Parallel or Together
Tuesday, December 6th, 2005 01:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
orange_crushedParallel or Together, pt. III. More Snape, more blood. I think when this is finished I'm going to put it all together, in one post. (Thanks to the_grynne, who provided me with this much-needed editing music !)
"All us servants beg the master;
ain't no knowing what he's after."
-Iron & Wine
Once school is out, and out forever, Sirius finds himself wandering in the house like an unmannerly ghost. He haunts family mealtimes and drifts in and out of his father’s study with all the purpose and energy of an idle summer wind. He doesn’t need to work, and doesn’t know what he’d be good at. Regulus is busy acing all his final exams and being courted by the Ministry; the same department, Sirius remarks, that absorbed both Malfoy and the elder Rosier boys. He’ll do well for himself. He’ll be in with all the right people; ambitious, young and attractive. Sirius tries to be happy for him.
Even their mother, who once cooed nothings about keeping her babes in the nest forever, has begun to eye Sirius with a kind of disdain. She drops hints about marriage, which he ignores. She occasionally screams and works herself into minor fits, which he avoids being present for. It’s as if he is playing hide-and-seek professionally; to stay alive. There’s nowhere in particular for him to go. The house is already made monument to the dead. When anyone shakes the flour can in the kitchen, he expects knucklebones to come pouring out. He’d rather not add himself to the collection.
So when he glances out the window on Friday afternoon, the eve of the New Year, and sees Severus Snape once again absconding with his baby brother; Sirius feels a sudden need to find a direction and follow it. He waits until they’ve turned the corner, then pulls on a cloak and tracks them in the snow.
The first snow of winter sits on his eyelashes like down, frilling delicately out from under the pinion feathers of a gander. He can feel the suggestion of cold but not the sensation, thanks to a skill with heating charms acquired from long hours by the lake. The pair ahead of him aren’t hurrying, nor are they taking any particular care to be seen. That’s a good sign. He thinks perhaps he could be mistaken; that what he sees as some kind of ritual indoctrination could just be a couple of misanthropic teenagers on a search for firewhiskey and dates.
The weather has something to do with the softening of his temper. Sirius likes the snow, and the cold- the breath that flies out and hangs for a long second makes him think of words, spoken and remembered. Words that can be shared like pictures, that crystallize with meaning and make intentions clear. They remind him of Remus; Remus’s misguided affection for the truth, and for order and purpose. But more than anything they just remind him of other winters, and snowballs, and Shepard’s Pie. Times when warmth implied infinitely more than temperature.
He remembers being wanted. When his company was precious and desired, when he had something to say. He feels like a snowflake; if only in that he is falling.
They turn and he turns; they pause and he pauses, pretending to read a menu in a storefront café. There’s a pub at the intersection ahead, which they enter, and Sirius hurries to catch up. Through the crooked panes he can see the usually ungainly Snape give the barman what could pass for a smooth and subtle nod. Regulus suddenly turns and glances behind him reflexively, and Sirius flattens against the doorway. When he lifts his head again, there’s a puff of flame, and both his brother and Snape have vanished into the gap of the floo.
“Dammit.” Well, he’s come this far. Sirius pulls his hood over his head and pushes the door open, aiming for an authoritative stride. “Am I late ?” he says, a little too loudly. “They can’t have gone on without me. Excuse me sir, have they passed this way ?” The barman gives a noncommittal shrug.
“Tha’ depends, boy. On who you're looking for.”
“I’m Sirius Black.” he says haughtily, and throws the hood off. “And I’m looking for my brother.” It works, if only because Sirius looks as proud and vain as he sounds. Anyone can see that the cut of his cloth is fine, much finer than any other patron’s; and that the clasp at his throat bears the seal of House Black. He is shown to the fireplace. Without being asked, the barman fills his hands with powder and mutters a word over the flames.
“Off you go, young master.” he says; and Sirius is lost in a tunnel of smoke and darkness.
