Snafu
Title: Snafu
Author: Becca / das_kabinett
Disclaimer: Not mine!
Prompt: “concert” for tellmeakiss
Warnings: Cursing, violence.
Length: about 800
Summary: concert, n. -agreement in purpose, feeling, or action.
A/N: I’m a bit nervous about this one. Not really sure why, it just is odd. Thanks again, Sar, for the beta. Oh, and it's another case of reading the prompt in an odd, odd way.
Sirius knew he couldn’t smell Remus’ blood, or at least, he knew he couldn’t smell it in particular. Humans couldn’t smell individual’s blood; their noses were blunt and rude and only capable of sensing the sick sweet metallic whole. Sirius knew that, yes, he knew that it was a figment of his imagination. He knew that it was an illusion, a confusion, a remnant of Padfootian constructions.
It didn’t mean he didn’t smell it, the fact that he couldn’t. Because he did, he knew it; it was around him, curling heavily in the back of his throat and tickling his eyes and staining the world red (though perhaps that could be the curses, they were often red too; except when they were green, because then they were green.)
He hoped the Muggleborns they had come to save were okay, but that was no longer the objective. He knew, as they all did, that objectives changed and this one had already shifted. It shifted with the soft whoosh-pop of Apparation and the entrance of five more Death Eaters.
Plan B and C had passed with similar alacrity, until they were at the usual point. Plan-Holy-Fuck-Just-Stay-Alive.
Remus glanced up at him from across the alleyway, blood streaking down his face. Sirius met his eyes and they shifted in unison to the right, curses bubbling out of their wands and striking down various black masked figures. Sirius didn’t smell them; they were just cloth and magic.
There was a grate blocking the end of the alley and Sirius felt a flicker of worry that they were boxing themselves in. But then Remus’ thigh pressed against his own and Sirius could feel the length of him, shifting and moving and fighting. Sirius didn’t even focus on the actual conflict any more, just on Remus. He threw curses when Remus threw them, ducked when Remus ducked.
Sirius knew that they weren’t working in concert; Sirius was being led.
“The boy is safe,” Remus gasped, in between Latin phrases.
Sirius paused his string of curses, both literal and figurative, to bark his acknowledgement
“Have you seen the girl?”
Remus was obviously still thinking of the mission; he hadn’t realized how little it mattered at this point, how nothing mattered at this point. Sirius felt a stone in his shoe with alarming clarity, pricking him and reminding him in such a pathetically small minded way of his own mortality. The alley loomed around him, solid concrete and chipping paint.
“No,” Sirius said, tearing his attention away from Remus and curling paint to battle, “Maybe the brawny bloke grabbed her?”
“Fuck--“ Remus said, ducking out of the way of a curse. It cratered the wall, sending chips of cement everywhere. Sirius’ body slammed against the other side of the alley from the force of the explosion and he couldn’t see Remus. The cement had functioned like shrapnel, edged and dangerous. He felt little bleeding cuts all over his face and arms and realized that the Death Eaters wouldn’t have that problem.
And Sirius realized that he may not be able to smell Remus’ blood, but it was all that he could see, startling red and gaudy. Garish red, overdone, overextended. And Sirius realized that he knew where the little girl was; she was behind the grate and she was with the large bloke. He didn’t look particularly friendly and Padfoot could just fit.
Padfoot could fit but Padfoot was illegal. And Padfoot was theirs and Remus needed Padfoot and Sirius left the girl and went over to Remus, muttering healing and shielding spells.
Remus was unconscious; he had been closer to the blast. Sirius murmured words into his hair, huddled against the wall and watching the others fight. He occasionally yelled out a curse or snarled a hex, but mostly he just watched and waited for it be over in some way. He couldn’t care for Remus properly until it was over and he didn’t know until just now that Remus was all that mattered.
There were stragglers and he didn’t know what side they were on. All he could see were black cloaks and that didn’t mean anything; the Ministry wore black too.
Sirius wished Remus’ eyes would flutter and open, meeting his own. Sirius wished that they would exchange a few plucky sentences and Sirius imagined himself losing the little shred of control and stealing a kiss.
Instead, he waited, watched and kissed his hair. It would end eventually.
