Author's Note: Long story, long author's notes. Well, what is this? It started out with the idea of a few phrases and turned out as… this. Every time I hear the lyrics of the song I think of Sirius, though I feel that way with a lot of songs. Mind you, I do not own the lyrics!
My personal challenge for this story was to write my longest coherent ficlet so far. My longest story counts about 3,200 words as far as I'm concerned and I wanted to top it. So, I'm proud, as I've always had a slight problem with writing much. And writing from 1 to 6 o'clock in the morning is such fun! Yay for weekends and holidays.
And I discovered once again the beauty of words. There are so many exceedingly beautiful phrases I can't possibly use them all… *sniff*
As for the title: Because that's what it is, a kind-of homage with too many metaphors.
So go ahead now and read this longest of my stories. Hope I can counter with 5,000 words soon, haha. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: If I was JKR, I wouldn't keep forgetting my most brilliant ideas, because I'd always carry a notebook some compassionate people sent me after I let the world know Edinburgh has no paper.
Metaphoric Homage
How do you love with fate full of rust?
How do you turn what the savage take?
You've been looking for someone you can trust
Who will love you, again and again
He looked grimly into the cup of coffee that was sitting on the table in front of him. He stirred the liquid a bit with his spoon just to have something to do. He watched it swirl around in the cup and inhaled the deep, rich scent. Black, like his soul. Black like his stupid name, and like their hopeless fate. Hot and sweet, like him, too, Remus might add. He didn't see it anymore. All the sparkle had gone from his life. He'd always liked his coffee very sweet and with lots of cream on it, back when he'd still had a life. Now he liked it bitter, because it felt so much more sympathetic. It felt real.
A hand softly touched his shoulder and he turned, meeting the gaze of those mesmerizing amber eyes he'd never been able to forget. His lips turned up automatically at the sight. To hell with reality, it was all so much better with Remus there. And he loved him even more for always reminding him of the happy things.
"Want to read with me?" he asked. A suggestive smile graced his soft pink lips and so offered an irresistible distraction.
"Sure," he said, and the gratitude was visible in his features.
Together, they walked up to the library, not daring to hold hands, not bothering to walk at a distance. If anyone noticed their being a bit closer than just friends, nobody ever said a word about it. Those were the benefits of being an incurable, emotionally shattered mess.
Remus' hands moved to open the heavy wooden door that led to his most favourite place, and Sirius admired the delicate, long fingers wrapping around the doorknob and pushing open the gates to their sanctuary. Once inside, Remus took his hand and immediately led him to a large armchair in one corner of the room. He sat down, and watched Remus move around the salon. He marvelled at the unconcealed glee in his lovers' eyes that always came to him at the thought of new adventures in form of a book. A glorious, splendid book. Wasn't it wonderful how those little things could make a person so happy? Remus lay hands on his latest conquest and carried it back to the armchair. He clutched the book tight, like a child might hold his teddy bear.
Over the years, he had begun to value books as well, almost as much as Remus. It amazed him how one could forget all his troubles, all his sorrows by just delving into another's life, another history. There, in a different universe, pain was not painful, sorrow was not real, descriptions of grief were entrancing. You could lose yourself in another's desires, engross your thoughts in a different mind. And if it all went wrong, there was no harm. The world of books was intriguing. He could spend hours just analysing it.
The ritual of reading together was something he and Remus had picked up in the very early days of their relationship. Even before they were officially together, he used to sit beside Remus and read along with him, thus discovering they had precisely the same pace when it came to reading. It was one of the many things they had in common and by doing this Remus had managed to convert him to studying – unbelievable as it was. Thinking about it now, it was clear that not only James had been changed by Lily's – finally requited – love, but that Sirius had also found a more profound side to life in his relationship with Remus. Their partners had matured them.
He had always thought Remus looked beyond endearing while suffering along with the protagonists of his tales. When something was especially funny, quiet Remus used to laugh out loud, and when something was excruciatingly sad, a silver tear trailed down his cheek. No matter how old they were; whenever that happened, he'd always felt a maddening urge to hug him. To hold him, to tell him it was alright, and to somehow make it a happy ending. And then there was the blissful smile of contentment playing on his delicious mouth whenever the story had an ending Remus approved of.
Watching Remus read was an enthralling experience, and the feelings flowing through his whole body when he did it were surprisingly overwhelming. Strongest was, of course, the intense love and longing he felt for no one but Remus.