He stumbles onto uneven ground, swinging his arms in front of him for balance, and connects with the trunk of a tree. Steadying himself against it, he glances around, hoping he's still unnoticed. There's not a soul to be seen; not even the two cloaked idiots he's tailing. But the scene is still familiar- a village choked with elderly trees, bare branches against the outline of cottages. A few hearth fires, and in the distance a hill rising out of the forest. It reminds him of something, a memory that aches against the sides of his brain.
Some distance ahead, on a road that curls along the hill like a cat's tail, there are a handful of shadows walking towards the wind. At the top he can see a great house, with barn and stables. There's a light in the window. And immediately he places the image- the house, a party, the glow of torches and wandlight, a purpling bruise, the rich smell of meat and wine. It is the manor of the LeStranges. The party he remembers is his cousin's engagement, the day of his first duel. He was thirteen.
It occurs to Sirius for the first time that he may have done a very stupid thing. Cousin, can you bleed ? she'd asked him. And he had, until his uncle had caught them and cleaned them up, and sent her back to her friends. He can still bleed. And he can still turn back.
He feels a rush of hate for Severus, burning in the center of his chest like a brand. For bringing him here, for bringing Regulus here. For being in the middle of something so large and horrible that it is swallowing Sirius's very heart to think of it. He wishes fiercely for James's solid anger and Remus's clarity, and holds tightly to the wand in his pocket.
He won't abandon his brother to this. He casts a disillusionment charm around himself, and wipes his shadow away, before starting along the rising path.
To the back of the garden is a poor attempt at a hedge maze, too low and too unimaginative to be authentically old. There isn't a single moving statue, or charmed fountain, or beastly topiary. Sirius doesn't even bother to reproach himself for the pureblood contempt he feels towards the LeStranges; recently rich and recently evil and altogether without class.
Beyond that is a courtyard with an iron gate, and beyond that the family plot. This is the oldest part of the manor, he feels certain, as water and time have removed much of what was written from the monuments. His brother and Snape are winding their way through the crypts and stones, Regulus with a certain degreee of uncertainty. It's clear to Sirius that this is not their usual destination, though Snape seems to know the way. Sirius, hanging back, carefully charming his footsteps to leave no print in the shallow snow, can see a group ahead. A few of them have bothered to bring light, though it's mostly unnecessary in the milky softness of the waxing moon.
The figures meet and merge. Regulus hesitates a beat; then inclines his head towards the circle, and as one they step towards the closest obelisk. Sirius sees a stairway leading underground and curses under his breath.
Bella is there, too; one hand laid delicately on the arm of a hooded man. Her hair is undone and her head bare, like some savage queen in the light of the lamps; though she looks more like a happy bride. She cups a hand at the back of Regulus's neck and Sirius feels the shiver on his own skin. What she's whispering in his brother's ear, he can't hear or see; and in a moment they've stepped into the darkness.
He starts to follow and hears a sound like thunder and pain. A light is rising and he knows, he knows why they've come, and what they are doing; Sirius apparates away but not quickly enough, not quickly enough to miss Regulus's screaming.
Three days pass. Sirius is aware of every second that changes to the next. He stares at the skin of his own arm, which is rougher and more often sunburnt than his brother's. He imagines that he can feel it burning. He plans how to kill Severus Snape.
The opportunity presents itself shortly. Snape has the gall to return with Regulus when the weekend is over, both of them drawn and pale. Sirius is already running to the gate as they arrive, and even Snape's fairly quick wand hand is a fruitless defense.
Sirius punches him viciously in the throat, without preamble. Snape goes down, wand still waving, and Sirius feels the whistle of a curse go past his ear. "Wordless, huh ?" he asks, and stomps down on Snape's wrist until he can hear the bones shatter. "Curse me." he says, and Snape says nothing. His eyes have rolled back into his head, giving him a slightly crazy look. "CURSE ME !" Sirius repeats, shrieking, and kicks him in the ribs. He feels a sharp jab to his shoulder.
Regulus has his wand out, at the level of Sirius's heart.
