms within your mind as you come into Remus’s mouth but you hate it all the more for its plainness, its triviality, and more still for the dark stain across it that spells so bluntly your salvation in Azkaban, when it can’t even save you here.
You never thought it wrong or shameful until you got Hogwarts and James made jokes about old pureblood families and Peter laughed, and you thought you caught a shrewd and questioning, almost-concerned look in Remus’s eye. You realized then that you were right in keeping him a secret.
You almost told Remus once, later, when he approached you after you had learned of his death, but James and Lily were in danger and there were more important things going on than the past events of your childhood.
You thought about sleeping in his room when you first returned here on Dumbledore’s request, an intimate and hushed requiem come fifteen years too late, but you passed his room and slipped into your own and hardly felt any guilt, or shame. The thought lingered for a while, but the house needed attention and your mind slipped away from him, as it often did.
You don’t dream of Azkaban as much anymore and full nights can slip by unbroken; but there are still occasional nights like this one, when the residue of imprisonment and the echo of Dementors resonate in your veins so thickly you can hardly keep your eyes closed, never mind stay asleep. You wake only once, though, during this particular night, a cold sweat on your body, sharp images fading from your mind of the memory that saved you in Azkaban.
You wake up hard with tears in your eyes, and when your hand touches your cock you gasp and try to forget-like he used to make you do-try to erase from your mind these bright and overwhelming vestiges of your past with him, because James’s laughter is ringing in your ears and Remus looks at you, knowingly, and you open your mouth as if to protest against their accusations but as you come you scream his name and the memories cease, silent.
***
The Original, 583 words
You hardly ever think about him. It was fifteen years ago-a war, a lifetime.
You stalk the halls of Number 12, Grimmauld Place, remembering only vaguely that he ever called this place home, as well.
Your hate is etched so strongly into every feature of the house and all you can think about while inside it is how once, long ago, you escaped.
Trapped again by the walls of your fathers, your sanctuary outside now dead, your relief inside is gone as well. Only fleeting memories come back to you as Remus wraps his hand around your cock in a certain way or fucks you, hard, like he once did.
You speak of him to no one, except that one time to Harry, but even then you scorned his name and berated his death as a coward, as a stupid little boy when even while at school you knew that he was far from stupid, or cowardly.
The times you spent in this house with him are too painful to recall but you remember, as if through a fog, that they came to you once in Azkaban. It was a near revelation, ten years in, when you felt your sanity slipping through the cracks, even as a dog. It was a painful memory, of course (as were they all), but one that clung deep in your mind and festered there, keeping a hold on your sanity.
Now free from that place, locked in another, the memory comes to you but you hate it all the more for its plainness, its unimportance, and more still for the dark stain across it that spells so openly your salvation in Azkaban.
You never thought it wrong or shameful until you got Hogwarts and James made jokes about old pureblood families and Peter laughed, and you thought you caught a shrewd and questioning, almost-concerned look in Remus’s eye. You realized then that you were right in keeping him a secret.
You almost told Remus once, much later, when he approached you after you learned of his death, but James and Lily were in danger and there were more important things going on than the past events of your childhood.
You thought about sleeping in his room when you first returned here on Dumbledore’s request, an intimate and hushed requiem come fifteen years too late, but you passed his room and slipped into your own almost without even a fleeting blossom of guilt.
When you told Molly where the boys would sleep during the summer and Christmas breaks you realized only later that you had given her instructions for them to stay in his room. You considered telling them to do otherwise when they arrived, but the house needed attention and your mind slipped away from him, as it often did.
You don’t dream of Azkaban as much anymore and full nights can slip by unbroken. You wake only once during this particular night, a cold sweat on your body, images fading from your mind of the memory that saved you in Azkaban.
You wake up hard with tears in your eyes, and when your hand touches your cock you gasp and try to forget, try to erase from your mind any vestiges of your past with him, because James’s laughter is ringing in your ears and Remus looks at you, knowingly, and you open your mouth as if to protest against their accusations but as you come you scream his name and the memories cease, silent.
Characters/Pairings: Sirius/Regulus, Sirius/Remus
Word Count: 704
Author's Notes: Again, I wrote this one a while ago, but never considered it finished until now. I made it a bit longer and changed some things to make it canon-compliant. I don't really know if it's good anymore I've looked at it so much over the past six months, but I still like it. I posted the original, as well.
***
You hardly ever think about him. It was fifteen years ago-a war, a lifetime.
You stalk the halls of Number 12, Grimmauld Place, feeling trapped, caged-a wild animal captured and bound. Your thoughts don’t leave the walls of your childhood, and your memories of this place suffocate you until you can hardly breathe. The house that used to be your home smothers you, and you remember only vaguely that he ever called this place home, as well.
Your hate is etched so strongly into every feature of the house and all you can think about while inside it is how once, long ago, you escaped.
