7spells fic: You See Half the Moon
You See Half the Moon | txilar | Adult | 692 | James/Lily, Lily/Remus
Challenge: 7spells: dishevelled
You see half the moon, its crescent, and one of the planets, maybe Saturn...
You think, beauty.
No, this is not beauty,
what remains of beauty,
what is visible, certainly, uncertain.
Your arms will not be able to stretch as far as necessary
to form an adequate gesture for beauty
So, beauty remains in the impossibilities of the body.
-Einstürzende Neubauten
He reminds her of fountains and water rising, tipping over the rounded edge, hovering for a moment, and then drowning in the overflow. Sometimes, with James’s arms curved around her and his mouth hovering at her nipples, fingers slipping down the slope of her back, she’d think of Remus.
She arched against James twisting her arms and legs around him, nothing changed, nothing changing, but she imagined Remus and his guilty smile, head ducking against possibilities as she spiralled and drowned, pulsing like fountain water.
James slid over her and she smiled as he pushed her hair back closing his eyes while he pushed and shuddered. Her next smile was different and she pulled him close with her ankles tight at his back. She thought of how Remus never removed his shirt and that she only knew his skin through fabric and dark, like it was a secret.
James’s hands slid under her, lifting her to him and his eyes flashed open. He gasped, falling, barely catching himself above her. In his gasps she heard Remus’s whispers, begging her to go, to stay, asking, why, why, why?
As they inhaled and exhaled each other, she saw Remus walking against the wind, hands tucked under his arms, wisps of hair rising, caught in the waxing moon’s light. She held James tighter and promised herself she’d floo Remus for lunch tomorrow.
She never believed he was a spy. Remus kept secrets, he didn’t tell them. He was made of secrets, down to the excess threads in his pockets, collected for later use, just in case.
He knew things that he didn’t tell. He knew things about all of them. She knew that.
Sometimes she thought perhaps in his accusations, Sirius was simply reacting: attacking what he couldn’t have, was perhaps scared to want. This Pureblood always got what he wanted. When he didn’t? He dismissed it, denied it, and mocked it.
He’d done it to her (Mudblood) so long ago. Why not Remus (Dark Creature) now?
When Remus kissed her she tasted his secrets, like forbidden knowledge. She tasted dark magic, the bittersweetness of their shared outcast status, and the moon’s light. She knew she was the one keeping secrets.
She also knew she wasn’t alone.
Life turned into a countdown. She spent more time with Harry, less with James. James paced with Sirius and never with her. Sirius was frantic like she thought James should have been, but wasn’t. Peter smiled constantly and offered to make tea. He broke three cups.
They gathered in the corner while she cooked and they ate without him. Their whispers stopped when she entered the room and Sirius looked first at James, then at Peter, eyes mild. But his eyes burned into her when he asked how she was, if she’d seen Remus lately. What did he say? How did he act? How did he look? Did he ask about… us?
She saw how Sirius watched her, as if he knew a secret of his own.
He reminded her of fountains. He always had. He was the cool bubbling water that invited her to step in, Petunia shrieking when she did, and the coins underneath tickling her feet. He was the wet stone edge, grating her skin, marking her with hands and teeth. The statues and old stone above were him as well: myth, old before his time, and weary, wary of everyone, including friends.
She watched him from somewhere far away, her voice strangled and in disarray. He couldn’t hear her, and ran, nearly tripping in his haste to get away. She saw what he ran from and held James closer, longed for Harry, and wished for a wand.
She watched as he stopped, leaning against a fountain, to gather his thoughts, to gather his secrets. He held himself close, hands under his arms, shaking, as the only life he’d known disappeared and the one he’d feared gleamed from the edges. She saw more of the moon’s light, highlighting his hair, the fear on his face, and his eyes, secrets hidden away.
When he stood, his pieces fell. He crumbled and his flood was empty.
///end
Challenge: 7spells: dishevelled
You see half the moon, its crescent, and one of the planets, maybe Saturn...
You think, beauty.
No, this is not beauty,
what remains of beauty,
what is visible, certainly, uncertain.
Your arms will not be able to stretch as far as necessary
to form an adequate gesture for beauty
So, beauty remains in the impossibilities of the body.
-Einstürzende Neubauten
He reminds her of fountains and water rising, tipping over the rounded edge, hovering for a moment, and then drowning in the overflow. Sometimes, with James’s arms curved around her and his mouth hovering at her nipples, fingers slipping down the slope of her back, she’d think of Remus.
She arched against James twisting her arms and legs around him, nothing changed, nothing changing, but she imagined Remus and his guilty smile, head ducking against possibilities as she spiralled and drowned, pulsing like fountain water.
James slid over her and she smiled as he pushed her hair back closing his eyes while he pushed and shuddered. Her next smile was different and she pulled him close with her ankles tight at his back. She thought of how Remus never removed his shirt and that she only knew his skin through fabric and dark, like it was a secret.
James’s hands slid under her, lifting her to him and his eyes flashed open. He gasped, falling, barely catching himself above her. In his gasps she heard Remus’s whispers, begging her to go, to stay, asking, why, why, why?
As they inhaled and exhaled each other, she saw Remus walking against the wind, hands tucked under his arms, wisps of hair rising, caught in the waxing moon’s light. She held James tighter and promised herself she’d floo Remus for lunch tomorrow.
She never believed he was a spy. Remus kept secrets, he didn’t tell them. He was made of secrets, down to the excess threads in his pockets, collected for later use, just in case.
He knew things that he didn’t tell. He knew things about all of them. She knew that.
Sometimes she thought perhaps in his accusations, Sirius was simply reacting: attacking what he couldn’t have, was perhaps scared to want. This Pureblood always got what he wanted. When he didn’t? He dismissed it, denied it, and mocked it.
He’d done it to her (Mudblood) so long ago. Why not Remus (Dark Creature) now?
When Remus kissed her she tasted his secrets, like forbidden knowledge. She tasted dark magic, the bittersweetness of their shared outcast status, and the moon’s light. She knew she was the one keeping secrets.
She also knew she wasn’t alone.
Life turned into a countdown. She spent more time with Harry, less with James. James paced with Sirius and never with her. Sirius was frantic like she thought James should have been, but wasn’t. Peter smiled constantly and offered to make tea. He broke three cups.
They gathered in the corner while she cooked and they ate without him. Their whispers stopped when she entered the room and Sirius looked first at James, then at Peter, eyes mild. But his eyes burned into her when he asked how she was, if she’d seen Remus lately. What did he say? How did he act? How did he look? Did he ask about… us?
She saw how Sirius watched her, as if he knew a secret of his own.
He reminded her of fountains. He always had. He was the cool bubbling water that invited her to step in, Petunia shrieking when she did, and the coins underneath tickling her feet. He was the wet stone edge, grating her skin, marking her with hands and teeth. The statues and old stone above were him as well: myth, old before his time, and weary, wary of everyone, including friends.
She watched him from somewhere far away, her voice strangled and in disarray. He couldn’t hear her, and ran, nearly tripping in his haste to get away. She saw what he ran from and held James closer, longed for Harry, and wished for a wand.
She watched as he stopped, leaning against a fountain, to gather his thoughts, to gather his secrets. He held himself close, hands under his arms, shaking, as the only life he’d known disappeared and the one he’d feared gleamed from the edges. She saw more of the moon’s light, highlighting his hair, the fear on his face, and his eyes, secrets hidden away.
When he stood, his pieces fell. He crumbled and his flood was empty.
///end