Laziness somewhat solved
Well, I should have done this a billion years ago. More for "Memories" reference than anything else.
First line meme drabbles, though most of them turned out to be much longer than 100 words.
For musesfool:
.
Remus Lupin is thirty-five years old.
"That's really old," Ginny says.
"You're distinguished," Harry says.
"Enjoy your youth, dear," Molly says.
"You're old enough to be the test subject for our new invention, the Crappy Nappies," Fred said.
"First sign of old age is using a cane," George says.
"Whoa, that's ancient," Ron says.
"Look at it this way; at least you didn't start greying until you got really old," Tonks says.
"You've always been old; you have wrinkles," Kingsley says.
"Good looks leave with old age, which explains it," Snape says.
Sirius takes Remus' head into his hands, cradling the thin face gently. "You're exactly the same as you were fifteen years ago," he breathes, right before he kisses him. "You're beautiful."
In the silence of the dormitory, every sound is magnified. There's a leaky shower faucet in the adjoining bathroom, the splash of each drop hitting the tiled floor, echoing. House elves are rustling around in the common room downstairs, feeding the fire and cleaning. The wind is howling outside of the window, whipping through the trees with every gust of the traveling night air.
Peter makes these snuffling noises in his sleep, as if his hand is curled up right in front of his nose. James gets a stuffy head at night, which usually results in a faint wheeze through his nostrils.
Sirius listens raptly, a nagging feeling in his head telling him that there's something wrong. Something missing. He turns his head and pulls at the edge of his curtain, leaning on his elbow slowly and peering out into the dim room.
Remus' bed is next to his, and Sirius realizes what it is that he can't hear.
He crawls softly out of bed, his bare feet curling at the kiss of the cold stone floor. He shivers slightly. It is November, and six years of sleeping in a stone castle reminds him that nothing, not even magic, can keep the dormitory air warm enough. The blankets on the beds are enough.
Which is why Sirius questions himself as he tiptoes to Remus' bed, curious as to the absence of sound. He wonders if Remus is using a silencing charm. Maybe he has nightmares and he is embarrassed about what his friends would say if he shouted them awake at night. Maybe he is wanking.
Sirius feels himself flush at the thought of Remus wanking. It isn't a common thought; it is one that he tries to suppress when necessary. Like when he isn't conveniently secured in his own bed, blanketed by a silencing charm. Or when he is in the showers by himself.
Chiding himself for the thoughts running through his head, Sirius knows that it would be a bad idea to pull Remus' curtain back. It is a very bad idea, indeed. But he isn't thinking with his head at the moment, and it is all he could do to restrain himself from tearing the curtain back and plastering his own hard body against Remus'.
Wanking, he's wanking and there's a silencing charm and if I catch him at it, maybe he'll ask me to stay and then I could have him . . .
But Remus is not wanking. He is sleeping. His pyjama shirt is riding up, exposing the soft skin of his stomach. The blankets are tangled under one of his arms. His chest is rising and falling in deep, even breaths. Sirius stares, studying every detail, holding it secure in his memory before he cuts himself off and starts to let the curtain fall.
Remus makes a noise. A small, faint noise, a slight whimper or sigh or something that makes Sirius' heart leap into his throat as he watches Remus' eyes flutter halfway open.
"Sirius?" Remus' voice is soft and quiet and full of sleep and curiosity. "What are you doing?"
Sirius kneels down so that his head is near Remus'. The scent of a sleep-warm body is soft and soothing in the space behind the curtain. It makes Sirius dizzy. "I couldn't sleep, and I was listening to the sounds and I realized that I couldn't hear anything from you. I came to see if you were safe."
"Safe? From sleep?" Remus smiles slightly, his untangled arm rising off the mattress. He touches Sirius' cheek. "I'm safe. Don't worry."
Sirius swallows nervously. Remus is staring at him with hooded eyes. "That's . . . I'm glad. That's what I was doing." He shivers again as a draft of cool air hits the skin of his exposed back. "I suppose I'll go back to bed now."
Remus' hand trails down to Sirius' shoulder, squeezing. "Sirius?"
"Mmm?" Another shiver. Sirius feels a tug.
"Keep me safe," Remus murmurs softly, tugging again, the corners of his mouth curled up slightly.
