Marauder Rare Pairs ♦ Fic: Train Wreck
Title: Train Wreck
Author: iltash
Pairing: Lily/Sirius
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~1300
Prompt: 16. Sirius and Lily have one final moment before she gets married.
Warnings: None
Summary: A couple of drinks too many set fire to a flammable situation.
Author's Notes: Thanks to L for the beta.
When James asks, two weeks after the fact, she tells him it started off innocently enough.
She can't quite remember the exact moment her head started spinning, her vision blurred, and her hands started shaking, but she very lucidly remembers that it started off innocently enough.
That night, Sirius caught up with her just before the Order's meeting. She wasn't paying attention, staring at the wall, or at the ceiling, or maybe at nothing at all, wondering if maybe she was living in an extremely vivid nightmare. It was the night before the wedding, and there was still no word from anyone who went on that damn mission. That damn mission that was supposed to end a month ago. That damn mission, where James went missing. So when Sirius caught up with her and asked if she wanted to get a drink later on, she just shrugged and said "all right".
Two weeks later, she thinks that waking up isn't really an option.
Lily's memories from that night are few and far between, but what she remembers, she remembers vividly. She remembers Dumbledore starting the meeting, the soft clearing of his throat quickly bringing everyone present to order. She remembers the rapid blinking, trying to comprehend, trying to rid herself of that dazzling mixture of white and black and red, after Dumbledore uttered that dreadful, disgusting, disastrous word (she knows that one of these days she'll have to accept the possibility of death, but right now she can't even think of her wedding vows without cringing). She remembers the metallic taste of blood in her mouth and the feel of Sirius' lips against her own.
She's managed, after the mortification dulled a bit, to gather some information from Sirius. He was reluctant at first, but she needled and prodded and stuck her wand in his face until he relented, with a deep sigh and an admonishing glare.
Apparently, that innocent invitation to have one drink was taken up with enthusiasm. And then one drink turned into two, then three. Even after he stopped drinking, for her it turned into another and another, one or two or maybe ten drinks too many. As he said it, she could suddenly remember the burning sensation in her throat, which masked but couldn't completely conceal the same feeling behind her eyes, and that ringing in her ears she could not get rid of, no matter how hard she pressed her palms against her temples.
Sirius said she was so hysterical that he couldn't tell if she was crying, laughing or choking. He told her she was shaking so much that the liquor ended up everywhere but inside her mouth. He recounted that at some point she had taken to rocking back and forth, eyes shut tightly, humming the same notes over and over again. For the second time in his life, he said, he really wished to have been blessed with some of Remus' quick, cool thinking.
She'd rather not say it, but Lily's almost certain that those notes she was incessantly humming were the first notes of her wedding song.
With a bit of a chuckle, Sirius told her she had offered to pay him very generously if he would do the honors of snapping her wand. As the very same wand was tucked into her pocket, quite intact, she could only deduce he had declined her offer ("but it was tempting, really it was"). He continued to regale her with her rather elaborate scheme to steal and snap Dumbledore's wand ("there might be a bit of Remus in me after all!"), and laughed outright while dictating the rules of her ingenious new drinking game, 'Dumbledore's orders'.
He won every single round, but somehow still owes her ten Galleons.
Two weeks later, answering James' question, she can tell he rather regrets asking in the first place, probably already sensing where this is going. She can't possibly stop now, though, story only half finished, once again feeling the buzz that only one drink too many can give her. She runs her tongue against her teeth, trying to recapture the mix of lemony blood and alcohol fumes from that night. She can't exactly remember where that taste came from, if it was her blood or Sirius', and who was biting whose lip in a sadistic (or was it masochistic?) attempt to draw the substance.
She knows that she was, most definitely, the one to start it. Their drinking game had left her a frenzied mess of flailing limbs and a miraculously empty head, and she really couldn't stand Sirius sitting there so calmly. Thinking about it now, she's almost certain that he was probably in a state of shock, but the only thing that registered then was him just sitting there, his face a mask of cool and collected indifference. It drove her mad. She wanted him to be a raving maniac like her, wanted him to turn tables and yell at the barkeep and punch the walls until they fell. She was drinking herself into a comma, and he was sitting there, just bloody sitting there, and that was absolutely unacceptable.
