Disclaimer: Even though absolutely no names are used, anyone who read the
Harry Potter books knows what I'm talking about. I own none of the
characters, but you already knew that.
Author's Note: Alright, this is a one shot tribute to Sirius. It was intended to be the prologue for this idea I had, but I'm not sure anymore. If I feel inspired, I might make a story out of it. Who knows? But for now, I felt the need to post it. Reviews would be appreciated. I'd like some constructive criticism, seeing as it's been ages since I've shown any of my work. Enjoy.
-Closure-
The silence that hung over the air was exactly like it had been for the past few months. It was the silence that he thrived on, the silence that got him through each day, just one at a time. But now, for perhaps the first time, it was deafening. The silence rung in his ears so loud that he wanted to scream, but somehow knew that he could not.
He knew, that off in the not too far distance, stood the unmoving bodies of many. Of course he wasn't unprotected. In fact, it was a miracle he was there at all. But he was there, and as much alone as he could be, completely out of view from any and all living beings.
The palms of his hands flat on the stone in front of him, keeping him from tumbling forward out of his squatting position, he took one thumb- his right- and idly traced the letters carved so expertly into the slab. His breathing was steady, as steady as the sun that been down on him.
The weather contrasted completely with his mood. Had it been in sync with it, clouds would have covered the sky, gray dominating the blue that was present. Thunder would have swallowed the silence, lightning making the words written flash from invisible to visible in short seconds. Rain drops the size of marbles would have washed away absolutely everything.
Two stunningly bright eyes bore into the indented letters, looking past them as if trying to see something greater beyond. His eyes had a look that was at once both empty of everything, yet full of a dark sort of mystery, one that you're curious to figure out yet at the same time can't help thinking it might be so horrible that you best let it go. He was completely conscious of the ordinary looking mirror that lay just inches away, though not moving to see it. Not yet. It wasn't time for that. If he looked at it straight on right then, he might very well lose the tight grip he had on his emotions.
To an observer, had their been one, the next movement would have caused them to doubt their sight and possibly even rub their eyes. It happened so suddenly and smoothly that you'd almost have to doubt that it hadn't been going on all along. The man's- or, rather, the boy's, as closer examination would prove him to be- palms were no longer flat, but his thin, pale hands were stiffened into fists, bony knuckles scraping hard but silently against the stone.
It wasn't long before the skin was broken, and the movement continued unfalteringly, the indents slowly being colored by a dark red. It wasn't much blood at all, just enough, when the boy suddenly stopped, as swiftly and suddenly as he had begun, giving the same effect that would make you doubt he had been doing anything at all. The only proof that he had done anything was the raw look of his knuckles and the faint trace of red.
His hands were once again flat, and he continued to trace the letters with his right thumb, running over the liquid that was just barely noticeable. The silence still pressed on his ears with such a great force it hurt, and in the distance, where others stood, they felt the same pressure. They could very well have talked and have not disrupted the boy, but they didn't. They just- wouldn't.
Each one stood with the same awkwardness, listening intently for any sign of disruption, yet at the same time trying not to listen too hard. The boy deserved privacy, and even though it would be near impossible to hear anything he might have decided to say, they were afraid to take the chance.
In another movement, not nearly as swift or smooth as the previous ones, he pushed on the stone with his hands and stood up, wobbling slightly upon doing so. It was unknown how long he had been squatting like he was, possibly hours, and it was a wonder his legs allowed him to stand at all, even if they barely did.
He bent down just half way, just enough to reach with one small arm the mirror that lay on the ground and to not come plummeting forward, like his legs threatened to force him to do. When he had righted himself again, the boy took the mirror in both hands, taking the time to look at his reflection.
In it, he didn't see what anyone else would have. Sure, it was his reflection looking back at him, but that wasn't all he saw. If he concentrated on his eyes, those beautiful orbs that he bore which remained beautiful despite their dark look, a vision of a woman he had never known shot out at him. His hair, and even the rest of his face, projected the image of the man who went along with the women. And everything else, just even the mirror himself- or perhaps it was just the thought of everything- gave off the image of a third person, a man.
