Post by rachy on Apr 18, 2010 1:59:36 GMT -8
Prompt: #1, "Remus character study"
Title: Too Late To Make Amends
Rating: PG
Warnings: Drinking? Angst?
Summary: DH spoilers. Remus thinks it's too late to make amends after leaving Harry.
Notes: And this is what double procrastination gets you. Sorry it's a bit unwieldly.
--
He sits in a graveyard, a bottle of firewhisky next to him, half empty. He’s in the shadows of the church, but his heart lies next to the graves only metres away and he pretends that Sirius lies there too. He knows that it’s dangerous, and this is not where he should be, but home is where the heart is, and his heart is in three. One part rests with the light in his life, one part lies with the grey unfilled hopes, and the final part lies with the graves and letters he traces. He wishes he could lay at rest with his dearest friends, to see Sirius laugh and Lily chase him, cursing his every step as he bombards her with snowballs, and to see the adoration on James’s face again. He knows that this war means he can be killed any instant, trapped by legislation as a half breed, but he’s aching for a fight because he’s forgotten what it’s like to feel and feel without feeling trapped and caught in a cage. He wants to be here, buried by the scant few that care, but he thinks he’s lost them, and he can’t choose between the past and the limited future any more. He’s trapped in a cage of his own making, wishing he died for or with his friends, and wishing he could feel, could be the man that Tonks used to see, that Harry idolised for all the wrong reasons and that they could both look at him without the look of betrayal they gave him last.
It’s too late to make amends for distance with those he’s lost. Too late to stay closer to Lily and James and Sirius, to tell them they gave him life and he couldn’t ever take that away from them. It’s too late to make amends for distance with those he’s losing, for Ron and Hermione and Harry, fighting for a battle that feels hopeless and already lost, fighting for the scant chance if he’s honest he’s never truly believed, although he has enough faith to power the world for them. It may even be too late to make amends for those he’s pushing away, for Tonks, his light and everything he never dreamed he could ever have, for Arthur and Molly, and Ginny and Luna and Fleur and Bill, the twins and Dumbledore’s Army and the Order of the Phoenix. It may even be too late to make amends with his unborn child, and yet he knows that for it, and Tonks’s, and Harry’s sake that he has too. James and Sirius would never forgive him, anyway, and Tonks has already been his saving grace, persistent enough to believe in him despite his own overwhelming doubt. He can’t let her down. He vanishes the firewhisky, and stands unsteadily, waving his wand quickly. He’s greeted by a wand at his throat when he arrives through Andromeda’s wards, and as he stares into his wife’s filling eyes, he falters, unsure. She pulls her left first and punches him in the face, her ring cutting above his eye, and lets him pull her into his arms as tears stream down her face, and he smooths her hair as he lets his tears mingle with her own, falling into the half-hearted slaps against his chest and his murmured apologies. Maybe he just had to have faith, that he’d do the best he could to make sure that he could be the man everyone believed he could be. He owed it to them to live a life they could not.
Title: Too Late To Make Amends
Rating: PG
Warnings: Drinking? Angst?
Summary: DH spoilers. Remus thinks it's too late to make amends after leaving Harry.
Notes: And this is what double procrastination gets you. Sorry it's a bit unwieldly.
--
He sits in a graveyard, a bottle of firewhisky next to him, half empty. He’s in the shadows of the church, but his heart lies next to the graves only metres away and he pretends that Sirius lies there too. He knows that it’s dangerous, and this is not where he should be, but home is where the heart is, and his heart is in three. One part rests with the light in his life, one part lies with the grey unfilled hopes, and the final part lies with the graves and letters he traces. He wishes he could lay at rest with his dearest friends, to see Sirius laugh and Lily chase him, cursing his every step as he bombards her with snowballs, and to see the adoration on James’s face again. He knows that this war means he can be killed any instant, trapped by legislation as a half breed, but he’s aching for a fight because he’s forgotten what it’s like to feel and feel without feeling trapped and caught in a cage. He wants to be here, buried by the scant few that care, but he thinks he’s lost them, and he can’t choose between the past and the limited future any more. He’s trapped in a cage of his own making, wishing he died for or with his friends, and wishing he could feel, could be the man that Tonks used to see, that Harry idolised for all the wrong reasons and that they could both look at him without the look of betrayal they gave him last.
It’s too late to make amends for distance with those he’s lost. Too late to stay closer to Lily and James and Sirius, to tell them they gave him life and he couldn’t ever take that away from them. It’s too late to make amends for distance with those he’s losing, for Ron and Hermione and Harry, fighting for a battle that feels hopeless and already lost, fighting for the scant chance if he’s honest he’s never truly believed, although he has enough faith to power the world for them. It may even be too late to make amends for those he’s pushing away, for Tonks, his light and everything he never dreamed he could ever have, for Arthur and Molly, and Ginny and Luna and Fleur and Bill, the twins and Dumbledore’s Army and the Order of the Phoenix. It may even be too late to make amends with his unborn child, and yet he knows that for it, and Tonks’s, and Harry’s sake that he has too. James and Sirius would never forgive him, anyway, and Tonks has already been his saving grace, persistent enough to believe in him despite his own overwhelming doubt. He can’t let her down. He vanishes the firewhisky, and stands unsteadily, waving his wand quickly. He’s greeted by a wand at his throat when he arrives through Andromeda’s wards, and as he stares into his wife’s filling eyes, he falters, unsure. She pulls her left first and punches him in the face, her ring cutting above his eye, and lets him pull her into his arms as tears stream down her face, and he smooths her hair as he lets his tears mingle with her own, falling into the half-hearted slaps against his chest and his murmured apologies. Maybe he just had to have faith, that he’d do the best he could to make sure that he could be the man everyone believed he could be. He owed it to them to live a life they could not.