Her lips crashed on his in an instant, her nose nearly poking him in the eye as she threw herself across the table. Her fingers curled in his hair, holding his head tightly in place, even as the rest of him struggled. In a minute her blouse was soaked through with unconsumed liquor, in two she managed to knock his glass into his lap, dowsing him with whiskey. She could see he wanted to say something, but she was determined not to let him breathe, much less speak. Talking wasn't working for her. Thinking was overrated. Driving someone to her level of insanity was clearly a superior course of action.
He was turning a bit blue in the face, but at that point, passing out seemed like a fabulous second option.
She couldn't explain it and neither could Sirius, but suddenly he was no longer an innocent, infuriating, bystander. He claimed it was her sliding off of the table and into his lap that did it, possibly giving him a very nice view down her shirt on her way down, but Lily's rather certain it was her trying to take off glasses that weren't perched on his nose that put the last nail in the coffin, so to speak.
As Sirius' lips drifted from her mouth to her chin to her throat, she found it was rather easy to convince him there was more to his best man's duties than he originally thought. It took her less than five minutes to draw his promise that he'd marry her instead. She has no idea what compelled her to ask, other than the picture in her head of the very white dress waiting for her at home.
She can't recall how they sealed the deal, but judging by the time it took for the marks his fingers left on her hips to fade, she imagines it was more substantial than shaking hands.
It was a train wreck, she tells James, two weeks after the fact. A train wreck - fast, unexpected and going up in flames. The kind that sticks with you, though, not the kind you read about in the papers and sigh, shake your head and turn the page. Eyes closed, hair a tangled mess, she's desperately trying to make sense of shapes and colors that mesh into one big blur in her mind. Thoughts wondering constantly, she finds herself invested when she'd rather be detached. Blissfully numb, senses once again dulled by whiskey, she can't exactly remember, but unlikely to forget.
When James asks, she tells him it started off innocently enough. She doesn't know what she'd say if he asked how it ended.
Author: iltash
Pairing: Lily/Sirius
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~1300
Prompt: 16. Sirius and Lily have one final moment before she gets married.
Warnings: None
Summary: A couple of drinks too many set fire to a flammable situation.
Author's Notes: Thanks to L for the beta.
When James asks, two weeks after the fact, she tells him it started off innocently enough.
She can't quite remember the exact moment her head started spinning, her vision blurred, and her hands started shaking, but she very lucidly remembers that it started off innocently enough.
That night, Sirius caught up with her just before the Order's meeting. She wasn't paying attention, staring at the wall, or at the ceiling, or maybe at nothing at all, wondering if maybe she was living in an extremely vivid nightmare. It was the night before the wedding, and there was still no word from anyone who went on that damn mission. That damn mission that was supposed to end a month ago. That damn mission, where James went missing. So when Sirius caught up with her and asked if she wanted to get a drink later on, she just shrugged and said "all right".
Two weeks later, she thinks that waking up isn't really an option.
Lily's memories from that night are few and far between, but what she remembers, she remembers vividly. She remembers Dumbledore starting the meeting, the soft clearing of his throat quickly bringing everyone present to order. She remembers the rapid blinking, trying to comprehend, trying to rid herself of that dazzling mixture of white and black and red, after Dumbledore uttered that dreadful, disgusting, disastrous word (she knows that one of these days she'll have to accept the possibility of death, but right now she can't even think of her wedding vows without cringing). She remembers the metallic taste of blood in her mouth and the feel of Sirius' lips against her own.
She's managed, after the mortification dulled a bit, to gather some information from Sirius. He was reluctant at first, but she needled and prodded and stuck her wand in his face until he relented, with a deep sigh and an admonishing glare.
Apparently, that innocent invitation to have one drink was taken up with enthusiasm. And then one drink turned into two, then three. Even after he stopped drinking, for her it turned into another and another, one or two or maybe ten drinks too many. As he said it, she could suddenly remember the burning sensation in her throat, which masked but couldn't completely conceal the same feeling behind her eyes, and that ringing in her ears she could not get rid of, no matter how hard she pressed her palms against her temples.