This was the strongest of the three, and it instantly made the boy shake, making the mirror become unstable. Everything about it screamed of a man who was just recently dead, a man who had lost his life years before, regained a fraction of it, and lost it all over again. A man who couldn't even have a proper end, because thought to still be alive and highly feared by all except a very select few.
But to the boy who stood there, suddenly looking very much a man, and had one looked inside him, they would have had no doubts about him being much older than he is, knew that this mirror was everything that other man was. In his pocket was a knife just as much a part of the man as the mirror was, and he took one hand off the mirror to feel the lump that it was in the pocket of his cloak before carefully rising it again.
It seemed like an eternity that he stood there like that, the shaking soon coming to an end. His breathing still remained clam and even, the silence still its unbearable self. He was vaguely aware of the smell of lilies, creeping its way to his senses despite the fact that no flowers were within quite a distance, perhaps farther than the people who stood far away, the people who were currently nonexistent to the boy who stood there.
The boy stood there for so long, not without purpose. Somehow, he felt that standing there for so long, he was giving the amount of silence for the three people who deserved a lifetime of admiration. The least he could give them was what he was giving.
After what seemed like the perfect moment- the moment that the smell suddenly become a bit stronger, and the silence just the right pitch, and the mirror seemed to be reflecting the sun just right- he lifted it up into the air, extending his arms up as high as he could. At this point, a bit of emotion did show for the first time in a while. It was a mixture of love, admiration, anger, sadness, and hate, all wrapped up in one. It lasted just a short time. And with the same swiftness as was first displayed, he brought it down with a crash, bringing all his energy and emotion with it.
It shattered into a million pieces, each standing for a different piece of the boy who stood there, a different piece of the three other people. Two months of thoughts and emotion shattered along with it.
It was as if he had transferred it all onto the souls who lay there- the two who had been there for fifteen years, and the one that had just came along with the mirror, going to the place where he rightfully belonged- with the friends the he had lost his life for, the friends who he would have lost his life for over and over again, knowing what was to become of the young man, carrying a piece of all three, standing not above but amongst them, right then and there.
Author's Note: Alright, this is a one shot tribute to Sirius. It was intended to be the prologue for this idea I had, but I'm not sure anymore. If I feel inspired, I might make a story out of it. Who knows? But for now, I felt the need to post it. Reviews would be appreciated. I'd like some constructive criticism, seeing as it's been ages since I've shown any of my work. Enjoy.
-Closure-
The silence that hung over the air was exactly like it had been for the past few months. It was the silence that he thrived on, the silence that got him through each day, just one at a time. But now, for perhaps the first time, it was deafening. The silence rung in his ears so loud that he wanted to scream, but somehow knew that he could not.
He knew, that off in the not too far distance, stood the unmoving bodies of many. Of course he wasn't unprotected. In fact, it was a miracle he was there at all. But he was there, and as much alone as he could be, completely out of view from any and all living beings.
The palms of his hands flat on the stone in front of him, keeping him from tumbling forward out of his squatting position, he took one thumb- his right- and idly traced the letters carved so expertly into the slab. His breathing was steady, as steady as the sun that been down on him.
The weather contrasted completely with his mood. Had it been in sync with it, clouds would have covered the sky, gray dominating the blue that was present. Thunder would have swallowed the silence, lightning making the words written flash from invisible to visible in short seconds. Rain drops the size of marbles would have washed away absolutely everything.
Two stunningly bright eyes bore into the indented letters, looking past them as if trying to see something greater beyond. His eyes had a look that was at once both empty of everything, yet full of a dark sort of mystery, one that you're curious to figure out yet at the same time can't help thinking it might be so horrible that you best let it go. He was completely conscious of the ordinary looking mirror that lay just inches away, though not moving to see it. Not yet. It wasn't time for that. If he looked at it straight on right then, he might very well lose the tight grip he had on his emotions.