"Leave him." he says. It doesn't even sound like Regulus, the high-pitched croak coming from his throat. "Leave him, or I'll- I will. I will." There are tears in his eyes.
"God, Reg." The rage goes out of Sirius like water. It pools at his ankles, Snape and revenge and murder forgotten. "What have they done to you ?"
Regulus doesn't answer. Instead, he lowers his trembling arm and turns to Snape, who has rolled onto his side and is coughing blood.
"I've got to take him to a healer."
"Fine." Sirius can't stop staring at the phlegmy puddle of blood beside Snape's face. He is disgusted with himself, but only a little. Regulus is favoring his left arm, and the sight of that makes something hateful and dark rise in Sirius again. It's better that they both leave him alone. "Go."
"I'm going."
Regulus forgets to tell him, later, that he obliviates Snape somewhere along the way.
"All us servants beg the master;
ain't no knowing what he's after."
-Iron & Wine
Once school is out, and out forever, Sirius finds himself wandering in the house like an unmannerly ghost. He haunts family mealtimes and drifts in and out of his father’s study with all the purpose and energy of an idle summer wind. He doesn’t need to work, and doesn’t know what he’d be good at. Regulus is busy acing all his final exams and being courted by the Ministry; the same department, Sirius remarks, that absorbed both Malfoy and the elder Rosier boys. He’ll do well for himself. He’ll be in with all the right people; ambitious, young and attractive. Sirius tries to be happy for him.
Even their mother, who once cooed nothings about keeping her babes in the nest forever, has begun to eye Sirius with a kind of disdain. She drops hints about marriage, which he ignores. She occasionally screams and works herself into minor fits, which he avoids being present for. It’s as if he is playing hide-and-seek professionally; to stay alive. There’s nowhere in particular for him to go. The house is already made monument to the dead. When anyone shakes the flour can in the kitchen, he expects knucklebones to come pouring out. He’d rather not add himself to the collection.
So when he glances out the window on Friday afternoon, the eve of the New Year, and sees Severus Snape once again absconding with his baby brother; Sirius feels a sudden need to find a direction and follow it. He waits until they’ve turned the corner, then pulls on a cloak and tracks them in the snow.
The first snow of winter sits on his eyelashes like down, frilling delicately out from under the pinion feathers of a gander. He can feel the suggestion of cold but not the sensation, thanks to a skill with heating charms acquired from long hours by the lake. The pair ahead of him aren’t hurrying, nor are they taking any particular care to be seen. That’s a good sign. He thinks perhaps he could be mistaken; that what he sees as some kind of ritual indoctrination could just be a couple of misanthropic teenagers on a search for firewhiskey and dates.
The weather has something to do with the softening of his temper. Sirius likes the snow, and the cold- the breath that flies out and hangs for a long second makes him think of words, spoken and remembered. Words that can be shared like pictures, that crystallize with meaning and make intentions clear. They remind him of Remus; Remus’s misguided affection for the truth, and for order and purpose. But more than anything they just remind him of other winters, and snowballs, and Shepard’s Pie. Times when warmth implied infinitely more than temperature.
He remembers being wanted. When his company was precious and desired, when he had something to say. He feels like a snowflake; if only in that he is falling.
They turn and he turns; they pause and he pauses, pretending to read a menu in a storefront café. There’s a pub at the intersection ahead, which they enter, and Sirius hurries to catch up. Through the crooked panes he can see the usually ungainly Snape give the barman what could pass for a smooth and subtle nod. Regulus suddenly turns and glances behind him reflexively, and Sirius flattens against the doorway. When he lifts his head again, there’s a puff of flame, and both his brother and Snape have vanished into the gap of the floo.
“Dammit.” Well, he’s come this far. Sirius pulls his hood over his head and pushes the door open, aiming for an authoritative stride. “Am I late ?” he says, a little too loudly. “They can’t have gone on without me. Excuse me sir, have they passed this way ?” The barman gives a noncommittal shrug.
“Tha’ depends, boy. On who you're looking for.”