Sirius said she was so hysterical that he couldn't tell if she was crying, laughing or choking. He told her she was shaking so much that the liquor ended up everywhere but inside her mouth. He recounted that at some point she had taken to rocking back and forth, eyes shut tightly, humming the same notes over and over again. For the second time in his life, he said, he really wished to have been blessed with some of Remus' quick, cool thinking.
She'd rather not say it, but Lily's almost certain that those notes she was incessantly humming were the first notes of her wedding song.
With a bit of a chuckle, Sirius told her she had offered to pay him very generously if he would do the honors of snapping her wand. As the very same wand was tucked into her pocket, quite intact, she could only deduce he had declined her offer ("but it was tempting, really it was"). He continued to regale her with her rather elaborate scheme to steal and snap Dumbledore's wand ("there might be a bit of Remus in me after all!"), and laughed outright while dictating the rules of her ingenious new drinking game, 'Dumbledore's orders'.
He won every single round, but somehow still owes her ten Galleons.
Two weeks later, answering James' question, she can tell he rather regrets asking in the first place, probably already sensing where this is going. She can't possibly stop now, though, story only half finished, once again feeling the buzz that only one drink too many can give her. She runs her tongue against her teeth, trying to recapture the mix of lemony blood and alcohol fumes from that night. She can't exactly remember where that taste came from, if it was her blood or Sirius', and who was biting whose lip in a sadistic (or was it masochistic?) attempt to draw the substance.
She knows that she was, most definitely, the one to start it. Their drinking game had left her a frenzied mess of flailing limbs and a miraculously empty head, and she really couldn't stand Sirius sitting there so calmly. Thinking about it now, she's almost certain that he was probably in a state of shock, but the only thing that registered then was him just sitting there, his face a mask of cool and collected indifference. It drove her mad. She wanted him to be a raving maniac like her, wanted him to turn tables and yell at the barkeep and punch the walls until they fell. She was drinking herself into a comma, and he was sitting there, just bloody sitting there, and that was absolutely unacceptable.
Her lips crashed on his in an instant, her nose nearly poking him in the eye as she threw herself across the table. Her fingers curled in his hair, holding his head tightly in place, even as the rest of him struggled. In a minute her blouse was soaked through with unconsumed liquor, in two she managed to knock his glass into his lap, dowsing him with whiskey. She could see he wanted to say something, but she was determined not to let him breathe, much less speak. Talking wasn't working for her. Thinking was overrated. Driving someone to her level of insanity was clearly a superior course of action.
He was turning a bit blue in the face, but at that point, passing out seemed like a fabulous second option.
She couldn't explain it and neither could Sirius, but suddenly he was no longer an innocent, infuriating, bystander. He claimed it was her sliding off of the table and into his lap that did it, possibly giving him a very nice view down her shirt on her way down, but Lily's rather certain it was her trying to take off glasses that weren't perched on his nose that put the last nail in the coffin, so to speak.
As Sirius' lips drifted from her mouth to her chin to her throat, she found it was rather easy to convince him there was more to his best man's duties than he originally thought. It took her less than five minutes to draw his promise that he'd marry her instead. She has no idea what compelled her to ask, other than the picture in her head of the very white dress waiting for her at home.
She can't recall how they sealed the deal, but judging by the time it took for the marks his fingers left on her hips to fade, she imagines it was more substantial than shaking hands.
It was a train wreck, she tells James, two weeks after the fact. A train wreck - fast, unexpected and going up in flames. The kind that sticks with you, though, not the kind you read about in the papers and sigh, shake your head and turn the page. Eyes closed, hair a tangled mess, she's desperately trying to make sense of shapes and colors that mesh into one big blur in her mind. Thoughts wondering constantly, she finds herself invested when she'd rather be detached. Blissfully numb, senses once again dulled by whiskey, she can't exactly remember, but unlikely to forget.
When James asks, she tells him it started off innocently enough. She doesn't know what she'd say if he asked how it ended.