Author: Becca / das_kabinett
Disclaimer: Not mine!
Prompt: “concert” for tellmeakiss
Warnings: Cursing, violence.
Length: about 800
Summary: concert, n. -agreement in purpose, feeling, or action.
A/N: I’m a bit nervous about this one. Not really sure why, it just is odd. Thanks again, Sar, for the beta. Oh, and it's another case of reading the prompt in an odd, odd way.
Sirius knew he couldn’t smell Remus’ blood, or at least, he knew he couldn’t smell it in particular. Humans couldn’t smell individual’s blood; their noses were blunt and rude and only capable of sensing the sick sweet metallic whole. Sirius knew that, yes, he knew that it was a figment of his imagination. He knew that it was an illusion, a confusion, a remnant of Padfootian constructions.
It didn’t mean he didn’t smell it, the fact that he couldn’t. Because he did, he knew it; it was around him, curling heavily in the back of his throat and tickling his eyes and staining the world red (though perhaps that could be the curses, they were often red too; except when they were green, because then they were green.)
He hoped the Muggleborns they had come to save were okay, but that was no longer the objective. He knew, as they all did, that objectives changed and this one had already shifted. It shifted with the soft whoosh-pop of Apparation and the entrance of five more Death Eaters.
Plan B and C had passed with similar alacrity, until they were at the usual point. Plan-Holy-Fuck-Just-Stay-Alive.
Remus glanced up at him from across the alleyway, blood streaking down his face. Sirius met his eyes and they shifted in unison to the right, curses bubbling out of their wands and striking down various black masked figures. Sirius didn’t smell them; they were just cloth and magic.
There was a grate blocking the end of the alley and Sirius felt a flicker of worry that they were boxing themselves in. But then Remus’ thigh pressed against his own and Sirius could feel the length of him, shifting and moving and fighting. Sirius didn’t even focus on the actual conflict any more, just on Remus. He threw curses when Remus threw them, ducked when Remus ducked.
Sirius knew that they weren’t working in concert; Sirius was being led.
“The boy is safe,” Remus gasped, in between Latin phrases.
Sirius paused his string of curses, both literal and figurative, to bark his acknowledgement
“Have you seen the girl?”
Remus was obviously still thinking of the mission; he hadn’t realized how little it mattered at this point, how nothing mattered at this point. Sirius felt a stone in his shoe with alarming clarity, pricking him and reminding him in such a pathetically small minded way of his own mortality. The alley loomed around him, solid concrete and chipping paint.
“No,” Sirius said, tearing his attention away from Remus and curling paint to battle, “Maybe the brawny bloke grabbed her?”
“Fuck--“ Remus said, ducking out of the way of a curse. It cratered the wall, sending chips of cement everywhere. Sirius’ body slammed against the other side of the alley from the force of the explosion and he couldn’t see Remus. The cement had functioned like shrapnel, edged and dangerous. He felt little bleeding cuts all over his face and arms and realized that the Death Eaters wouldn’t have that problem.
And Sirius realized that he may not be able to smell Remus’ blood, but it was all that he could see, startling red and gaudy. Garish red, overdone, overextended. And Sirius realized that he knew where the little girl was; she was behind the grate and she was with the large bloke. He didn’t look particularly friendly and Padfoot could just fit.
Padfoot could fit but Padfoot was illegal. And Padfoot was theirs and Remus needed Padfoot and Sirius left the girl and went over to Remus, muttering healing and shielding spells.
Remus was unconscious; he had been closer to the blast. Sirius murmured words into his hair, huddled against the wall and watching the others fight. He occasionally yelled out a curse or snarled a hex, but mostly he just watched and waited for it be over in some way. He couldn’t care for Remus properly until it was over and he didn’t know until just now that Remus was all that mattered.
There were stragglers and he didn’t know what side they were on. All he could see were black cloaks and that didn’t mean anything; the Ministry wore black too.
Sirius wished Remus’ eyes would flutter and open, meeting his own. Sirius wished that they would exchange a few plucky sentences and Sirius imagined himself losing the little shred of control and stealing a kiss.
Instead, he waited, watched and kissed his hair. It would end eventually.