Alphabet Challenge Fic
May. 8th, 2005 08:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
innerslytherinWritten for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
larinzia, for her Alphabet Challenge:
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: Remus, Severus
Slash? Not necessarily.
Apogee
You are at your zenith. You know this, and yet you continue to strive. You continue to reach, to stretch your hands out for the stars.
This memory hits you every morning when you wake. The laughter and his final taunt. The jet of light. Her mad laughter. The graceful arch to his back as he falls.
You groan, scrub your hands across your eyes, and roll over to bury your face in his pillow. His pillow, because you’ve taken to sleeping in his bed instead of your own. Not because you were lovers, which is what everyone else thinks. A best friend, a confidante, is more of a soulmate than a mere lover could ever be.
You are past your zenith. You have feared this moment, and that has not kept it from coming to pass. You fear to reach, to stretch out your hands, because you don’t know what they will grasp.
“Get up, you idiot!” The voice is a hiss in your ear, and you recognize it, because you would no matter where you heard this voice. You sigh and hunch your shoulder, pulling the blanket further across your face.
You are suddenly deluged with ice-water. You yelp and bolt upright, and glare at him. He scowls. “I said get up! The next time I won’t warn you.”
You want to point out that he didn’t warn you this time, but that would mean speaking, and you have forgotten how to do that. Or at least you want to pretend you have.
“Say it, Lupin. Whatever you’re thinking behind those dead eyes of yours, say it.”
You close your eyes, because you’re too tired for this, but he grips your elbow and squeezes painfully. “Say it!”
“Piss off, Snape,” you finally blurt. Your voice sounds strange, because you haven’t spoken in days that you can recall. You should be appalled. You don’t particularly care.
Snape, however, looks pleased.
He is fallen from his zenith. You never imagined this moment, because imagining a world without him in it has never been possible. Even when you hated him, you were reaching out to him.
You feel the pull of the moon, you know it is waxing strong. You cannot bring yourself to care, though you know it will hurt. Better that physical pain than this emotional numbness. Perhaps this month you will meet something in silver, and the numbness and even the pain will end.
There is a hand gripping your chin, and then Snape scowls into your face. He is very close. Too close. You don’t want anyone this close anymore. You reach up to shove him away, but he is stronger than you, and you wonder how that happened.
“Be still, you bloody mutt,” he snaps. “He isn’t ill,” he says over his shoulder. “At least, he’s only as ill as he’s made himself.” There is a murmur of sound. “What? Well, of course it’s the grief. But he’s wallowing in it. Sodding Gryffindor.”
Snape is still muttering as he pushes you into a sitting position, then lifts a cup of soup to your lips. He bullies you into finishing it, though it’s quite large and you feel ill after. “Piss off, Snape,” you murmur in between the cramps in your stomach.
“If you were going to kill yourself, you should’ve done it with silver,” he tells you, his voice sharp and too loud. “Starving is messy and slow.”
You glare at him, but you’re so tired, and he’s already lifted another vessel to your lips. This time you taste the familiar tang of Wolfsbane, and it is followed by a sleeping potion. You close your eyes and slip into darkness.
You have disgraced your zenith. You were so shaken in your orbit that you allowed your light to die entirely. You drew away from those who reached for you, drew away from the light of the stars.
“It was difficult, but he survived.” The voice is his again, and you bless and curse it both before you open your eyes. Why is he here? He has not been looking at you, but now his eyes dart towards yours.
“Because you could not be here alone,” he replies to the unspoken thought, and you remember that he is skilled in Legilimency. You wonder if he reads everyone like this, and his eyes darken. “Only you,” he murmurs, his voice bitter. Then he turns his attention back to the fire. “We will be at the castle in a fortnight. No sooner.”
You want to curse him, because you know he is speaking of you. But suddenly it isn’t worth the effort, so you close your eyes again and allow him to brush the sweaty hair away from your eyes.
He is coming into his zenith, and you wonder how you never saw his strength. You fear what he will do with that strength, fear he will crush you. But you reach out anyway, and he grasps your hands in his.
“You are coming home with me.” His voice is quiet, but there is command in those words, and no little amount of entreaty. Only he could manage both at once. You sigh, but you nod. Orbits are elliptical. Your days beyond the reach of the sun are past.
larinzia, for her Alphabet Challenge:Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: Remus, Severus
Slash? Not necessarily.
