leashy_bebes (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
leashy_bebes) wrote2008-07-17 10:23 pm
leashy_bebes) wrote2008-07-17 10:23 pm
FIC: Every Love and Each Regret 1.5
Every Love and Each Regret Part 1, Chapter 5 [Click here for previous chapters]
PG-13 or more, there's swearing, don't be offended.
I'll hopefully be updatng this fairly regularly from now on.
Lyrics from Allison Moorer's Dying Breed
NOTE: I had to edit chapter 2 a tiny bit because it made it sound like Sirius had already left home, which was not my intention.
i take after my family, my fate's the blood in me
no one grows old in this household, we are a dying breed
James' family owl arrives two weeks into the summer holidays. Remus unfurls the scroll, and a small scrap of paper drifts out. Catching it, he looks and reads, in James' blocky handwriting 'JUST FUCKING READ IT MOONY I'M GOING CRAZY HERE'. Remus supposes that really, he knows then that the other letter will be from Sirius. He still looks down, though.
Dear Remus,
Remus nearly screws the letter up there and then. Even Sirius' handwriting seems to tear at his heart. The next three words catch his eye though, and he can't help but read more.
I've left home. I'm staying with James, and I know you probably don't care, or even want to know, but I wanted to tell you.
I can't blame them for what I did, but they are partly responsible for the person I've become, and that was a big part of why I did what I did. Moony, I'm honestly not trying to wriggle out of what I did, but my family have done a number on my head, and I'm only now starting to realise how much.
I'm going to sort myself out. I'm going to live with James and try out a normal family, and I'm going to try to be better, because I never want to hurt you or anybody else again in the way I've hurt you. I miss you and I miss what we almost had.
I'm sorry. I'm trying. I'm also sorry if this is totally incoherent. I'm nervous. I don't want you to hate me anymore, but I understand if you do.
Sirius.
He does screw the letter up then, and tosses the ball of crumpled paper into the corner of the room, breathing hard, absolutely furious and not entirely sure why. He’d done a fine job of avoiding and ignoring Sirius for the last month of the school year, and he can’t understand why now, when the bastard isn’t even here, he’s lost that disconnect, that absence that he’d so treasured. What the hell happened to ‘out of sight, out of mind’ he wonders.
He’s on edge and distracted and snappy all day, his mind constantly drawn to that balled up parchment in the corner of his room. Finally, after his mother has looked at him with eyes that are more confused than hurt for the third time, Remus apologies, kisses her cheek and takes himself out for a long walk. It doesn’t really help, as all the way, his mind is filled, not with the content of the letter, but the image of that screwed up piece parchment and James’ honest, blocky handwriting. It reminds Remus of James’ reaction all the way through this. He’d never hidden the fact that he thought Sirius had been ‘an unreliable useless fucking shit-for-brains’, but he’d also never pretended it was something he wouldn’t be able to forgive.
It had made for an uneasy, but at least quiet month. James had very determinedly tried to keep things ticking over, but Remus was numb and Sirius – Remus had pretended to be glad, during the day, but at night it had made him ache, ache and hate himself – Sirius was a wreck. He’d sleepwalked his way around the castle, his eyes always a little unfocussed, his skin always pale, his mouth still and flat. Even his voice was quieter, less confident.
Remus hated the change in Sirius, and he hated that Sirius had the nerve to be such an open, obvious mess while Remus took pains to keep it inside, to hold himself tight and steady inside his own head. And he hated himself for even noticing the change, for wanting to hear what he’d come to think of as Sirius’ before voice, his before laugh, even to just watch his infuriatingly cocky before strut across a room as though he owned not only it but everything in it, near it, or associated with it.
Remus doesn’t do well with hate – the word, rather than the emotion. It’s like evil in that way, in that he thinks people apply it far too widely – oh, I hate peas or did you see the essay title, the man’s evil! He doesn’t know what else to call it though, even if it feels closer to sadness than anger, and surely hatred should go hand in hand with anger? He just knows that he’s never really hated anyone before, and he’s certainly never felt like this before.
He’s honest to admit to himself that there’s a flaw in that logic, a massive gap somewhere, but he doesn’t want to look to closely at it. Instead, he busies himself with trying to remember the name for that kind of ridiculous cyclical thinking and draws a blank.
Back at home, he doesn’t feel that much better, but he’s at least able to control his mouth when his mum acts as though everything is so normal - and why shouldn’t she? Hadn’t Remus begged Dumbledore to keep this from his parents? Still, he finds himself looking up at the ceiling, knowing that his room is right there, that the wardrobe is above the living room’s fireplace, and so the letter is somewhere over the cooker.
