Author's Notes: Well. The second Harry Potter fic I've started, and the first I've finished. Guess it takes something really dark to get me inspired.
Warnings? Angst. Heavy, heavy angst. Slash implications. Spoilers for book 5.
If you're still with me, enjoy; let me know what you think. ^_^
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A Little Faith
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It had been a disaster from the beginning.
Awkward at first, confined to stolen glances and careful hints, the whole thing had only been a guess. A childish hope, of sorts.
Nothing had come of it.
There was companionship, but it was a tentative thing, something Remus had always felt the passing fancy of a boy too easily governed by whim. It had lacked the foundation that was needed for true friendship, the faith in one another that allowed a lasting closeness. Such a small thing, trust-- but they'd both shown how little they possessed when it came down to a simple matter of judgment. And then it had been too late.
For twelve and a half years, the werewolf told himself that he was a foolish, naïve little schoolboy with a crush-- that he was letting them all down by pitying a murderer-- that he hated Sirius Black. He whispered to his ceiling at night that he should have known, even as his mind scrambled to convince the boy of lies.
Discovering that he'd been wrong-- that all the world had been wrong-- left yawning chasms in the structure of everything he thought he'd understood. He'd told himself to shut out the memory of an innocent boy, and come face to face with the man that boy had become.
It was no surprise to discover that they weren't the same person.
It had been awkward again-- his first hug in years from the not-criminal he'd been forcing himself to hate. The infrequent pleasure of unreserved contact, the apologies for everything they'd managed to ruin before, the same childish hope that he'd known during his school years, all in a space of hours. It had been, on that late, near-summer night, a chance to build the trust that had been missing before.
And then the moon had chased all thought from his mind.
And oh, how he'd hated himself then. Hated what he was and what he'd become and all the control he didn't have. For a small frame of time, everything could have been all right. And then he'd destroyed it.
It all got worse from there.
Worse because it could've been better-- should've been. Because there had been years and years between, and they'd both been so lonely, and it was fair that everything be fixed. Be the way it ought to have been, if only they'd had a little faith.
But nothing was okay-- it was all scribbled letters and glances over shoulders to be sure that no one was watching. And worry. Worry because Sirius might have to go back, because he couldn't find a job, because if either of them starved before everything was over and done with, it would all be for nothing.
And then the real disaster struck, and life became bearable again.
The strangest thing was how familiar it had been, how easy to assume a role he'd nearly forgotten how to play. Careful work, and difficult-- but there had been a place to come back to, and something to eat.
And slowly, very slowly, the awkward conversations had stilted their way into comfortable banter, the touches forced by imagined obligations became more genuine. And when at last two lonely souls had come to share one bed-- once, then twice, and every night thereafter-- Remus finally had faith. Not only in Sirius, but that they might overlook everything before and find a way to be happy.
Those had been dangerous months, and he'd regretted leaving the man on the lonely nights when business called him away, but for the first time, it had been all right. It hadn't been perfect, by any means-- too much loomed overhead, and too much suffering lay behind-- but they had been trying to work it out. Together.
How simple it was to forget that the world could come crashing down with very little trouble at all. How foolish that the thought hadn't even crossed his mind.
But there he was, staring where Sirius had disappeared, lips still curved with laughter.
And there was nothing to change. Everything was decided, as simply as that.
It had fallen apart from there. The little bits that they'd managed to piece back together had crumbled away, and still Remus smiled, and comforted, and pretended calmly that nothing had gone wrong. He was the good boy, after all. The one that didn't give up-- the one that acted for twelve and a half years as though everything was fine. The one that scolded his friends without meaning it.
Shouldn't charm objects to fall on people in hallways. Shouldn't flood the restrooms. Shouldn't show off.
Shouldn't leave the house. Might get caught.
And so he fought to convince himself that it had been a disaster from the very beginning. Scraped himself along to keep up with the rest, and whispered to his ceiling at night that he should have known.
A year had inched along. Two. Things had poised to change in the sort of way that rearranged lives, for good or bad. And Remus smiled, and waited to be useful, and didn't care.