Sirius nods, crawling up into the warm space to keep Remus safe.
For froda_baggins:
"Going out?"
Sirius turned, his jacket halfway on. Tossing his head so that his dark hair flew out of his eyes, Sirius found the speaker sitting on an armchair. Remus was sideways, his legs dangling over the arm of the chair, his body slouched into the opposite corner. A graceful finger held his place in the book in his lap.
Swallowing at the fact that Remus was dressed only in boxer shorts, Sirius hummed a noncommittal sound, and then said, "Just to the store."
Remus continued to stare at him, eyebrows raised slightly. "What are you getting?"
"Food."
The eyebrows rose higher, the lips still pulling down at the corners. "We have food here."
Sirius' stomach growled then. "I looked this morning; we're out of eggs and bread and milk."
"Eat something else."
"There's nothing else!" Sirius finished putting his jacket on, proceeding to the door to their flat. "I'll be back soon."
"Sirius, eat something else."
Sirius turned with the cool doorknob in his hand, annoyed. "What the hell are you on about, Moony? There's nothing else here that I want to eat."
"There's plenty of things here to eat," Remus said sternly, his eyes narrowed into slits. "You shouldn't waste your money by going out all the time."
Dropping his hand away from the doorknob, Sirius crossed the room. He leaned down over Remus, placing his hands on each armrest, one between Remus' sprawled legs. "There is nothing to eat here."
Remus continued to stare at him, but his hand moved. Sirius followed the movement to Remus' crotch. "There is plenty of substinence to be had here, Padfoot. You just have to search it out a little harder."
Sirius licked his lips, glancing up to give Remus a little smile before pushing Remus' hand out of the way.
If his stomach rumbled after that, he never noticed.
And my favorite, for glitterdemon:
The words don't match the image. Peter looks down on the man, the darkness of the room pressing in on him. His eyes struggle to take it all in; the bare legs, the fall of thin hair across the face, the way the hands are folded in front of the chest.
Peter leans down slowly, cradling his hand gently on the cheek rough with stubble. The faint moonlight streaming in from the open window illuminates the strands of hair that fall across the forehead; Peter brushes them away carefully. Sharply exposed cheekbones cut into the air, slicing away the fantasy that Peter has been trying to maintain for the past half hour.
He looks good, Wormtail, the letter had said. He's eating and he looks healthy. He's growing his hair out -- you remember when we all tried to do that in school, right? You and Prongs both thought that Moony would look better with longer hair, and I convinced him to try. And he did it. You remember what he looked like back then, right? Remember how he used to sweep his hair out of his face, muttering that he was going to chop it all off, and he never did? You remember, don't you, Peter? He looks so good now. You should see him. Come and see us here, Peter. Come and visit us at Grimmauld Place. Number twelve. We're both here, Moony and I, and we'd like to see you. We . . . we want you to come back to us. I know you didn't mean it. Remember us. Remember what it was like. We can be that again, me and you and Moony. It was Voldemort; I don't blame you anymore. Moony has changed my mind about it all. I know I've always been a hothead. I don't blame you anymore. He's beautiful, Wormtail. Come see us. Come remember.
The handwriting is scratchy and uneven, spilling across the page as if a spider had dipped its legs in ink and skittered across. It had come in May, right around his birthday. Peter had been ready. His heart had remembered as he read; his friends, his only friends.
But the cheekbones . . . his fantasy was sliced open. Reality was blood, thick and red and dark, just like the blood on his silver hand.
Sirius lied. Remus was pale and thin and not beautiful at all. He was gaunt and old and sick. And Sirius was gone.
"Sirius is dead," Remus had told him, right before he died, hollow eyes peering at him. Unsurprised. Uncaring.
They didn't want to be his friends. They didn't want him to come back to them. Sirius lied.
Peter took one last look, remembering the boy that was and the man that had appeared. Remus was ugly. He was ugly when Peter first laid eyes on him and he was ugly as he rested peacefully in bed, his throat crushed.
Words were poison. Peter walked out, leaving Remus to be found by one of his *real* friends.
And because they are much, much better than mine, I thought I'd link to the ones that were done for my first lines -- they're all lovely and they're here.
Oh, all except xellas's response, which was to another meme. She wrote a little ficlet called Vixenette Goes to Hogwarts, which made me choke in embarrassment and laugh until I cried.