He lasts until about nine o’clock when he begs an early night, determined to get rid of the bloody thing just so that he could have five seconds of peace. Instead he takes one look at it and flicks off the light, shrugging his clothes off and falling wide-eyed and completely awake into his bed. He turns his back on the letter and closes his eyes.
The next morning the letter is still there, and Remus doesn’t know why that leaves him vaguely surprised. He busies himself with his homework but the letter is there, morning after morning, screwed up and battered, but never out of his thoughts until one afternoon, completely without intent, he pulls out a fresh sheet of parchment, smoothes it down and writes,
Sirius,
And then stops, throwing his quill down in frustration at himself. He turns back to his books but the word is there now, written down, and like Sirius is a mental Mephistopheles, it’s all Remus can think about. Write his name and he shall appear in your every bloody thought, Remus tells himself, rubbing his forehead and sighing before he tears Sirius’ name off the parchment, folds it and, without knowing why, tucks it in his pocket.
Half an hour later, he is still thinking about Sirius, still feeling faintly wrong footed by his own behaviour when he reaches for the torn piece of parchment and writes,
Sirius,
I don’t hate you.
He turns back to his work again, but doesn’t tear the words away this time, just tucks the parchment under a book.
Finally, hours later, he has the shortest, most difficult letter he’s ever written and he’s pored over every word so much that he doesn’t even need to check it as he ties it to their owl’s leg and sends it off.
Sirius,
I don’t hate you.
It's taken me hours to get any further than that. I don't hate you. I'm glad you're trying to take control of your life.
Remus.
As Remus half-expected, the reply comes in the middle of the night, only a few hours after their own owl has replied. The Potters’ owl wakes him up with its insistent scratching at his window. Still half asleep, Remus stumbles over to the window and lets the bird perch on the sill for the seconds it takes to unroll another parchment. In the half light of a hasty lumos, he reads,
Dear Remus,
I can't believe you wrote back. Thank you. It means a lot. That you wrote, and what you said.
I know this might be pushing my luck but can we keep writing? About normal things?
I really miss you.
Sirius.
The honesty of the request haunts Remus’ dreams and he imagines Sirius saying those words – I really miss you - and about ten minutes after breakfast the next day he sends off the owl.
Padfoot,
Alright. You first.
Moony.
four weeks later...
PG-13 or more, there's swearing, don't be offended.
I'll hopefully be updatng this fairly regularly from now on.
Lyrics from Allison Moorer's Dying Breed
NOTE: I had to edit chapter 2 a tiny bit because it made it sound like Sirius had already left home, which was not my intention.
i take after my family, my fate's the blood in me
no one grows old in this household, we are a dying breed
James' family owl arrives two weeks into the summer holidays. Remus unfurls the scroll, and a small scrap of paper drifts out. Catching it, he looks and reads, in James' blocky handwriting 'JUST FUCKING READ IT MOONY I'M GOING CRAZY HERE'. Remus supposes that really, he knows then that the other letter will be from Sirius. He still looks down, though.
Dear Remus,
Remus nearly screws the letter up there and then. Even Sirius' handwriting seems to tear at his heart. The next three words catch his eye though, and he can't help but read more.
I've left home. I'm staying with James, and I know you probably don't care, or even want to know, but I wanted to tell you.
I can't blame them for what I did, but they are partly responsible for the person I've become, and that was a big part of why I did what I did. Moony, I'm honestly not trying to wriggle out of what I did, but my family have done a number on my head, and I'm only now starting to realise how much.
I'm going to sort myself out. I'm going to live with James and try out a normal family, and I'm going to try to be better, because I never want to hurt you or anybody else again in the way I've hurt you. I miss you and I miss what we almost had.
I'm sorry. I'm trying. I'm also sorry if this is totally incoherent. I'm nervous. I don't want you to hate me anymore, but I understand if you do.
Sirius.
He does screw the letter up then, and tosses the ball of crumpled paper into the corner of the room, breathing hard, absolutely furious and not entirely sure why. He’d done a fine job of avoiding and ignoring Sirius for the last month of the school year, and he can’t understand why now, when the bastard isn’t even here, he’s lost that disconnect, that absence that he’d so treasured. What the hell happened to ‘out of sight, out of mind’ he wonders.