Now, the auburn haired man strolled towards him, book in hand and smile on his lips. He sat down next to his lover and opened the work of classical literature he'd chosen for the day.
The sun fought its way through the thick curtains and painted golden streaks on the scene. In such moments, Sirius Black forgot the dark haze around them; it turned a halo instead.
They bent down simultaneously and began to read. Their hands were joined on Remus' thigh and their eyes were lit up with tranquil joy. Their bodies were relaxed, and souls at ease. So simple – this was how the men saw sense in life.
How do you love in a house without feelings?
How do you turn what the savage take?
I've been looking for someone to believe in
Love me, again and again
He laughed hysterically. "Well, what am I?" He looked at each of them, marvelling in his own downfall.
"Some misfit, ain't I? The grand Sirius Black, firstborn of the great wizarding family, with all their might and influence and pure bloodedness beyond significance. Here I stand, the run-away son who did not give a damn about your fortune. What am I now? – The man who should be a prince, who should rule your little world – a failure. So what are you going to do? Disown me? I don't care. Because I know what is important in life."
"You are nothing to us," the seething voice cut through the silence, ice cubes down his throat. "You are not our son. We do not want you here."
There was strong emphasis on the word 'not', to make it very clear and prevent any misunderstanding. The finality rang in the following silence. He had expected it, felt it for years, and still his heart missed countless beats. They were loud in his head as his shocked heart pumped the noble blood through his veins. It vibrated in his body for a long time, leaving stunned stillness.
To many, Sirius Black was a thoughtless person who did not care for the needs of others. He didn't usually bother to take others' feelings into account, and his bold carelessness made the prince of Hogwarts even more inaccessible. They were all famous for that, and many seemed to think audacity formed the Marauders' entire personality.
But some knew that in the core of his heart, Sirius Black was primarily one: a genuinely good person. And despite everything he always claimed, his heart had refused to listen to the warnings his mind had perceived. Somewhere, the heart of Sirius Black just couldn't believe how one could not love his parents, and not be loved by them in return. They were the people he was made of, and didn't that assume some kind of a bond?
Hearing it like this, being confronted with the unmistakable truth that he was not loved, was not desired and couldn't even be beard around – it was simply devastating.
That was the point when his soul started breaking. The first cut was made, and the decay would go on now.
And this was worst: If he was not even loved by his own family, not welcome in his home – who would love him. Who in the whole wide world would love him unconditionally, if not even his own parents?
Nothing could have prepared him for this moment. Sure, he somehow knew it was coming, he would have said so himself. But listening to it for real, to see them do it, was incomparable.
There was nothing else to be said. He was facing his inevitable fate, which meant he was not to be loved. He realized his only option: flight, and hope. Because Sirius Black did not give up.
He threw them one more look, and his grey eyes held a thousand different colours. One colour for every emotion he felt; the contempt, the finality, and his disgust. And he added some more: With one look, he performed an action of total self-display. He was invincible and vulnerable at exactly the same time. Through the hate, one could see the incredulity, the grief, and the love he could not entirely disguise. His feelings shone like a falling star, and then he turned his back on them, once and for all.
He stormed up the stairs, blasting the doors on his way. With a few waves of his wand, his things were packed and his room was empty. He would leave nothing of himself in this prison, except some well-aimed reminders. He smirked bitterly at the posters on the walls, the papers in his drawers. In a hurry he left, not looking behind.
It was the last time he saw them all. The last time he saw his father, who hadn't said a word during the final fight, and whom he had always loved fiercely. The last time he deliberately set eyes on his little brother, who he'd felt eternally protective of, and whom he painfully missed. They ignored each other ever since, and their sorrow was mutual. And, of course, it was the last time he looked at his mother, who was the only person he never truly missed. Their relationship had always been one of distance, mixed with sometimes physical and mostly psychological violence. Still, he could not help remembering it was her who had brought him to life.
Sirius did not shed a tear. He left in the grand gesture that was his signature move, the greatness that was him. Theatrically he disguised his grief; an image of beauty.
He lives on disillusion road
We go where the wild blood flows
On our bodies we share the same scar
Love me, wherever you are
He walked and walked and walked, his trunk trailing along with him by magic, and he looked and nothing and everything at once.
He noticed the people staring at the beautiful boy with the troubled face but ignored them. Defiance and menace were overflowing his eyes, building up a barricade nobody dared to touch. He was so young. Such a very young man with such very grave problems.