“I’m Sirius Black.” he says haughtily, and throws the hood off. “And I’m looking for my brother.” It works, if only because Sirius looks as proud and vain as he sounds. Anyone can see that the cut of his cloth is fine, much finer than any other patron’s; and that the clasp at his throat bears the seal of House Black. He is shown to the fireplace. Without being asked, the barman fills his hands with powder and mutters a word over the flames.
“Off you go, young master.” he says; and Sirius is lost in a tunnel of smoke and darkness.
He stumbles onto uneven ground, swinging his arms in front of him for balance, and connects with the trunk of a tree. Steadying himself against it, he glances around, hoping he's still unnoticed. There's not a soul to be seen; not even the two cloaked idiots he's tailing. But the scene is still familiar- a village choked with elderly trees, bare branches against the outline of cottages. A few hearth fires, and in the distance a hill rising out of the forest. It reminds him of something, a memory that aches against the sides of his brain.
Some distance ahead, on a road that curls along the hill like a cat's tail, there are a handful of shadows walking towards the wind. At the top he can see a great house, with barn and stables. There's a light in the window. And immediately he places the image- the house, a party, the glow of torches and wandlight, a purpling bruise, the rich smell of meat and wine. It is the manor of the LeStranges. The party he remembers is his cousin's engagement, the day of his first duel. He was thirteen.
It occurs to Sirius for the first time that he may have done a very stupid thing. Cousin, can you bleed ? she'd asked him. And he had, until his uncle had caught them and cleaned them up, and sent her back to her friends. He can still bleed. And he can still turn back.
He feels a rush of hate for Severus, burning in the center of his chest like a brand. For bringing him here, for bringing Regulus here. For being in the middle of something so large and horrible that it is swallowing Sirius's very heart to think of it. He wishes fiercely for James's solid anger and Remus's clarity, and holds tightly to the wand in his pocket.
He won't abandon his brother to this. He casts a disillusionment charm around himself, and wipes his shadow away, before starting along the rising path.
To the back of the garden is a poor attempt at a hedge maze, too low and too unimaginative to be authentically old. There isn't a single moving statue, or charmed fountain, or beastly topiary. Sirius doesn't even bother to reproach himself for the pureblood contempt he feels towards the LeStranges; recently rich and recently evil and altogether without class.
Beyond that is a courtyard with an iron gate, and beyond that the family plot. This is the oldest part of the manor, he feels certain, as water and time have removed much of what was written from the monuments. His brother and Snape are winding their way through the crypts and stones, Regulus with a certain degreee of uncertainty. It's clear to Sirius that this is not their usual destination, though Snape seems to know the way. Sirius, hanging back, carefully charming his footsteps to leave no print in the shallow snow, can see a group ahead. A few of them have bothered to bring light, though it's mostly unnecessary in the milky softness of the waxing moon.
The figures meet and merge. Regulus hesitates a beat; then inclines his head towards the circle, and as one they step towards the closest obelisk. Sirius sees a stairway leading underground and curses under his breath.
Bella is there, too; one hand laid delicately on the arm of a hooded man. Her hair is undone and her head bare, like some savage queen in the light of the lamps; though she looks more like a happy bride. She cups a hand at the back of Regulus's neck and Sirius feels the shiver on his own skin. What she's whispering in his brother's ear, he can't hear or see; and in a moment they've stepped into the darkness.
He starts to follow and hears a sound like thunder and pain. A light is rising and he knows, he knows why they've come, and what they are doing; Sirius apparates away but not quickly enough, not quickly enough to miss Regulus's screaming.
Three days pass. Sirius is aware of every second that changes to the next. He stares at the skin of his own arm, which is rougher and more often sunburnt than his brother's. He imagines that he can feel it burning. He plans how to kill Severus Snape.
The opportunity presents itself shortly. Snape has the gall to return with Regulus when the weekend is over, both of them drawn and pale. Sirius is already running to the gate as they arrive, and even Snape's fairly quick wand hand is a fruitless defense.