He had faith that whatever the outcome, the world wouldn't need him anymore.
~owari~
Warnings? Angst. Heavy, heavy angst. Slash implications. Spoilers for book 5.
If you're still with me, enjoy; let me know what you think. ^_^
===============
A Little Faith
===============
It had been a disaster from the beginning.
Awkward at first, confined to stolen glances and careful hints, the whole thing had only been a guess. A childish hope, of sorts.
Nothing had come of it.
There was companionship, but it was a tentative thing, something Remus had always felt the passing fancy of a boy too easily governed by whim. It had lacked the foundation that was needed for true friendship, the faith in one another that allowed a lasting closeness. Such a small thing, trust-- but they'd both shown how little they possessed when it came down to a simple matter of judgment. And then it had been too late.
For twelve and a half years, the werewolf told himself that he was a foolish, naïve little schoolboy with a crush-- that he was letting them all down by pitying a murderer-- that he hated Sirius Black. He whispered to his ceiling at night that he should have known, even as his mind scrambled to convince the boy of lies.
Discovering that he'd been wrong-- that all the world had been wrong-- left yawning chasms in the structure of everything he thought he'd understood. He'd told himself to shut out the memory of an innocent boy, and come face to face with the man that boy had become.
It was no surprise to discover that they weren't the same person.
It had been awkward again-- his first hug in years from the not-criminal he'd been forcing himself to hate. The infrequent pleasure of unreserved contact, the apologies for everything they'd managed to ruin before, the same childish hope that he'd known during his school years, all in a space of hours. It had been, on that late, near-summer night, a chance to build the trust that had been missing before.
And then the moon had chased all thought from his mind.
And oh, how he'd hated himself then. Hated what he was and what he'd become and all the control he didn't have. For a small frame of time, everything could have been all right. And then he'd destroyed it.
It all got worse from there.
Worse because it could've been better-- should've been. Because there had been years and years between, and they'd both been so lonely, and it was fair that everything be fixed. Be the way it ought to have been, if only they'd had a little faith.
But nothing was okay-- it was all scribbled letters and glances over shoulders to be sure that no one was watching. And worry. Worry because Sirius might have to go back, because he couldn't find a job, because if either of them starved before everything was over and done with, it would all be for nothing.
And then the real disaster struck, and life became bearable again.
The strangest thing was how familiar it had been, how easy to assume a role he'd nearly forgotten how to play. Careful work, and difficult-- but there had been a place to come back to, and something to eat.
And slowly, very slowly, the awkward conversations had stilted their way into comfortable banter, the touches forced by imagined obligations became more genuine. And when at last two lonely souls had come to share one bed-- once, then twice, and every night thereafter-- Remus finally had faith. Not only in Sirius, but that they might overlook everything before and find a way to be happy.
Those had been dangerous months, and he'd regretted leaving the man on the lonely nights when business called him away, but for the first time, it had been all right. It hadn't been perfect, by any means-- too much loomed overhead, and too much suffering lay behind-- but they had been trying to work it out. Together.
How simple it was to forget that the world could come crashing down with very little trouble at all. How foolish that the thought hadn't even crossed his mind.
But there he was, staring where Sirius had disappeared, lips still curved with laughter.
And there was nothing to change. Everything was decided, as simply as that.
It had fallen apart from there. The little bits that they'd managed to piece back together had crumbled away, and still Remus smiled, and comforted, and pretended calmly that nothing had gone wrong. He was the good boy, after all. The one that didn't give up-- the one that acted for twelve and a half years as though everything was fine. The one that scolded his friends without meaning it.
Shouldn't charm objects to fall on people in hallways. Shouldn't flood the restrooms. Shouldn't show off.
Shouldn't leave the house. Might get caught.
And so he fought to convince himself that it had been a disaster from the very beginning. Scraped himself along to keep up with the rest, and whispered to his ceiling at night that he should have known.
A year had inched along. Two. Things had poised to change in the sort of way that rearranged lives, for good or bad. And Remus smiled, and waited to be useful, and didn't care.
He had faith that whatever the outcome, the world wouldn't need him anymore.
~owari~