He paid no attention to where he was going. Pacing the streets of London, he was lost in shock. He was dazed by what had just happened, and though he wouldn't admit it, his trust and youthful naivety were terrifyingly shaken. In some ways, Sirius Black had always been a mature person for his age, but in others he most certainly was not. The confidence in his idea of life had been impeachable, and he had not let real pain touch him. That was over now, and he knew it. But he was not ready to give up. He refused to surrender himself to his stupid problems, and sought distraction instead.
The rain was falling down in icy drops, and he tore off his jacket in one angry, rapid movement. Even in his worst fury, he was always graceful. He dropped the jacket carelessly, where it lay on the ground to be picked up by some grateful beggar.
He enjoyed the sensation of the freezing liquid against his skin. It wasn't painful or even uncomfortable, but seemed to match his mood and felt like a poetic portrayal of pain. The skin hot with rage, the soul cold with grief, and nature on his side. So the whole bloody world felt what he was feeling when they saw him. His inclination for theatrics got the best of him.
He could not think straight. Everything seemed ice now. His chest, his heart, his lungs, his skin, his soul, his existence. His head was numb with shock.
After a very long time, a different image invaded his head and gained his attention. The thought was of amber eyes, and auburn hair, and of round glasses framing hazel eyes, and of gleeful laughs. That was when he decided that sulking was not his option.
Out of nowhere, he came to stand next to a telephone box. Stepping in, he laid aside his petulant emotions and dialled the first number that came to his mind.
"Prongs," he whispered helplessly.
He lives with disillusions close
We go where the wild blood flows
On our bodies, we share the same scar
Love me, wherever you are
Love me, wherever you are
He sat in one of the comfortable armchairs in the Potters' living room, a book in his lap. It was quite an unusual sight; Sirius Black and a book. Though seeing as he was alone in the room with only the sunlight keeping him company, it didn't matter anyway.
He picked the book up and opened it. It fell open in the very middle of the story, displaying a fervent love scene. He smirked, then lowered his face and flicked the pages lightly. The paper crumpled a little under his touch and the sheets rustled quietly. He sucked in deep breaths of the singular smell, already being able to tell the difference between the scent of paper and parchment.
As he absorbed the story in a different way from reading, he once again lost himself in the occupation and did not bother to hear the door being opened and closed behind his back. His animagus senses kicked in after a while, though, and he turned to greet the intruder.
James was approaching him, an unnaturally patient but mostly curious look on his face. He took the book from his friend and read the title.
"Shakespeare?" he asked amusedly, one eyebrow raised in mock teasing.
"Yeah, why not? Got some good love scenes in there," Sirius replied with a smirk.
"You keep smelling books. Why?" James finally asked, the curiosity winning over his conversational tone. To his surprise, he saw Sirius' face flush in a faint pink that, frankly, quite suited his pale face.
The black-haired boy's delicate features broke into a grin. "So?" (1)
"The um… the books…"
"Yes, Padfoot, the books. What is it about them?"
Pads blushed some more, then: "Well they… they smell a little like Remus."
At this, James smiled all-too-knowingly. "So, wanna go out and play a little Quidditch? We won't have much time till this year's season officially starts. And there's only one weekend of holidays left, so why not push our luck?"
Sirius grinned at him with a mixture of amusement and gratitude at the distraction. He stood up, and together the two brothers walked out into the sunlight.
How do you love on a night without feelings?
He says "love, I hear sound, I see fury"
He says "love's not a hostile condition"
Love me, wherever you are
When James had died, he had been beyond any imaginable pain. One could say his soul had died that day without exaggerating. Instantly, he had performed a first act of self-destruction. The night his life ended – that day when he swore revenge – maybe it hadn't entirely been a desire for vengeance, which had surely reigned him as well, but had just been merely suicidal.
Yes, when James died, his life had been taken away. James had been the only real family he'd ever had, if you could even speak of such, and the ground had been swept from his feet at the sight of their dead bodies. Dead bodies he was responsible for, murder he had caused, loss that was his fault.
He didn't care about anything in the world as he set off to kill. He even knew it wouldn't ease his pain to kill Peter, it might rather make it worse, but he truly didn't know what else he should do. It felt … appropriate, although he knew he would blame himself, and only himself, for the rest of his existence. He was doomed.
