Remus Lupin//Harry Potter//Jealous of the Moon
First ficmix entry!
Title: Scared to Try
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: Remus Lupin
Song & Artist: Jealous of the Moon - Nickel Creek
Rating: PG for mild 'adult themes'
Warnings: Some death themes if you know the context, otherwise none.
Disclaimer: I don't own any Harry Potter related goodies, they're all property of JK Rowling and/or Warner Brothers. And the lyrics to Jealous of the Moon belong to Nickel Creek, but I have taken liberties with their order.
Word Count: 882
Trying on a brand new dress, but you haven't worn the old one yet
You've come too far, to turn around now...
Remus had always been the thinker. While James had been talented at memorising facts and Sirius could grasp theories in an instant and apply them effortlessly, while Lily could use her wand with pinpoint precision and Peter could read and cram faster than anyone had ever seen, Remus had the gift of logic and reason. Give him a problem and enough time to think it through, and he'd always come up with a workable solution.
His logic was what kept him sane during the first few horrible months. He could reason to himself that somewhere out there, someone had lost more than he had in the war, that there were lots of people in his position who had lost their friends, their family, their whole world, in one fell swoop. He could reason to himself that somewhere out there someone had to feel as abandoned and lonely as he did, that someone understood the feeling of nothingness and blackness that engulfed him on odd days, trying to suck him down into despair... His head knew these things. His heart was a different matter.
I hate to see a friend of mine, laughing out loud when she's crying inside
But you've got your pride...
As the days and weeks and months wore on, the pain dulled. And as he did with all his problems, Remus came up with a solution. He simply became a brilliant actor. All he had to do was pretend he was fine, that everything was ok, and after a while it almost became true. Every morning he would wake up, give his five Knuts to the Prophet owl, read the paper and maybe have some breakfast, and Floo into Diagon Alley or up to Hogsmeade. If he was in one of his lucky periods, he'd go to work at whatever menial task he was employed to do; if times were harder he'd go to look for a job. At the end of the day he'd Floo home again and make himself dinner if he could. Then he'd read until he was tired, go to bed, and wake up the next day to do it all again. If he saw anyone he had known previously he'd strike up a pleasant enough conversation; if they asked how he was, he'd simply say he was fine, and try to stop his smile from looking too pained. No one ever saw through it.
Giving up the good fight, you're as strong as anyone
You're back where you started from, I see you're back where you started from...
It was a workable solution, but Remus knew it wasn't a good solution. He was aware that there had to be a better way of dealing with what he was going through. Because as much as he could pretend everything was fine, it really wasn't. He knew he was lying to everyone, and himself most of all. But he didn't know how to fix it.
No one ever noticed his bravery. No one ever told him that while there were a few people who had lost as much as he had in the war, none of them was getting up in the morning and doing what he was doing. If anyone had told him, he would have dismissed it. To Remus it wasn't courage, it wasn't bravery, it wasn't heroic. Remus was merely doing what he could to survive.
Drag your pretty head around
Swearing you're gonna drown with a beautiful sigh, and a river of lies...
So he went on with his routine. There were days when he was so hungry that he felt faint - he just sat down and closed his eyes again and waited for it to pass. There were days where he'd turn around and see a shock of messy black hair, a flash of brilliant green eyes, a pudgy little boy, an elegant scowl - he'd simply bite his lip and stop himself half way through calling out a name.
And there were some days when he'd stop pretending, and quietly break down when he got home. On the 31st of July, if he listened hard enough he could hear the echoing strains of people singing Happy Birthday and the high pitched squeals of delight made by an excited toddler. On the 31st of October, he wrapped himself up in every jumper and every blanket he could find but still couldn't stop shivering. On the 1st of November he tried and failed to think of anything but a hysterical barking laugh and a severed finger. On those days, he'd find a bottle of Firewhisky, climb onto his rotting wooden porch and stare blankly up at the sky.
He'd try and find the Dog Star, and hate himself for looking for it. He'd try not to let a river of tears run down his cheeks, and try to stop himself from breaking everything he could lay his hands on. He'd try not to see James shooting across on his broomstick with Lily perched squealing on the back of it, and try to stop wishing he could join them and leave his life. He'd try not to stare at the moon, hating it for what it had done to him, hating it for never being alone in its blanket of stars. He'd sit and stare at the inky blue darkness, wondering whether his mother's Muggle myths about a paradise called heaven could be true, and whether Peter had finally found some peace there.
He'd sit out on his porch in the cold until his bottle of Firewhisky was empty, then he'd crawl back to his bed and fall asleep, hoping that someway, somehow, tomorrow would be better.
Staring down the stars, you're jealous of the moon
You wish you could fly
But you're standing where you are, there's nothing you can do
If you're too scared to try...
