A darkfic, not too long, just waiting for someone to
come along and read it. Slashy undertones, that's all. Sirius/Remus
is
a pairing I don't necessarily agree with, but the Plot Bunny took
over
and something black and twisted came out. Oddly like the two, I
think.
Thanks go to Zsenya for beta-reading.
Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling.
The four of them sat on the bluff one summer evening, oblivious to
everything
around them. The wind howled mercilessly through the trees, whipping
leaves
and dirt into their faces, and a new moon hung in the sky, ominous.
None of them noticed. They were far too absorbed in their own very
complicated
minds to ponder why their eyes stung and their bodies shivered. Two
sat
rather side by side, shoulders touching, the third sat alone some
way
back from the edge, and the fourth rested between.
This last was perhaps the strangest of the four of them, and his
thoughts,
however convoluted, were not the darkest.
There was a tattoo of a white flower on his left upper arm, burning
brightly
against tanned young flesh. His eyes were deep brown and haunted,
his
figure hunched over; his smile was bitter and did not reach his
eyes.
He thought only of his young wife, hidden away with their infant son
where
no one would find them, wishing for a more normal life. His was a
life
lived in fear, and he knew he should not have chosen to share this
existence
eked out in the consternation that was the world at that point. How
to
protect his fledgling family and their closest friends he knew not,
only
that it had to be done and that he could not do it.
Without a change in expression, his gaze turned to the smallest of
the
four.
Off by himself, the round and forlorn member of the group stared
pensively
off into the trees, searching for something that, perhaps, wasn't
there.
Occasionally his eyes would flicker over to the other Two, and he
would
grimace to himself and return to watching. It had hurt him deeply to
discover
what they meant to each other, for it left him alone; if James had
his
flower and the Two had each other, what was to be done with him? He
was
not special, not remarkable in any way, not powerful, not
entertaining,
and he had no striking physical appearance. He was lucky that the
Two
would never be together; each was far to afraid, be it of or for the
other,
even of himself. Peter was plain; it seemed to him that he had been
created
for the sole purpose of following the others around, cleaning up
their
messes. He was good at that, at least, he admitted to himself; they
had
been prevented from discovering the other's true feelings by the
ease
with which he had separated them.
Yet he was still alone, and they were still together, in their own
way,
and it still hurt.
His eyes flickered over to them once more, and so they were seen:
both
tall and lean and muscular, one somewhat tragic in profile and the
other
heroic, although usually his comedian's mask was all that showed.
Both
were devastatingly handsome in a ways so unique that they could not
be
described. One had his eye on the moon with an uncharacteristic
expression
of longing on his face, hating it with all the passion his most
secret
soul would allow. Beside him, his friend also had his eye on the
sky;
Sirius was rising in the east, by far the brightest of all the other
celestial
objects excepting, of course, the slice of the glowing orb that had
captured
the other's attention.
The man with the flower tattoo gave them his full attention,
studying
their mixed profile in the sudden stillness that meant dawn was
coming.
The atmosphere between the Two was thick and teeming with life; pain
was
the most easily sensed emotion along with a fear so intense that
neither
could bear to think about it.
James felt their combined auras like no other could, after all,
hadn't
he been just like them, once? It broke his heart to know that they
would
never have happiness like he had, only the fear that they all
shared,
only the pain that was solely theirs because of what they missed.
The
unspoken tensions made him want to scream with remorse for his
friends.
So the Two sat, their outlines blurred and crossed to where one
could
not be told from the other, and ignored the cold and the wind that
didn't
exist and the thunder that rolled in the distance. So Peter watched
the
shadows as James fought to protect what was his, and so the other
Two
loved and that was all.
The storm that had been building finally broke in one magnificent
flash
of green lightning, and everything changed. Soon little Peter was
gone
and James lay dead, a look of absolute terror in the brown eyes that
had
been so soft and comforting. This last one averted his gaze from the
one
he loved, knowing that the shackles the man wore now would affect
the
rest of his life. In one frantic moment, he grabbed at the bindings,
but
found that the silver burned his hands. He howled in pain; was
nothing
sacred? Was there nothing he could do?
Staring down at the burns that marked his hands, he knew what he
had
to do. He stepped to the edge of the bluff, pausing only briefly for
one
last glimpse at the love that could not be his. I will be back
for
you, he thought grimly to his friend, then turned to face the
rest
of the howling tempest. That is my promise.
