kat_scratches (kat_scratches) wrote in ficbits, @ 2007-08-03 22:55:00 |
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Entry tags: | hp, r, remus/sirius |
HP fic "And Then There Was One" (R)
Title: ...And Then There Was One
Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns all the characters. I just borrow them on occasion.
Summary: Sirius, during OOTP. And a bit of Sirius/Remus slash.
Rating: about an R, I think
... And Then There Was One
He's never here.
Never, never, never here, and here is where I need him.
"Work for the Order," he says, and I can't fail to miss the slight note of chiding in his tone. The Order, the Order, always the bloody Order. It takes all his time, time he should be spending with me. He should be with me; we're the last.
Last, last, last.
And I can't even help him with his work. Not allowed. No one will let me. Locked in, sealed in, held back. Caged.
"You know you can't leave the house, Sirius," they all say. "What if you were seen?"
Seen? Who cares if I'm seen? I want out, out, out of this crypt, this mausoleum, this carnival of horrors with its cursed artifacts and screaming portraits, and all the godforsaken memories I've tried unsuccessfully to drown.
"Put it away, Sirius," he says, wearily taking the firewhisky bottle from me again and again and again. "And stop the bloody pacing."
Of course I pace; isn't that what caged animals do? Like those pitiful creatures in Muggle zoos - lions and tigers and escaped Azkaban prisoners, oh my!
He takes my wrists firmly in his worn hands and forces my frenetic pacing to grind to a halt.
"Sirius," he says quietly. "Go to bed. Please."
"Come with me," I say. Something flickers deep in his eyes but I can almost see the mental foot that squashes the thought.
"But," he amends, "I'll tuck you in."
I change to Padfoot, slipping easily out of his grasp to bound up the stairs ahead of him, tail wagging madly. He shakes his head and follows me.
It's become our ritual, you see. Full of pretense and false promises as all good rituals are meant to be.
I long for him to throw me down and fuck me into oblivion, mattress springs squeaking and creaking for all they're worth. I ache to feel him grind possessively into me, desperate and passionate, skin against skin.
And I know he wants it too.
For we're the last.
We were meant to be together till the end.
But every night - the nights he is here, at least - he tucks the covers chastely around me and makes me promise to stay in bed.
I don't even get a goodnight kiss.
Day after day after night after night makes the words come automatically while the air in this room grows feral with stale desire.
"G'night, Moony."
"Goodnight, Padfoot."
Occasionally we hear from Harry, first by owl and then by fire. It breaks my heart in a thousand shards to look at him, Lily's eyes in James' face, almost blasphemous that he should be alive while they are gone. Cruel that he will never truly know, never ever completely understand how incredible they are.
Were.
I knew that. I did.
I'm very careful to remember Harry's name. Molly thinks I've confused him with James, and sometimes I think I do, but I'd never admit it to her. I'd sound mad. Perhaps I am, a little. Molly certainly thinks so. But who could spend a dozen years in wizard prison and come out completely sane?
But I love him to distraction, this godson of mine, and if nothing else I will keep him safe, keep him in my fierce protection, such as it is.
"Remus, there has to be something I can do for the Order."
He doesn't even look up from his book as he tells me to stop pacing.
He just doesn't get it.
He doesn't get that I need to gather those I love close around me, wrap myself in them like a cloak, never let them stray far from me. He doesn't get that I will never let those things be taken from me again. Love. Security.
Freedom.
That's a joke, that is. What freedom? Out, out, I need out, I need air, need to run and yell -
"Sirius, stop bloody pacing!"
He slams his book down in irritation, then stands up so fast that he catches his foot in the frayed edge of the rug, losing his balance.
I catch him.
Almost.
I sprawl gracelessly across him on the rug, by turns apologizing and laughing and worrying aloud.
"Sirius, I'm fine," he says between bouts of helpless laughter. I don't care if he's laughing at me; I just love to hear him laugh. "Get off me," he says. "Let me up."
So of course I kiss him instead.
His eyes widen in shock and I pull away when it sinks in that he is not kissing me back, cursing myself silently and vehemently. There could never be enough words to make this better.
Then his hands snake up around my neck, twining into my hair, and before I realize that he isn't angry but is actually quite the opposite, he is kissing me.
It's like a dam has broken between us, like every silly romantic Muggle notion of fireworks, or riding off into the sunset. There aren't words; there isn't room for words, but who could speak at a time like this? Each fevered kiss, each frantic touch - we can't get enough of each other. It's been so long since anyone has touched me with such exquisite care that I nearly don't know how to respond in kind.
And when I do tentatively touch him, the joy that suffuses his features is like the dawn breaking, like waves colliding with the shore. He gasps my name and the hand he has clutched in my hair is almost painful but I don't care, it doesn't matter. Nothing matters but that Remus is kissing me again.
Remus. Is kissing. Me.
I moan into his mouth as I grind relentlessly against his hip, delirious with the way he sighs and shudders beneath me. He gasps my name again, bucking hard against my hand, and it sends me over the edge.
Scourgify is such a helpful little spell at times like these.
And every night, and every day after, I tell him without words that he is the center of my universe.
Sometimes I use the words too, fragile syllables that I fear may shatter if I use them too often. For everyone I love seems to leave me, and I know I couldn't bear it if Remus left me.
I take every I love you he bestows on me and carry them in a secret pocket of my heart, treasures beyond worth or measure.
I don't pace as much.
"Come on," he says roughly one evening. "You're coming too this time."
"Where?" I say stupidly. I haven't left this awful house in so long that I've nearly forgotten there exists an outside world.
"Department of Mysteries," he says shortly. "Harry's in danger. His friends, too."
I'm scared. Scared for Harry, scared for Remus, scared for myself if I should have to live without either of them.
We race through the Department of Mysteries, flanked by other members of the Order. Tonks, for once, doesn't fall over anything, and it amazes me. Everything, lately, seems to amaze me.
I grab Remus by the collar of his cloak as a shiver courses through me.
"I love you," I whisper fiercely against his lips. "I love you."
"I know," he grins, "and I love you. And we'll have all the time in the world after this battle."
"Together?"
"Together."
We burst in on the Death Eaters in a flurry of hexes and spells, cloaks and curses flying, people falling - Tonks is down - where's Harry? - where's Remus? - where? -
I raise my borrowed wand jubilantly high as I easily duck Bellatrix's Stunning spell.
"Come on!" I yell at my cousin. I'm delirious to be out, to be free, to be useful at last. No Death Eater, least of all Bella, will ever get Harry or Remus while I'm around. "Come on, you can do better than that!"
And then she does.