Title: Scared to Try
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: Remus Lupin
Song & Artist: Jealous of the Moon - Nickel Creek
Rating: PG for mild 'adult themes'
Warnings: Some death themes if you know the context, otherwise none.
Disclaimer: I don't own any Harry Potter related goodies, they're all property of JK Rowling and/or Warner Brothers. And the lyrics to Jealous of the Moon belong to Nickel Creek, but I have taken liberties with their order.
Word Count: 882
Trying on a brand new dress, but you haven't worn the old one yet
You've come too far, to turn around now...
Remus had always been the thinker. While James had been talented at memorising facts and Sirius could grasp theories in an instant and apply them effortlessly, while Lily could use her wand with pinpoint precision and Peter could read and cram faster than anyone had ever seen, Remus had the gift of logic and reason. Give him a problem and enough time to think it through, and he'd always come up with a workable solution.
His logic was what kept him sane during the first few horrible months. He could reason to himself that somewhere out there, someone had lost more than he had in the war, that there were lots of people in his position who had lost their friends, their family, their whole world, in one fell swoop. He could reason to himself that somewhere out there someone had to feel as abandoned and lonely as he did, that someone understood the feeling of nothingness and blackness that engulfed him on odd days, trying to suck him down into despair... His head knew these things. His heart was a different matter.
I hate to see a friend of mine, laughing out loud when she's crying inside
But you've got your pride...
As the days and weeks and months wore on, the pain dulled. And as he did with all his problems, Remus came up with a solution. He simply became a brilliant actor. All he had to do was pretend he was fine, that everything was ok, and after a while it almost became true. Every morning he would wake up, give his five Knuts to the Prophet owl, read the paper and maybe have some breakfast, and Floo into Diagon Alley or up to Hogsmeade. If he was in one of his lucky periods, he'd go to work at whatever menial task he was employed to do; if times were harder he'd go to look for a job. At the end of the day he'd Floo home again and make himself dinner if he could. Then he'd read until he was tired, go to bed, and wake up the next day to do it all again. If he saw anyone he had known previously he'd strike up a pleasant enough conversation; if they asked how he was, he'd simply say he was fine, and try to stop his smile from looking too pained. No one ever saw through it.
Giving up the good fight, you're as strong as anyone
You're back where you started from, I see you're back where you started from...
It was a workable solution, but Remus knew it wasn't a good solution. He was aware that there had to be a better way of dealing with what he was going through. Because as much as he could pretend everything was fine, it really wasn't. He knew he was lying to everyone, and himself most of all. But he didn't know how to fix it.
No one ever noticed his bravery. No one ever told him that while there were a few people who had lost as much as he had in the war, none of them was getting up in the morning and doing what he was doing. If anyone had told him, he would have dismissed it. To Remus it wasn't courage, it wasn't bravery, it wasn't heroic. Remus was merely doing what he could to survive.
Drag your pretty head around
Swearing you're gonna drown with a beautiful sigh, and a river of lies...
So he went on with his routine. There were days when he was so hungry that he felt faint - he just sat down and closed his eyes again and waited for it to pass. There were days where he'd turn around and see a shock of messy black hair, a flash of brilliant green eyes, a pudgy little boy, an elegant scowl - he'd simply bite his lip and stop himself half way through calling out a name.
And there were some days when he'd stop pretending, and quietly break down when he got home. On the 31st of July, if he listened hard enough he could hear the echoing strains of people singing Happy Birthday and the high pitched squeals of delight made by an excited toddler. On the 31st of October, he wrapped himself up in every jumper and every blanket he could find but still couldn't stop shivering. On the 1st of November he tried and failed to think of anything but a hysterical barking laugh and a severed finger. On those days, he'd find a bottle of Firewhisky, climb onto his rotting wooden porch and stare blankly up at the sky.
He'd try and find the Dog Star, and hate himself for looking for it. He'd try not to let a river of tears run down his cheeks, and try to stop himself from breaking everything he could lay his hands on. He'd try not to see James shooting across on his broomstick with Lily perched squealing on the back of it, and try to stop wishing he could join them and leave his life. He'd try not to stare at the moon, hating it for what it had done to him, hating it for never being alone in its blanket of stars. He'd sit and stare at the inky blue darkness, wondering whether his mother's Muggle myths about a paradise called heaven could be true, and whether Peter had finally found some peace there.
He'd sit out on his porch in the cold until his bottle of Firewhisky was empty, then he'd crawl back to his bed and fall asleep, hoping that someway, somehow, tomorrow would be better.
Staring down the stars, you're jealous of the moon
You wish you could fly
But you're standing where you are, there's nothing you can do
If you're too scared to try...