Apogee
You are at your zenith. You know this, and yet you continue to strive. You continue to reach, to stretch your hands out for the stars.
This memory hits you every morning when you wake. The laughter and his final taunt. The jet of light. Her mad laughter. The graceful arch to his back as he falls.
You groan, scrub your hands across your eyes, and roll over to bury your face in his pillow. His pillow, because you’ve taken to sleeping in his bed instead of your own. Not because you were lovers, which is what everyone else thinks. A best friend, a confidante, is more of a soulmate than a mere lover could ever be.
You are past your zenith. You have feared this moment, and that has not kept it from coming to pass. You fear to reach, to stretch out your hands, because you don’t know what they will grasp.
“Get up, you idiot!” The voice is a hiss in your ear, and you recognize it, because you would no matter where you heard this voice. You sigh and hunch your shoulder, pulling the blanket further across your face.
You are suddenly deluged with ice-water. You yelp and bolt upright, and glare at him. He scowls. “I said get up! The next time I won’t warn you.”
You want to point out that he didn’t warn you this time, but that would mean speaking, and you have forgotten how to do that. Or at least you want to pretend you have.
“Say it, Lupin. Whatever you’re thinking behind those dead eyes of yours, say it.”
You close your eyes, because you’re too tired for this, but he grips your elbow and squeezes painfully. “Say it!”
“Piss off, Snape,” you finally blurt. Your voice sounds strange, because you haven’t spoken in days that you can recall. You should be appalled. You don’t particularly care.
Snape, however, looks pleased.
He is fallen from his zenith. You never imagined this moment, because imagining a world without him in it has never been possible. Even when you hated him, you were reaching out to him.
You feel the pull of the moon, you know it is waxing strong. You cannot bring yourself to care, though you know it will hurt. Better that physical pain than this emotional numbness. Perhaps this month you will meet something in silver, and the numbness and even the pain will end.
There is a hand gripping your chin, and then Snape scowls into your face. He is very close. Too close. You don’t want anyone this close anymore. You reach up to shove him away, but he is stronger than you, and you wonder how that happened.
“Be still, you bloody mutt,” he snaps. “He isn’t ill,” he says over his shoulder. “At least, he’s only as ill as he’s made himself.” There is a murmur of sound. “What? Well, of course it’s the grief. But he’s wallowing in it. Sodding Gryffindor.”
Snape is still muttering as he pushes you into a sitting position, then lifts a cup of soup to your lips. He bullies you into finishing it, though it’s quite large and you feel ill after. “Piss off, Snape,” you murmur in between the cramps in your stomach.
“If you were going to kill yourself, you should’ve done it with silver,” he tells you, his voice sharp and too loud. “Starving is messy and slow.”
You glare at him, but you’re so tired, and he’s already lifted another vessel to your lips. This time you taste the familiar tang of Wolfsbane, and it is followed by a sleeping potion. You close your eyes and slip into darkness.
You have disgraced your zenith. You were so shaken in your orbit that you allowed your light to die entirely. You drew away from those who reached for you, drew away from the light of the stars.
“It was difficult, but he survived.” The voice is his again, and you bless and curse it both before you open your eyes. Why is he here? He has not been looking at you, but now his eyes dart towards yours.
“Because you could not be here alone,” he replies to the unspoken thought, and you remember that he is skilled in Legilimency. You wonder if he reads everyone like this, and his eyes darken. “Only you,” he murmurs, his voice bitter. Then he turns his attention back to the fire. “We will be at the castle in a fortnight. No sooner.”
You want to curse him, because you know he is speaking of you. But suddenly it isn’t worth the effort, so you close your eyes again and allow him to brush the sweaty hair away from your eyes.
He is coming into his zenith, and you wonder how you never saw his strength. You fear what he will do with that strength, fear he will crush you. But you reach out anyway, and he grasps your hands in his.
“You are coming home with me.” His voice is quiet, but there is command in those words, and no little amount of entreaty. Only he could manage both at once. You sigh, but you nod. Orbits are elliptical. Your days beyond the reach of the sun are past.
