The Infamous RemusRemix
Aug. 8th, 2004 02:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
runespoorTitle: Dreams of Castles in the Sand (The Give Me a Happy Ending Remix)
Author: Runespoor (runespoor7@yahoo.co.uk)![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
runespoor7
Summary: Andromeda and Severus visit an absent Remus after Voldemort’s victory.
Rating: PG-13 for drug use and general depression and bitterness.
Pairing: I wrote it with Remus/Sirius in my mind, but close to nothing is even implied.
Warnings: inspired by cyberpunk. I doubt this is what Tali intended, and I can only apologise.
Spoilers: well, OotP.
Author you were assigned: Tali (siresin)
Original drabble:
Remus ran the sand through his fingers and smiled as a figure walked toward him down the beach.
He didn't know if this was real and frankly he didn't care.
It hadn't ended happily but it had ended.
Remus put too much stock in what he knew was real. It was time to embrace something that perhaps wasn't.
He had the time. All he had was time.
The figure sat down beside him and Remus leant across to kiss him.
Whether he was dreaming or whether this was really happening, Sirius was in his arms and that was all that mattered.
Remus’ cloak was hung behind the door. It had quite clearly not been worn for weeks at least, and if it had, not outside. It was a brownish kind of grey, made in an indiscernible cloth, ragged and burnt in several places. That much was nothing new. Lupin’s things had always been ragged. Not that it would look out of place much, nowadays, something that Andromeda reminded Severus in an uncaring tone. As a reply, Severus had looked her up and down, purposefully, and she had pretended not to have noticed; he knew she liked him, despite everything. Her clothes were considerably nicer than Remus’ or than his.
She had led the way past Mrs Black’s silent portrait, through the corridors. The old house was now close to falling apart. Her own sister had had a hand in it, the same way she had had a hand in the fall of the House of Black in the person of its last male heir. Andromeda was walking quickly, and Snape only had the time to notice that the house-elves heads had been taken down before she turned into what could have passed for a living-room, in better days. Now it was just a sanctuary of the worst sort, he supposed, with dust accumulated in funeral veils on the furniture.
Then he noticed the lump on the couch. At first glance, it looked exactly as dusty as the rest of the room, but on closer examination, Snape realised, with a sort of strange pang somewhere close to his stomach, that the lump was indeed a sprawled, unblinking Remus Lupin, head tipped back, lips slightly parted.
“I brought you so we could discuss… him.” Andromeda glanced to Remus’ shape, then turned back towards Snape and went on. “We’ll never reach a decision if I ask the whole Order about him. Susan, for one, won’t stand for it. And we can’t go on.”
Without replying, Snape made his way to Lupin’s side. He picked up a whole handful of white dust from the other man’s unreacting hand. He filtered the powder between his fingers, letting it fall back next to Remus and into the folds of the couch. Then he raised an eyebrow at Andromeda. “He uses sand.”
It wasn’t a question. Andromeda nodded. “I suspect he can only survive this much due to werewolf metabolism.”
She sat next to Remus.
“We can’t leave him like that. He’s wasting away. He doesn’t even go out to buy sand anymore.”
Snape sent her a blank look. “And I don’t suppose you have anything to do with his supplies ever refurnishing themselves.”
She didn’t even have the decency to blush. She smoothed her velvet robes with the flat of her hand. “It feels as if it’s the only thing I can do anymore. And yet it’s doing nothing constructive – well, destructive, rather,” she amended.
Severus sat on the other side of Lupin. His hands, Severus noticed, where thinner than ever before, and the skin looked stretched on his bones. “Well,” he remarked, “there’s nothing else we can do for him, can we? Black has been dead for more than five years now. We can’t shake him out of it if he doesn’t make the effort himself.”
“And is there nothing we can do about the Dark Lord as well?”
Surprised, Severus looked up at Andromeda. She rarely sounded so desperate, so bitter. The expression on her face was one of frustration. Gently, he reached over and pressed her hand, something that he wouldn’t have done only two years before.
“We fought him, Andromeda,” he softly started. “We continue to fight him. But there’s not much we can do, can we? There are twelve of us. No Dumbledore, no Potter, no Weasleys, no ridiculously gifted Muggle-born of any sort.” No Muggle-borns at all, in fact, but for Andromeda’s own daughter, who was impersonating Narcissa Malfoy. Snape had never heard Andromeda regretting her sisters’ death, or her cousin’s, or her husband’s, when Voldemort had won and decreed for Muggle-borns to be killed. Andromeda herself had only survived because she had claimed the Malfoy wife’s protection, and argued Bellatrix’ blood.
Andromeda Black’s story was a little extreme, but not so extreme Snape couldn’t relate. After all, he himself had turned his back to his side and had publicly renounced Dumbledore and the Order’s activities after the defeat. As a Death Eater, he now beneficiated of better conditions than many in the wizarding – no, in the Voldemort society.
Snape and Andromeda exchanged a glance. They were both thinking the same things. The current Order was only composed of survivors who had all more or less retracted and stood paralysed, incapable of any brash Gryffindor sacrificial action in fear of the punishment. On the other hand, it also meant the Order was still alive and not as legendary as the Dark Lord liked to think it was. And yet they had lost too much to just accept that they had lost.
Both of them were staring at the Sand all around Remus, longing for it, longing for the release it would provide. Neither of them had ever used it; they were too frightened of never being able to let it go.
“I wonder what he’s dreaming about.”
Snape didn’t know who of them had spoken; but he looked back at Andromeda, he saw his own tears reflected in her eyes, and he realised Andromedda wouldn’t be the only one providing Lupin with dreaming sand anymore.