To an observer, had their been one, the next movement would have caused them to doubt their sight and possibly even rub their eyes. It happened so suddenly and smoothly that you'd almost have to doubt that it hadn't been going on all along. The man's- or, rather, the boy's, as closer examination would prove him to be- palms were no longer flat, but his thin, pale hands were stiffened into fists, bony knuckles scraping hard but silently against the stone.
It wasn't long before the skin was broken, and the movement continued unfalteringly, the indents slowly being colored by a dark red. It wasn't much blood at all, just enough, when the boy suddenly stopped, as swiftly and suddenly as he had begun, giving the same effect that would make you doubt he had been doing anything at all. The only proof that he had done anything was the raw look of his knuckles and the faint trace of red.
His hands were once again flat, and he continued to trace the letters with his right thumb, running over the liquid that was just barely noticeable. The silence still pressed on his ears with such a great force it hurt, and in the distance, where others stood, they felt the same pressure. They could very well have talked and have not disrupted the boy, but they didn't. They just- wouldn't.
Each one stood with the same awkwardness, listening intently for any sign of disruption, yet at the same time trying not to listen too hard. The boy deserved privacy, and even though it would be near impossible to hear anything he might have decided to say, they were afraid to take the chance.
In another movement, not nearly as swift or smooth as the previous ones, he pushed on the stone with his hands and stood up, wobbling slightly upon doing so. It was unknown how long he had been squatting like he was, possibly hours, and it was a wonder his legs allowed him to stand at all, even if they barely did.
He bent down just half way, just enough to reach with one small arm the mirror that lay on the ground and to not come plummeting forward, like his legs threatened to force him to do. When he had righted himself again, the boy took the mirror in both hands, taking the time to look at his reflection.
In it, he didn't see what anyone else would have. Sure, it was his reflection looking back at him, but that wasn't all he saw. If he concentrated on his eyes, those beautiful orbs that he bore which remained beautiful despite their dark look, a vision of a woman he had never known shot out at him. His hair, and even the rest of his face, projected the image of the man who went along with the women. And everything else, just even the mirror himself- or perhaps it was just the thought of everything- gave off the image of a third person, a man.
This was the strongest of the three, and it instantly made the boy shake, making the mirror become unstable. Everything about it screamed of a man who was just recently dead, a man who had lost his life years before, regained a fraction of it, and lost it all over again. A man who couldn't even have a proper end, because thought to still be alive and highly feared by all except a very select few.
But to the boy who stood there, suddenly looking very much a man, and had one looked inside him, they would have had no doubts about him being much older than he is, knew that this mirror was everything that other man was. In his pocket was a knife just as much a part of the man as the mirror was, and he took one hand off the mirror to feel the lump that it was in the pocket of his cloak before carefully rising it again.
It seemed like an eternity that he stood there like that, the shaking soon coming to an end. His breathing still remained clam and even, the silence still its unbearable self. He was vaguely aware of the smell of lilies, creeping its way to his senses despite the fact that no flowers were within quite a distance, perhaps farther than the people who stood far away, the people who were currently nonexistent to the boy who stood there.
The boy stood there for so long, not without purpose. Somehow, he felt that standing there for so long, he was giving the amount of silence for the three people who deserved a lifetime of admiration. The least he could give them was what he was giving.
After what seemed like the perfect moment- the moment that the smell suddenly become a bit stronger, and the silence just the right pitch, and the mirror seemed to be reflecting the sun just right- he lifted it up into the air, extending his arms up as high as he could. At this point, a bit of emotion did show for the first time in a while. It was a mixture of love, admiration, anger, sadness, and hate, all wrapped up in one. It lasted just a short time. And with the same swiftness as was first displayed, he brought it down with a crash, bringing all his energy and emotion with it.
It shattered into a million pieces, each standing for a different piece of the boy who stood there, a different piece of the three other people. Two months of thoughts and emotion shattered along with it.
It was as if he had transferred it all onto the souls who lay there- the two who had been there for fifteen years, and the one that had just came along with the mirror, going to the place where he rightfully belonged- with the friends the he had lost his life for, the friends who he would have lost his life for over and over again, knowing what was to become of the young man, carrying a piece of all three, standing not above but amongst them, right then and there.