'Dejeuner du Matin' - PG, RL/SB
Rating: PG
Time-setting: Sometime during Sirius’ year at Grimmauld Place
Disclaimer: Characters contained in this story are property of J. K. Rowling, Warner Bros, et al. No infringement of copyright intended, no profit being made.
Notes: Inspired by, and titled after, Jacques Prévert’s achingly wonderful poem ‘Déjeuner du Matin’.
Words: 300 - a triple-drabble, if you will
Déjeuner du Matin
Sirius leans against the kitchen worktop, facing in but staring determinedly, angrily, at the wall. He has chosen a mug, made coffee, stirred in milk and sugar. He drains it and leaves the mug by the sink, fumbling for a packet of Muggle cigarettes, the ones which Molly particularly despises. He lights one, smoke curls from the corners of the mouth which does not speak. He blows a solitary ring, then stubs it out and picks up his hat, pulling it down over the eyes which do not flicker.
He puts on his cloak and sweeps away down the hall, not stopping when the picture starts to scream, not waiting for the warning from the kitchen which does not come. Outside it is raining, ripples like small explosions bursting from puddles all around. He turns up his collar against the chill London air.
It doesn’t matter that he can’t remember what they argued about, or even why he has to leave. He knows he was probably fractious and impatient and he is sure of the resignation with which he was reprimanded:
“Don’t, Sirius.”
It is always this quiet refusal to fight which tips him over the precipice between agitated irritation and trembling rage. He slams the door and heads out into the rain.
Stalking away, he doesn’t know what he expected to feel. Freedom? Elation? He experiences neither; only realises more keenly the longing he feels to slip into his Animagus form, and live his life again with the easy simplicity of a dog. He also knows he will be back within the hour.
Alone in the kitchen, Remus feels numb and imagines what it would be like if Sirius never came back. Then, calmly, as though he were stirring tea, he takes his head in his hands and cries.
~~~~~
Here’s the afore-mentioned poem, with my own translation (which I think is sound, but apologies to anyone who can spot errors. Or indeed to anyone French.)
Déjeuner du Matin
by Jacques Prévert
Il a mis le café
dans la tasse
Il a mis le lait
Dans la tasse de café
Il a mis sucre
dans le café au lait
Avec petite cuiller
Il a tourne
Il a bu le café au lait
et il a repose la tasse
Sans me parler
Il a allume
Une cigarette
Il a fait des ronds
Avec la fumée
Il a mis les cendres
dans le cendrier
Sans me parler
Sans me regarder
Il s'est lève
Il a mis
son chapeau sur sa tête
Il a mis son manteau de pluie
Parce qu'il pleuvait
Et il est parti
Sous la pluie
Sans une parole
Sans me regarder
Et moi,
j'ai pris ma tête dans ma main
Et j'ai pleure.
Breakfast
by Jacques Prévert
He put coffee
Into a cup
He put milk
Into the cup of coffee
He put sugar
Into the café au lait
With a small spoon
He stirred
He drank the café au lait
And he replaced the cup
Without speaking to me
He lit
A cigarette
He made rings
With the smoke
He knocked the ashes
Into the ashtray
Without speaking to me
Without looking at me
He stood
He put
His hat on his head
He put on his raincoat
Because it was raining
And he went out
Into the rain
Without a word
Without looking at me
And me,
I took my head in my hands
And I cried.
~~~~~
On a vaguely related note, I hope everyone's been to Detention! the new Snarry archive.
www.snarry.individum.com
xxx
Time-setting: Sometime during Sirius’ year at Grimmauld Place
Disclaimer: Characters contained in this story are property of J. K. Rowling, Warner Bros, et al. No infringement of copyright intended, no profit being made.
Notes: Inspired by, and titled after, Jacques Prévert’s achingly wonderful poem ‘Déjeuner du Matin’.
Words: 300 - a triple-drabble, if you will
Déjeuner du Matin
Sirius leans against the kitchen worktop, facing in but staring determinedly, angrily, at the wall. He has chosen a mug, made coffee, stirred in milk and sugar. He drains it and leaves the mug by the sink, fumbling for a packet of Muggle cigarettes, the ones which Molly particularly despises. He lights one, smoke curls from the corners of the mouth which does not speak. He blows a solitary ring, then stubs it out and picks up his hat, pulling it down over the eyes which do not flicker.
He puts on his cloak and sweeps away down the hall, not stopping when the picture starts to scream, not waiting for the warning from the kitchen which does not come. Outside it is raining, ripples like small explosions bursting from puddles all around. He turns up his collar against the chill London air.
It doesn’t matter that he can’t remember what they argued about, or even why he has to leave. He knows he was probably fractious and impatient and he is sure of the resignation with which he was reprimanded:
“Don’t, Sirius.”
It is always this quiet refusal to fight which tips him over the precipice between agitated irritation and trembling rage. He slams the door and heads out into the rain.
Stalking away, he doesn’t know what he expected to feel. Freedom? Elation? He experiences neither; only realises more keenly the longing he feels to slip into his Animagus form, and live his life again with the easy simplicity of a dog. He also knows he will be back within the hour.
Alone in the kitchen, Remus feels numb and imagines what it would be like if Sirius never came back. Then, calmly, as though he were stirring tea, he takes his head in his hands and cries.
~~~~~
Here’s the afore-mentioned poem, with my own translation (which I think is sound, but apologies to anyone who can spot errors. Or indeed to anyone French.)
Déjeuner du Matin
by Jacques Prévert
Il a mis le café
dans la tasse
Il a mis le lait
Dans la tasse de café
Il a mis sucre
dans le café au lait
Avec petite cuiller
Il a tourne
Il a bu le café au lait
et il a repose la tasse
Sans me parler
Il a allume
Une cigarette
Il a fait des ronds
Avec la fumée
Il a mis les cendres
dans le cendrier
Sans me parler
Sans me regarder
Il s'est lève
Il a mis
son chapeau sur sa tête
Il a mis son manteau de pluie
Parce qu'il pleuvait
Et il est parti
Sous la pluie
Sans une parole
Sans me regarder
Et moi,
j'ai pris ma tête dans ma main
Et j'ai pleure.
Breakfast
by Jacques Prévert
He put coffee
Into a cup
He put milk
Into the cup of coffee
He put sugar
Into the café au lait
With a small spoon
He stirred
He drank the café au lait
And he replaced the cup
Without speaking to me
He lit
A cigarette
He made rings
With the smoke
He knocked the ashes
Into the ashtray
Without speaking to me
Without looking at me
He stood
He put
His hat on his head
He put on his raincoat
Because it was raining
And he went out
Into the rain
Without a word
Without looking at me
And me,
I took my head in my hands
And I cried.
~~~~~
On a vaguely related note, I hope everyone's been to Detention! the new Snarry archive.
www.snarry.individum.com
xxx