[Harry Potter fic] Time Is Running Away (The Dream a Little Dream Remix)
Woo! I just went to check if author names had been announced, and look, they have! So I can finally announce my story and talk about it some.
I wrote "Time Is Running Away (The Dream a Little Dream Remix)" which is based on "The Dog Star" by Esta Moretti. It is Sirius, in Azkaban and out, dreaming and not. There is a little Remus/Sirius, but mostly it is just a man, a little broken and a little crazy.
This marks the second year in a row I've written a remix which included a man, a little broken and a little crazy, and it marks the second half of my favorite pairing. I can actually, almost, see "sins of the flesh (the tastes like chicken remix)" and "Time Is Running Away (The Dream a Little Dream Remix)" as a pair of stories, just a little bit disturbing. I enjoy this fact.
Title: Time is Running Away (The Dream a Little Dream Remix)
Author: Carla (escritoireazul@gmail.com)
Summary: Sirius dreams in layers, no delineation between past, present, and the future perhaps.
Rating: 16+
Fandom: Harry Potter
Spoilers: Through Order of the Phoenix
Sirius dreams in layers, no delineation between past, present, and the future perhaps.
I.
Azkaban tastes like horrid things, nightmare sweat on rotting flesh and sick-sweet apples, rancid beneath perfect red skin. It coats his tongue, fills his throat, taints every swallow. It gets stuck between his teeth, something hard and tangible, gristle from phantom meat left out in the sun too long. What's worse is it makes him hungry, the thoughts of food, even gone bad and sour.
Later, when he dreams of it, lying low with Remus, he wakes up with it in his mouth again, and he can't accept the kiss he's offered first thing every morning, because he made a mess of so many things already and he can't foul Remus with this, too.
II.
He dreams as a dog, as Padfoot, dreams while he paces, one two three four paws, one two three four, back and forth and around the tiny cell. He circles again and again, but can't settle down to rest, marches zombie-like, until the screams from the others fade and he can hear his past rise up into his present, whispered words overriding everything else.
Tail tight against his back legs, he circles and whines a little, and falls into a stupor.
"Look, Remus, the dog star."
His voice is young in his dreams, and though he can't remember how to be happy or how it felt when he was once, he recognizes the sound of it, in the tone of his words.
It was a warm night, but the grass was cool and slightly damp even through his shirt. He could feel Remus next to him, hotter than the air, and matched his breathing to the slow rise and fall of Remus' chest.
"Your star."
Remus taught him about the dog star when they were first years. He knew so much about things Sirius had never been interested in, especially not when he was a child, and magic was much more interesting than the night sky.
Sirius nudged him with his elbow, and Remus took his hand, entwined them together. "How bright it shines."
He looked over, and Remus was the bright one, big eyes and shiny teeth when he smiled--sometimes he covered his mouth with his hand, like he was afraid of showing his emotions, afraid of letting them free.
It was too much, sometimes, the laughter and love boiling inside, everything all mixed together, but he couldn't let Remus know. Sometimes he looked at Sirius as if he had all the answers, as if he knew, no matter what, Sirius would make things right.
"Well suited, then." He laughed, self-confidence and cockiness so familiar he didn't have to force it anymore, and Remus leaned over and kissed him, warm mouth, lips, tongue all just the barest touch of air within the dream of a dog in a prison.
III.
There is darkness, and lack of feeling. It's not quite like he's floating, but rather as if he has no body for anything to touch. He's not asleep, but he's not really awake, either, and all he has is time to remember. When he thinks too hard about the past, about what he did wrong and what he should have done right and what he would change if he could, he loses the details and only has images in outlines, distilled down to white and black shapes.
If he allows his mind freedom--does he even have a mind, he doesn't know, but he must have something or he wouldn't be able to remember, wouldn't be able to let his thoughts drift--the memories become like dreams, free-formed and filled with incongruous images he doesn't always recognize.
In one he can fly, not on his motorbike, just him, in the air, with the clouds wet and thick all around him until he rises above them. They melt away the moment they lose contact with his skin and he can see all the way to the ground, through it to the inner glow.
A dark spot, highlighted around with a halo of light, is a wolf, long and lean, running flat out down a concrete street, past Sirius' childhood home--cracks form at the edges and when he looks directly at it there's a flash, bright, and then all the buildings and houses are gone.
IV.