Sirius punches him viciously in the throat, without preamble. Snape goes down, wand still waving, and Sirius feels the whistle of a curse go past his ear. "Wordless, huh ?" he asks, and stomps down on Snape's wrist until he can hear the bones shatter. "Curse me." he says, and Snape says nothing. His eyes have rolled back into his head, giving him a slightly crazy look. "CURSE ME !" Sirius repeats, shrieking, and kicks him in the ribs. He feels a sharp jab to his shoulder.
Regulus has his wand out, at the level of Sirius's heart.
"Leave him." he says. It doesn't even sound like Regulus, the high-pitched croak coming from his throat. "Leave him, or I'll- I will. I will." There are tears in his eyes.
"God, Reg." The rage goes out of Sirius like water. It pools at his ankles, Snape and revenge and murder forgotten. "What have they done to you ?"
Regulus doesn't answer. Instead, he lowers his trembling arm and turns to Snape, who has rolled onto his side and is coughing blood.
"I've got to take him to a healer."
"Fine." Sirius can't stop staring at the phlegmy puddle of blood beside Snape's face. He is disgusted with himself, but only a little. Regulus is favoring his left arm, and the sight of that makes something hateful and dark rise in Sirius again. It's better that they both leave him alone. "Go."
"I'm going."
Regulus forgets to tell him, later, that he obliviates Snape somewhere along the way.
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Ooohhh.... lovely turn of phrase
Date: Tuesday, December 6th, 2005 12:05 pm (UTC)*nods* Yes. That is it, you know. Their way of life is changing, but no one knows but Sirius.
"I'm going."
Regulus forgets to tell him, later, that he obliviates Snape somewhere along the way.
Go Reg, because you're a Black, too.
Re: Ooohhh.... lovely turn of phrase
Date: Tuesday, December 6th, 2005 12:28 pm (UTC)YAY REG ! Reg, Reg, he's our man, if he didn't overthrow the dark lord singlehandedly, then Sirius probably had to help ! Oh, well, no surprises there. ;)
no subject
Date: Tuesday, December 6th, 2005 02:26 pm (UTC)Sirius apparates away but not quickly enough, not quickly enough to miss Regulus's screaming.
I read this and was like, Oh God... I think at least a part of Sirius' anger at Severus is also anger at himself, guilt that he couldn't be as heroic as James, as righteously sure of right and wrong as Remus. Sirius alone, without a mission, is disempowered, a shadow of what he could be and what he was. And I'm not surprised in the least to learn that Sirius is crap at being inconspicuous. Not in the least.
Your writing is beautiful and evocative, as always. I really loved this:
He remembers being wanted. When his company was precious and desired, when he had something to say. He feels like a snowflake; if only in that he is falling.
no subject
Date: Wednesday, December 7th, 2005 06:30 am (UTC)And Bella, whee ! It's all I could to to keep myself from writing her wrapped in a bear's skin, with blood on her face. Seriously, she is crazy, and dances in my head in a most unsettling fashion.
*Cough*
no subject
Date: Thursday, December 8th, 2005 11:15 am (UTC)I love the way you're able to, I don't know how to say it exactly, but just *suggest* emotion - you don't have to explicitly tell us "Sirius felt terrible that he'd done this awful thing" - you just show what he's feeling & thinking in a way that anyone who's ever done anything they regret has to recognize. It's very human.
And I...well, I don't want to say "love", because it's such a terrible thing, but I'm hit hard by the idea that (future, canon) Sirius hates Snape because he led Reg to the DEs. That's awful - in the true "awe" sense.
no subject
Date: Sunday, December 11th, 2005 01:25 pm (UTC)And I saw you rec this on your journal- I really appreciate it.
I think there would have to be something more than just schoolboy violence between them, especially for Sirius to hate him so deeply. I mean, Snape hating Sirius is understandable- Sirius was the tormentor, from what we see in his memories. But Sirius's kind of vitriolic disgust suggests, to me, something like this. Something personal. Woo.