Trapped again by the walls of your fathers, there’s nowhere else to go and they whisper it to you constantly until you can’t sleep, can’t eat, can’t think about anything except those summers with James and the jagged truth that he is dead-that there’s no one left who can make you forget. Only fleeting memories come back to you as Remus wraps his hand around your cock in a certain way or fucks you, hard, like he once did.
You speak of him to no one, except that one time to Harry, but even then you scorned his name and berated his death as a coward, as a stupid little boy even while you knew that he was far from stupid, or cowardly.
Inside Grimmauld Place again, the times you spent with him in this house are too painful to recall (because memories of him cannot fulfill you the way you need) but you remember, as if through a fog, that they came to you once in Azkaban. It was a near revelation, ten years in, when you felt your sanity slipping through the cracks, even as a dog. It was a painful memory, of course (as were they all), but one that clung deep in your mind and festered there, its roots threading through your very being and keeping a hold on your sanity.
Now free from that place, locked in another, the memory blossoms within your mind as you come into Remus’s mouth but you hate it all the more for its plainness, its triviality, and more still for the dark stain across it that spells so bluntly your salvation in Azkaban, when it can’t even save you here.
You never thought it wrong or shameful until you got Hogwarts and James made jokes about old pureblood families and Peter laughed, and you thought you caught a shrewd and questioning, almost-concerned look in Remus’s eye. You realized then that you were right in keeping him a secret.
You almost told Remus once, later, when he approached you after you had learned of his death, but James and Lily were in danger and there were more important things going on than the past events of your childhood.
You thought about sleeping in his room when you first returned here on Dumbledore’s request, an intimate and hushed requiem come fifteen years too late, but you passed his room and slipped into your own and hardly felt any guilt, or shame. The thought lingered for a while, but the house needed attention and your mind slipped away from him, as it often did.
You don’t dream of Azkaban as much anymore and full nights can slip by unbroken; but there are still occasional nights like this one, when the residue of imprisonment and the echo of Dementors resonate in your veins so thickly you can hardly keep your eyes closed, never mind stay asleep. You wake only once, though, during this particular night, a cold sweat on your body, sharp images fading from your mind of the memory that saved you in Azkaban.
You wake up hard with tears in your eyes, and when your hand touches your cock you gasp and try to forget-like he used to make you do-try to erase from your mind these bright and overwhelming vestiges of your past with him, because James’s laughter is ringing in your ears and Remus looks at you, knowingly, and you open your mouth as if to protest against their accusations but as you come you scream his name and the memories cease, silent.
***
The Original, 583 words
You hardly ever think about him. It was fifteen years ago-a war, a lifetime.
You stalk the halls of Number 12, Grimmauld Place, remembering only vaguely that he ever called this place home, as well.
Your hate is etched so strongly into every feature of the house and all you can think about while inside it is how once, long ago, you escaped.
Trapped again by the walls of your fathers, your sanctuary outside now dead, your relief inside is gone as well. Only fleeting memories come back to you as Remus wraps his hand around your cock in a certain way or fucks you, hard, like he once did.
You speak of him to no one, except that one time to Harry, but even then you scorned his name and berated his death as a coward, as a stupid little boy when even while at school you knew that he was far from stupid, or cowardly.
The times you spent in this house with him are too painful to recall but you remember, as if through a fog, that they came to you once in Azkaban. It was a near revelation, ten years in, when you felt your sanity slipping through the cracks, even as a dog. It was a painful memory, of course (as were they all), but one that clung deep in your mind and festered there, keeping a hold on your sanity.
Now free from that place, locked in another, the memory comes to you but you hate it all the more for its plainness, its unimportance, and more still for the dark stain across it that spells so openly your salvation in Azkaban.
You never thought it wrong or shameful until you got Hogwarts and James made jokes about old pureblood families and Peter laughed, and you thought you caught a shrewd and questioning, almost-concerned look in Remus’s eye. You realized then that you were right in keeping him a secret.
You almost told Remus once, much later, when he approached you after you learned of his death, but James and Lily were in danger and there were more important things going on than the past events of your childhood.
You thought about sleeping in his room when you first returned here on Dumbledore’s request, an intimate and hushed requiem come fifteen years too late, but you passed his room and slipped into your own almost without even a fleeting blossom of guilt.
When you told Molly where the boys would sleep during the summer and Christmas breaks you realized only later that you had given her instructions for them to stay in his room. You considered telling them to do otherwise when they arrived, but the house needed attention and your mind slipped away from him, as it often did.
You don’t dream of Azkaban as much anymore and full nights can slip by unbroken. You wake only once during this particular night, a cold sweat on your body, images fading from your mind of the memory that saved you in Azkaban.
You wake up hard with tears in your eyes, and when your hand touches your cock you gasp and try to forget, try to erase from your mind any vestiges of your past with him, because James’s laughter is ringing in your ears and Remus looks at you, knowingly, and you open your mouth as if to protest against their accusations but as you come you scream his name and the memories cease, silent.