Sirius falls
from the roof of his mother's house, down so much farther than he ever thought it was from the ground, so long he can hear her screaming at him, about all the blood traitors who mar their precious lineage, and how he's ruined them, the family. Even as he tumbles through the air, which is hot and dries his eyes until they are paper, he thinks another mother would say he'd broken her heart, but not his, not in the Most Noble House of Black, she only cares about their blood.
from the window of his room at Hogwarts, sixth year, and everything moves so fast he could have just leapt off his bed to the floor, but one minute he's leaning over the sill and the next the ground is right there in his face. There's a vice around his ankle and he stops, so close dirt fills his nose when he breathes. But he's not on the ground, he's not broken, and he's bound in place, held steady, and he can just see the bottom of black robes and Remus' worn shoes.
from what he doesn't know, but as he plummets he wonders if it's true, if, when he finally hits bottom, he'll really die in his dream and out.
V.
Harry's all grown up in his mind, even though he helped Remus tuck the baby in bed not quite half an hour past, all grown up and just like James, full of fun and mischief. He causes trouble at school, and Lily wrings her hands and tells him not to be an arse like his father, but when he's not in the room she laughs, throws back her head, and the light burnishes her hair, bounces off the smooth line of her neck.
"It's too bad you don't have kids," she tells Remus, sitting on the edge of his armchair. "I could teach them to torment Sirius just like you all did me." She smiles, and ruffles his hair, fond of him, of them all, despite the way she and Sirius bicker, the way they're a bad influence on Harry.
Sirius gives him lessons in transfiguration on the sly, and after he's finally gotten it down, the first full moon after, they run together, five, not four, in the woods behind the house Sirius and Remus own.
VI.
Sirius, Sirius
kissed the boy
and made him lie
After telling Lily, Sirius dreams of Remus, fragile wolf, legs broken, and his eyes, even animal eyes, filled with disbelief. His blood coats Sirius' hands and he rises up, despite the wounds, and then, suddenly, heals and tears out
tears out his throat.
Relief from feeling like he's betraying Remus, from the bitter taste of kisses when he wonders, with every breath, when he'll know the truth.
VII.
Sirius the star shines at night, its destiny laid out in the unfolding of the worlds at the beginning. Beneath it, creatures rise and fall, wolves and dogs and deer, and even, unfortunately, rats.
He always thought there was no fate and he could change his path, but when he thinks of Prongs, of running together beneath the moon and thinking he could protect him, and Lily, and Harry, from betrayal.
Sirius the not-man (once a man, but no more, not in Azkaban) shines like his destiny.
I wrote "Time Is Running Away (The Dream a Little Dream Remix)" which is based on "The Dog Star" by Esta Moretti. It is Sirius, in Azkaban and out, dreaming and not. There is a little Remus/Sirius, but mostly it is just a man, a little broken and a little crazy.
This marks the second year in a row I've written a remix which included a man, a little broken and a little crazy, and it marks the second half of my favorite pairing. I can actually, almost, see "sins of the flesh (the tastes like chicken remix)" and "Time Is Running Away (The Dream a Little Dream Remix)" as a pair of stories, just a little bit disturbing. I enjoy this fact.
Title: Time is Running Away (The Dream a Little Dream Remix)
Author: Carla (escritoireazul@gmail.com)
Summary: Sirius dreams in layers, no delineation between past, present, and the future perhaps.
Rating: 16+
Fandom: Harry Potter
Spoilers: Through Order of the Phoenix
Sirius dreams in layers, no delineation between past, present, and the future perhaps.
I.
Azkaban tastes like horrid things, nightmare sweat on rotting flesh and sick-sweet apples, rancid beneath perfect red skin. It coats his tongue, fills his throat, taints every swallow. It gets stuck between his teeth, something hard and tangible, gristle from phantom meat left out in the sun too long. What's worse is it makes him hungry, the thoughts of food, even gone bad and sour.
Later, when he dreams of it, lying low with Remus, he wakes up with it in his mouth again, and he can't accept the kiss he's offered first thing every morning, because he made a mess of so many things already and he can't foul Remus with this, too.
II.
He dreams as a dog, as Padfoot, dreams while he paces, one two three four paws, one two three four, back and forth and around the tiny cell. He circles again and again, but can't settle down to rest, marches zombie-like, until the screams from the others fade and he can hear his past rise up into his present, whispered words overriding everything else.
Tail tight against his back legs, he circles and whines a little, and falls into a stupor.
"Look, Remus, the dog star."
His voice is young in his dreams, and though he can't remember how to be happy or how it felt when he was once, he recognizes the sound of it, in the tone of his words.
It was a warm night, but the grass was cool and slightly damp even through his shirt. He could feel Remus next to him, hotter than the air, and matched his breathing to the slow rise and fall of Remus' chest.