He’s on edge and distracted and snappy all day, his mind constantly drawn to that balled up parchment in the corner of his room. Finally, after his mother has looked at him with eyes that are more confused than hurt for the third time, Remus apologies, kisses her cheek and takes himself out for a long walk. It doesn’t really help, as all the way, his mind is filled, not with the content of the letter, but the image of that screwed up piece parchment and James’ honest, blocky handwriting. It reminds Remus of James’ reaction all the way through this. He’d never hidden the fact that he thought Sirius had been ‘an unreliable useless fucking shit-for-brains’, but he’d also never pretended it was something he wouldn’t be able to forgive.
It had made for an uneasy, but at least quiet month. James had very determinedly tried to keep things ticking over, but Remus was numb and Sirius – Remus had pretended to be glad, during the day, but at night it had made him ache, ache and hate himself – Sirius was a wreck. He’d sleepwalked his way around the castle, his eyes always a little unfocussed, his skin always pale, his mouth still and flat. Even his voice was quieter, less confident.
Remus hated the change in Sirius, and he hated that Sirius had the nerve to be such an open, obvious mess while Remus took pains to keep it inside, to hold himself tight and steady inside his own head. And he hated himself for even noticing the change, for wanting to hear what he’d come to think of as Sirius’ before voice, his before laugh, even to just watch his infuriatingly cocky before strut across a room as though he owned not only it but everything in it, near it, or associated with it.
Remus doesn’t do well with hate – the word, rather than the emotion. It’s like evil in that way, in that he thinks people apply it far too widely – oh, I hate peas or did you see the essay title, the man’s evil! He doesn’t know what else to call it though, even if it feels closer to sadness than anger, and surely hatred should go hand in hand with anger? He just knows that he’s never really hated anyone before, and he’s certainly never felt like this before.
He’s honest to admit to himself that there’s a flaw in that logic, a massive gap somewhere, but he doesn’t want to look to closely at it. Instead, he busies himself with trying to remember the name for that kind of ridiculous cyclical thinking and draws a blank.
Back at home, he doesn’t feel that much better, but he’s at least able to control his mouth when his mum acts as though everything is so normal - and why shouldn’t she? Hadn’t Remus begged Dumbledore to keep this from his parents? Still, he finds himself looking up at the ceiling, knowing that his room is right there, that the wardrobe is above the living room’s fireplace, and so the letter is somewhere over the cooker.
He lasts until about nine o’clock when he begs an early night, determined to get rid of the bloody thing just so that he could have five seconds of peace. Instead he takes one look at it and flicks off the light, shrugging his clothes off and falling wide-eyed and completely awake into his bed. He turns his back on the letter and closes his eyes.
The next morning the letter is still there, and Remus doesn’t know why that leaves him vaguely surprised. He busies himself with his homework but the letter is there, morning after morning, screwed up and battered, but never out of his thoughts until one afternoon, completely without intent, he pulls out a fresh sheet of parchment, smoothes it down and writes,
Sirius,
And then stops, throwing his quill down in frustration at himself. He turns back to his books but the word is there now, written down, and like Sirius is a mental Mephistopheles, it’s all Remus can think about. Write his name and he shall appear in your every bloody thought, Remus tells himself, rubbing his forehead and sighing before he tears Sirius’ name off the parchment, folds it and, without knowing why, tucks it in his pocket.
Half an hour later, he is still thinking about Sirius, still feeling faintly wrong footed by his own behaviour when he reaches for the torn piece of parchment and writes,
Sirius,
I don’t hate you.
He turns back to his work again, but doesn’t tear the words away this time, just tucks the parchment under a book.
Finally, hours later, he has the shortest, most difficult letter he’s ever written and he’s pored over every word so much that he doesn’t even need to check it as he ties it to their owl’s leg and sends it off.
Sirius,
I don’t hate you.
It's taken me hours to get any further than that. I don't hate you. I'm glad you're trying to take control of your life.
Remus.
As Remus half-expected, the reply comes in the middle of the night, only a few hours after their own owl has replied. The Potters’ owl wakes him up with its insistent scratching at his window. Still half asleep, Remus stumbles over to the window and lets the bird perch on the sill for the seconds it takes to unroll another parchment. In the half light of a hasty lumos, he reads,
Dear Remus,
I can't believe you wrote back. Thank you. It means a lot. That you wrote, and what you said.
I know this might be pushing my luck but can we keep writing? About normal things?
I really miss you.
Sirius.
The honesty of the request haunts Remus’ dreams and he imagines Sirius saying those words – I really miss you - and about ten minutes after breakfast the next day he sends off the owl.
Padfoot,
Alright. You first.
Moony.
four weeks later...