Prologue.
I have tried many times to commit this story to paper. I think that, if I fail at this attempt, I shall no longer bother until I am an old, aged man in a fat armchair. However, I am determined to make it this time, which is why I am sitting here in front of my typewriter in Severus' study, the fire blazing softly, shadows hurled viciously against the walls and his scarf around my neck.
This is a personal account. I cannot make it be anything otherwise. For this tale has touched my life as it has any other who has heard of Hogwarts and it's tragedy. Severus is, after all, my lover, and a teacher of Potions at that school. It is also he that first told me of the tale of which I write for you.
I told Severus when I first met him that I was a writer, now, he says, I have something to actually write about... something worthwhile: Brilliant a story-teller as he is - a smooth voice that seems unaware of how much it appeals and attracts. A velvety tenor - he admits that he has neither the time nor the patience to write anything like this. Anything longer than his average Diary entry.
He has promised that he will read this and correct me and perhaps annotate it. I don't really care if he does, I can only tell you as much or - depending on how you see it - as little as I know before Severus' bringing me to Hogwarts.
I doubt very much if Remus will want to see this either. He is far more likely to - in that gentlemanly calm and kindliness of his - to hurl it into the fire without a second glance at the manuscript, before shrugging and returning to his disturbing thoughtfulness. Severus has warned me about tantalising the man. It is always needless as I am not entirely stupid. I too, have seen loved ones driven to despair and longing and brinking on the edges of sanity. I am sure he remembers that, it is just that Severus's thoughtfulness is the equivalent to rather grating reminders.
Neither do I think Sirius will comprehend this. I do believe he hates me, he will never understand why I wrote this. At times, neither do I, but now is not one of those moments and I shall reveal my reasons:
For starters, there is the fact that Albus Dumbledore himself - yes, that rather Patriarchal figure of Hogwarts - that asked me to make an account of it. Then there is the fact that as a writer, it is too compelling a tale to simply ignore. Lastly, it is to please the voices that insist on confession and perhaps also to help me understand some of the incidences that took place.
Back to Sirius.
The ex-Azkaban prisoner believes that I am the sole reason of Remus' suffering. He hates me for disrupting not only his recovery, but also the happiness of Hogwarts. That Harmonious balance. I don't see why, Remus seems happy enough. I find he and Severus in deep conversation which they will happily allow me to join in. Remus seems to find it paricularly satisfying: I only wish he would get Sirius straightened out. I know for a fact that Remus is happy, he tells jokes that he never would whilst in depression, he laughs loudly... Remus is merely impassive.
Excuse my ramblings. It is merely that, only in this 'Prologue' do I have a good enough excuse to become a Mervyn Peake with my elaborate sentences.
I do not mean for you to enjoy this.
I only mean for you to read it.
*
Isaac Reuben.
I have tried many times to commit this story to paper. I think that, if I fail at this attempt, I shall no longer bother until I am an old, aged man in a fat armchair. However, I am determined to make it this time, which is why I am sitting here in front of my typewriter in Severus' study, the fire blazing softly, shadows hurled viciously against the walls and his scarf around my neck.
This is a personal account. I cannot make it be anything otherwise. For this tale has touched my life as it has any other who has heard of Hogwarts and it's tragedy. Severus is, after all, my lover, and a teacher of Potions at that school. It is also he that first told me of the tale of which I write for you.
I told Severus when I first met him that I was a writer, now, he says, I have something to actually write about... something worthwhile: Brilliant a story-teller as he is - a smooth voice that seems unaware of how much it appeals and attracts. A velvety tenor - he admits that he has neither the time nor the patience to write anything like this. Anything longer than his average Diary entry.
He has promised that he will read this and correct me and perhaps annotate it. I don't really care if he does, I can only tell you as much or - depending on how you see it - as little as I know before Severus' bringing me to Hogwarts.
I doubt very much if Remus will want to see this either. He is far more likely to - in that gentlemanly calm and kindliness of his - to hurl it into the fire without a second glance at the manuscript, before shrugging and returning to his disturbing thoughtfulness. Severus has warned me about tantalising the man. It is always needless as I am not entirely stupid. I too, have seen loved ones driven to despair and longing and brinking on the edges of sanity. I am sure he remembers that, it is just that Severus's thoughtfulness is the equivalent to rather grating reminders.
Neither do I think Sirius will comprehend this. I do believe he hates me, he will never understand why I wrote this. At times, neither do I, but now is not one of those moments and I shall reveal my reasons:
For starters, there is the fact that Albus Dumbledore himself - yes, that rather Patriarchal figure of Hogwarts - that asked me to make an account of it. Then there is the fact that as a writer, it is too compelling a tale to simply ignore. Lastly, it is to please the voices that insist on confession and perhaps also to help me understand some of the incidences that took place.
Back to Sirius.
The ex-Azkaban prisoner believes that I am the sole reason of Remus' suffering. He hates me for disrupting not only his recovery, but also the happiness of Hogwarts. That Harmonious balance. I don't see why, Remus seems happy enough. I find he and Severus in deep conversation which they will happily allow me to join in. Remus seems to find it paricularly satisfying: I only wish he would get Sirius straightened out. I know for a fact that Remus is happy, he tells jokes that he never would whilst in depression, he laughs loudly... Remus is merely impassive.
Excuse my ramblings. It is merely that, only in this 'Prologue' do I have a good enough excuse to become a Mervyn Peake with my elaborate sentences.
I do not mean for you to enjoy this.
I only mean for you to read it.
*
Isaac Reuben.