First line meme drabbles, though most of them turned out to be much longer than 100 words.
For musesfool:
.
Remus Lupin is thirty-five years old.
"That's really old," Ginny says.
"You're distinguished," Harry says.
"Enjoy your youth, dear," Molly says.
"You're old enough to be the test subject for our new invention, the Crappy Nappies," Fred said.
"First sign of old age is using a cane," George says.
"Whoa, that's ancient," Ron says.
"Look at it this way; at least you didn't start greying until you got really old," Tonks says.
"You've always been old; you have wrinkles," Kingsley says.
"Good looks leave with old age, which explains it," Snape says.
Sirius takes Remus' head into his hands, cradling the thin face gently. "You're exactly the same as you were fifteen years ago," he breathes, right before he kisses him. "You're beautiful."
In the silence of the dormitory, every sound is magnified. There's a leaky shower faucet in the adjoining bathroom, the splash of each drop hitting the tiled floor, echoing. House elves are rustling around in the common room downstairs, feeding the fire and cleaning. The wind is howling outside of the window, whipping through the trees with every gust of the traveling night air.
Peter makes these snuffling noises in his sleep, as if his hand is curled up right in front of his nose. James gets a stuffy head at night, which usually results in a faint wheeze through his nostrils.
Sirius listens raptly, a nagging feeling in his head telling him that there's something wrong. Something missing. He turns his head and pulls at the edge of his curtain, leaning on his elbow slowly and peering out into the dim room.
Remus' bed is next to his, and Sirius realizes what it is that he can't hear.
He crawls softly out of bed, his bare feet curling at the kiss of the cold stone floor. He shivers slightly. It is November, and six years of sleeping in a stone castle reminds him that nothing, not even magic, can keep the dormitory air warm enough. The blankets on the beds are enough.
Which is why Sirius questions himself as he tiptoes to Remus' bed, curious as to the absence of sound. He wonders if Remus is using a silencing charm. Maybe he has nightmares and he is embarrassed about what his friends would say if he shouted them awake at night. Maybe he is wanking.
Sirius feels himself flush at the thought of Remus wanking. It isn't a common thought; it is one that he tries to suppress when necessary. Like when he isn't conveniently secured in his own bed, blanketed by a silencing charm. Or when he is in the showers by himself.
Chiding himself for the thoughts running through his head, Sirius knows that it would be a bad idea to pull Remus' curtain back. It is a very bad idea, indeed. But he isn't thinking with his head at the moment, and it is all he could do to restrain himself from tearing the curtain back and plastering his own hard body against Remus'.
Wanking, he's wanking and there's a silencing charm and if I catch him at it, maybe he'll ask me to stay and then I could have him . . .
But Remus is not wanking. He is sleeping. His pyjama shirt is riding up, exposing the soft skin of his stomach. The blankets are tangled under one of his arms. His chest is rising and falling in deep, even breaths. Sirius stares, studying every detail, holding it secure in his memory before he cuts himself off and starts to let the curtain fall.
Remus makes a noise. A small, faint noise, a slight whimper or sigh or something that makes Sirius' heart leap into his throat as he watches Remus' eyes flutter halfway open.
"Sirius?" Remus' voice is soft and quiet and full of sleep and curiosity. "What are you doing?"
Sirius kneels down so that his head is near Remus'. The scent of a sleep-warm body is soft and soothing in the space behind the curtain. It makes Sirius dizzy. "I couldn't sleep, and I was listening to the sounds and I realized that I couldn't hear anything from you. I came to see if you were safe."
"Safe? From sleep?" Remus smiles slightly, his untangled arm rising off the mattress. He touches Sirius' cheek. "I'm safe. Don't worry."
Sirius swallows nervously. Remus is staring at him with hooded eyes. "That's . . . I'm glad. That's what I was doing." He shivers again as a draft of cool air hits the skin of his exposed back. "I suppose I'll go back to bed now."
Remus' hand trails down to Sirius' shoulder, squeezing. "Sirius?"
"Mmm?" Another shiver. Sirius feels a tug.
"Keep me safe," Remus murmurs softly, tugging again, the corners of his mouth curled up slightly.
Sirius nods, crawling up into the warm space to keep Remus safe.