"Your star."
Remus taught him about the dog star when they were first years. He knew so much about things Sirius had never been interested in, especially not when he was a child, and magic was much more interesting than the night sky.
Sirius nudged him with his elbow, and Remus took his hand, entwined them together. "How bright it shines."
He looked over, and Remus was the bright one, big eyes and shiny teeth when he smiled--sometimes he covered his mouth with his hand, like he was afraid of showing his emotions, afraid of letting them free.
It was too much, sometimes, the laughter and love boiling inside, everything all mixed together, but he couldn't let Remus know. Sometimes he looked at Sirius as if he had all the answers, as if he knew, no matter what, Sirius would make things right.
"Well suited, then." He laughed, self-confidence and cockiness so familiar he didn't have to force it anymore, and Remus leaned over and kissed him, warm mouth, lips, tongue all just the barest touch of air within the dream of a dog in a prison.
III.
There is darkness, and lack of feeling. It's not quite like he's floating, but rather as if he has no body for anything to touch. He's not asleep, but he's not really awake, either, and all he has is time to remember. When he thinks too hard about the past, about what he did wrong and what he should have done right and what he would change if he could, he loses the details and only has images in outlines, distilled down to white and black shapes.
If he allows his mind freedom--does he even have a mind, he doesn't know, but he must have something or he wouldn't be able to remember, wouldn't be able to let his thoughts drift--the memories become like dreams, free-formed and filled with incongruous images he doesn't always recognize.
In one he can fly, not on his motorbike, just him, in the air, with the clouds wet and thick all around him until he rises above them. They melt away the moment they lose contact with his skin and he can see all the way to the ground, through it to the inner glow.
A dark spot, highlighted around with a halo of light, is a wolf, long and lean, running flat out down a concrete street, past Sirius' childhood home--cracks form at the edges and when he looks directly at it there's a flash, bright, and then all the buildings and houses are gone.
IV.
Sirius falls
from the roof of his mother's house, down so much farther than he ever thought it was from the ground, so long he can hear her screaming at him, about all the blood traitors who mar their precious lineage, and how he's ruined them, the family. Even as he tumbles through the air, which is hot and dries his eyes until they are paper, he thinks another mother would say he'd broken her heart, but not his, not in the Most Noble House of Black, she only cares about their blood.
from the window of his room at Hogwarts, sixth year, and everything moves so fast he could have just leapt off his bed to the floor, but one minute he's leaning over the sill and the next the ground is right there in his face. There's a vice around his ankle and he stops, so close dirt fills his nose when he breathes. But he's not on the ground, he's not broken, and he's bound in place, held steady, and he can just see the bottom of black robes and Remus' worn shoes.
from what he doesn't know, but as he plummets he wonders if it's true, if, when he finally hits bottom, he'll really die in his dream and out.
V.
Harry's all grown up in his mind, even though he helped Remus tuck the baby in bed not quite half an hour past, all grown up and just like James, full of fun and mischief. He causes trouble at school, and Lily wrings her hands and tells him not to be an arse like his father, but when he's not in the room she laughs, throws back her head, and the light burnishes her hair, bounces off the smooth line of her neck.
"It's too bad you don't have kids," she tells Remus, sitting on the edge of his armchair. "I could teach them to torment Sirius just like you all did me." She smiles, and ruffles his hair, fond of him, of them all, despite the way she and Sirius bicker, the way they're a bad influence on Harry.
Sirius gives him lessons in transfiguration on the sly, and after he's finally gotten it down, the first full moon after, they run together, five, not four, in the woods behind the house Sirius and Remus own.
VI.
Sirius, Sirius
kissed the boy
and made him lie
After telling Lily, Sirius dreams of Remus, fragile wolf, legs broken, and his eyes, even animal eyes, filled with disbelief. His blood coats Sirius' hands and he rises up, despite the wounds, and then, suddenly, heals and tears out
tears out his throat.
Relief from feeling like he's betraying Remus, from the bitter taste of kisses when he wonders, with every breath, when he'll know the truth.
VII.
Sirius the star shines at night, its destiny laid out in the unfolding of the worlds at the beginning. Beneath it, creatures rise and fall, wolves and dogs and deer, and even, unfortunately, rats.
He always thought there was no fate and he could change his path, but when he thinks of Prongs, of running together beneath the moon and thinking he could protect him, and Lily, and Harry, from betrayal.
Sirius the not-man (once a man, but no more, not in Azkaban) shines like his destiny.