Author: Runespoor (runespoor7@yahoo.co.uk)
runespoor7Summary: Andromeda and Severus visit an absent Remus after Voldemort’s victory.
Rating: PG-13 for drug use and general depression and bitterness.
Pairing: I wrote it with Remus/Sirius in my mind, but close to nothing is even implied.
Warnings: inspired by cyberpunk. I doubt this is what Tali intended, and I can only apologise.
Spoilers: well, OotP.
Author you were assigned: Tali (
siresin)Original drabble:
Remus ran the sand through his fingers and smiled as a figure walked toward him down the beach.
He didn't know if this was real and frankly he didn't care.
It hadn't ended happily but it had ended.
Remus put too much stock in what he knew was real. It was time to embrace something that perhaps wasn't.
He had the time. All he had was time.
The figure sat down beside him and Remus leant across to kiss him.
Whether he was dreaming or whether this was really happening, Sirius was in his arms and that was all that mattered.
Remus’ cloak was hung behind the door. It had quite clearly not been worn for weeks at least, and if it had, not outside. It was a brownish kind of grey, made in an indiscernible cloth, ragged and burnt in several places. That much was nothing new. Lupin’s things had always been ragged. Not that it would look out of place much, nowadays, something that Andromeda reminded Severus in an uncaring tone. As a reply, Severus had looked her up and down, purposefully, and she had pretended not to have noticed; he knew she liked him, despite everything. Her clothes were considerably nicer than Remus’ or than his.
She had led the way past Mrs Black’s silent portrait, through the corridors. The old house was now close to falling apart. Her own sister had had a hand in it, the same way she had had a hand in the fall of the House of Black in the person of its last male heir. Andromeda was walking quickly, and Snape only had the time to notice that the house-elves heads had been taken down before she turned into what could have passed for a living-room, in better days. Now it was just a sanctuary of the worst sort, he supposed, with dust accumulated in funeral veils on the furniture.
Then he noticed the lump on the couch. At first glance, it looked exactly as dusty as the rest of the room, but on closer examination, Snape realised, with a sort of strange pang somewhere close to his stomach, that the lump was indeed a sprawled, unblinking Remus Lupin, head tipped back, lips slightly parted.
“I brought you so we could discuss… him.” Andromeda glanced to Remus’ shape, then turned back towards Snape and went on. “We’ll never reach a decision if I ask the whole Order about him. Susan, for one, won’t stand for it. And we can’t go on.”
Without replying, Snape made his way to Lupin’s side. He picked up a whole handful of white dust from the other man’s unreacting hand. He filtered the powder between his fingers, letting it fall back next to Remus and into the folds of the couch. Then he raised an eyebrow at Andromeda. “He uses sand.”
It wasn’t a question. Andromeda nodded. “I suspect he can only survive this much due to werewolf metabolism.”
She sat next to Remus.
“We can’t leave him like that. He’s wasting away. He doesn’t even go out to buy sand anymore.”
Snape sent her a blank look. “And I don’t suppose you have anything to do with his supplies ever refurnishing themselves.”
She didn’t even have the decency to blush. She smoothed her velvet robes with the flat of her hand. “It feels as if it’s the only thing I can do anymore. And yet it’s doing nothing constructive – well, destructive, rather,” she amended.
Severus sat on the other side of Lupin. His hands, Severus noticed, where thinner than ever before, and the skin looked stretched on his bones. “Well,” he remarked, “there’s nothing else we can do for him, can we? Black has been dead for more than five years now. We can’t shake him out of it if he doesn’t make the effort himself.”
“And is there nothing we can do about the Dark Lord as well?”
Surprised, Severus looked up at Andromeda. She rarely sounded so desperate, so bitter. The expression on her face was one of frustration. Gently, he reached over and pressed her hand, something that he wouldn’t have done only two years before.
“We fought him, Andromeda,” he softly started. “We continue to fight him. But there’s not much we can do, can we? There are twelve of us. No Dumbledore, no Potter, no Weasleys, no ridiculously gifted Muggle-born of any sort.” No Muggle-borns at all, in fact, but for Andromeda’s own daughter, who was impersonating Narcissa Malfoy. Snape had never heard Andromeda regretting her sisters’ death, or her cousin’s, or her husband’s, when Voldemort had won and decreed for Muggle-borns to be killed. Andromeda herself had only survived because she had claimed the Malfoy wife’s protection, and argued Bellatrix’ blood.
Andromeda Black’s story was a little extreme, but not so extreme Snape couldn’t relate. After all, he himself had turned his back to his side and had publicly renounced Dumbledore and the Order’s activities after the defeat. As a Death Eater, he now beneficiated of better conditions than many in the wizarding – no, in the Voldemort society.
Snape and Andromeda exchanged a glance. They were both thinking the same things. The current Order was only composed of survivors who had all more or less retracted and stood paralysed, incapable of any brash Gryffindor sacrificial action in fear of the punishment. On the other hand, it also meant the Order was still alive and not as legendary as the Dark Lord liked to think it was. And yet they had lost too much to just accept that they had lost.
Both of them were staring at the Sand all around Remus, longing for it, longing for the release it would provide. Neither of them had ever used it; they were too frightened of never being able to let it go.
“I wonder what he’s dreaming about.”
Snape didn’t know who of them had spoken; but he looked back at Andromeda, he saw his own tears reflected in her eyes, and he realised Andromedda wouldn’t be the only one providing Lupin with dreaming sand anymore.