For froda_baggins:
"Going out?"
Sirius turned, his jacket halfway on. Tossing his head so that his dark hair flew out of his eyes, Sirius found the speaker sitting on an armchair. Remus was sideways, his legs dangling over the arm of the chair, his body slouched into the opposite corner. A graceful finger held his place in the book in his lap.
Swallowing at the fact that Remus was dressed only in boxer shorts, Sirius hummed a noncommittal sound, and then said, "Just to the store."
Remus continued to stare at him, eyebrows raised slightly. "What are you getting?"
"Food."
The eyebrows rose higher, the lips still pulling down at the corners. "We have food here."
Sirius' stomach growled then. "I looked this morning; we're out of eggs and bread and milk."
"Eat something else."
"There's nothing else!" Sirius finished putting his jacket on, proceeding to the door to their flat. "I'll be back soon."
"Sirius, eat something else."
Sirius turned with the cool doorknob in his hand, annoyed. "What the hell are you on about, Moony? There's nothing else here that I want to eat."
"There's plenty of things here to eat," Remus said sternly, his eyes narrowed into slits. "You shouldn't waste your money by going out all the time."
Dropping his hand away from the doorknob, Sirius crossed the room. He leaned down over Remus, placing his hands on each armrest, one between Remus' sprawled legs. "There is nothing to eat here."
Remus continued to stare at him, but his hand moved. Sirius followed the movement to Remus' crotch. "There is plenty of substinence to be had here, Padfoot. You just have to search it out a little harder."
Sirius licked his lips, glancing up to give Remus a little smile before pushing Remus' hand out of the way.
If his stomach rumbled after that, he never noticed.
And my favorite, for glitterdemon:
The words don't match the image. Peter looks down on the man, the darkness of the room pressing in on him. His eyes struggle to take it all in; the bare legs, the fall of thin hair across the face, the way the hands are folded in front of the chest.
Peter leans down slowly, cradling his hand gently on the cheek rough with stubble. The faint moonlight streaming in from the open window illuminates the strands of hair that fall across the forehead; Peter brushes them away carefully. Sharply exposed cheekbones cut into the air, slicing away the fantasy that Peter has been trying to maintain for the past half hour.
He looks good, Wormtail, the letter had said. He's eating and he looks healthy. He's growing his hair out -- you remember when we all tried to do that in school, right? You and Prongs both thought that Moony would look better with longer hair, and I convinced him to try. And he did it. You remember what he looked like back then, right? Remember how he used to sweep his hair out of his face, muttering that he was going to chop it all off, and he never did? You remember, don't you, Peter? He looks so good now. You should see him. Come and see us here, Peter. Come and visit us at Grimmauld Place. Number twelve. We're both here, Moony and I, and we'd like to see you. We . . . we want you to come back to us. I know you didn't mean it. Remember us. Remember what it was like. We can be that again, me and you and Moony. It was Voldemort; I don't blame you anymore. Moony has changed my mind about it all. I know I've always been a hothead. I don't blame you anymore. He's beautiful, Wormtail. Come see us. Come remember.
The handwriting is scratchy and uneven, spilling across the page as if a spider had dipped its legs in ink and skittered across. It had come in May, right around his birthday. Peter had been ready. His heart had remembered as he read; his friends, his only friends.
But the cheekbones . . . his fantasy was sliced open. Reality was blood, thick and red and dark, just like the blood on his silver hand.
Sirius lied. Remus was pale and thin and not beautiful at all. He was gaunt and old and sick. And Sirius was gone.
"Sirius is dead," Remus had told him, right before he died, hollow eyes peering at him. Unsurprised. Uncaring.
They didn't want to be his friends. They didn't want him to come back to them. Sirius lied.
Peter took one last look, remembering the boy that was and the man that had appeared. Remus was ugly. He was ugly when Peter first laid eyes on him and he was ugly as he rested peacefully in bed, his throat crushed.
Words were poison. Peter walked out, leaving Remus to be found by one of his *real* friends.
And because they are much, much better than mine, I thought I'd link to the ones that were done for my first lines -- they're all lovely and they're here.
Oh, all except xellas's response, which was to another meme. She wrote a little ficlet called Vixenette Goes to Hogwarts, which made me choke in embarrassment and laugh until I cried.