During the fight, he knew that something was wrong. He sensed that Peter would trick him, just as he tricked him in the first place, just as he tricked James and Lily and Dumbledore and all the others. But once again he was too weak. Once again he was too vulnerable, too caught up in his own distress to be able to prevent the horror. So when the commando found him, he was breaking down. Not bit by bit, as he was doing later and all over again in Azkaban. The moment Peter blew up the street, Sirius exploded as well. Again, this was something he had in common with Remus: he had never let his self-control slip. Sirius might have been angry, raging, screaming, and crying, but he had never allowed himself to break down. This day did it. This day, the man Sirius Black was nothing. There was not even a façade to hold on to. No barriers. They told him later he had been laughing. He couldn't remember a thing. It was all the thick, black haze again, worse than ever.
Laughter had come from his body like trembling, like the tears running down the spectator's cheeks. Probably it was his own way of screaming, of writhing in pain and burning inside. Yes, that was most likely. And how ironic! Fabulous Sirius Black, star of Gryffindor, of half the wizarding world, would not scream when in pain. No, he was comedic enough to laugh in his situation. Or cruel enough, as most thought. Maybe that had something to do with the reckless-thing. People would have had a much harder time believing someone as kind as Remus was a murderer, but with inconsiderate Sirius Black? No problems here.
That is when Remus entered the match. Sirius was most desperately searching for some reason to cling on to life, for anything worth living for. Because this was not how he wanted to die. Sirius Black did not die of desperation. And he was most certainly not being finished off by dementors. If he died, he wanted to do it the way he did everything: grandly.
He was ashamed at how long it took him to finally think of his love, his soul-mate. Actually, he had thought of him before, but not in that way. It was only now that he realised he was indeed still alive and Remus was there somewhere, too. He had thought of him in terms of saying goodbye. And now, on the best way to eternal damnation in Azkaban, he became aware of the fact that there was no traitor anymore. Neither he nor Remus needed to point a finger at one another in silent accusation, at least not like before. So he decided. He decided to not ever forget their memories, to hold them up high above everything, and to cling on to life for Remus. He would stay alive for his love.
What is love but the strangest of feelings?
A sin you swallow for the rest of your life?
You've been looking for someone to believe in
To love you, until your eyes run dry
Being back here, it was his childhood all over again. He felt trapped in this place, in this nightmare of the life he had thought he'd left behind. It was like all his happy days had never been. Sometimes he had a very hard time remembering them, and when he did, they often felt like a dream.
The only thing left of this dream was Remus, his own personal angel. He needed Remus like a drug. He was addicted to the man who brought him so much joy, and whenever they were apart, it was a lost day to him. He needed Remus like oxygen, and he was pretty sure that without him he wouldn't still be alive.
To plainly think about Remus was soothing; sanctuary for his mind.
Remus was like poetry. Neat like the carefully arranged rhymes of a verse, composed like their pattern. He was contemplative and sweet, beautiful and heartbreaking at once. With his kindness he could make you feel oh-so-good, and his melancholy induced such a sadness your eyes filled with tears. His beautiful body inspired unknown passions and his mind was rich in refreshing intelligence. Sometimes he resembled a riddle, difficult to read but with an enthralling conclusion. To put it simply, Remus was love.
So when he thought that all was lost, Sirius had found the love he'd been searching for. He and Remus had always loved each other, in a slightly different way than the others. James was Sirius' brother, and the person he loved the very most in the world. Remus knew that but never felt jealous; everyone knew from the first day on. When they'd met, they'd felt it. They were the same; like twins. Like family. They were family. But Remus had always been something different. Sometimes he thought he should have known it all along, because it was so obvious. From the very beginning, James had been incurably intrigued by Lily and Sirius had been fascinated by him: the person who was his very opposite. He was quiet, neat, kind and millions of other beautiful adjectives. You just had to love him; at least that's what Sirius always thought. He was perfection. He was handsome too; stunning in his gorgeousness. Again, some people might have disagreed, but that's what Sirius felt. Remus was wonder. He was unintelligible and still predictable, if that made any sense.
And he loved him unconditionally. There were no boundaries to their love, and the feeling was one hundred per cent mutual.
Remus gave him happiness, and was a perfect balance to his scarily fast changing mood swings. He knew him inside out and always knew what to say or do. He could make him burn with desire and scream with bliss. The moans and husky breathing of his name at the peak of intensely intimate moments were the most wonderful sound he had ever heard. Remus' voice itself was so painstakingly beautiful he thought he could listen to it all day long and never stop loving it.
In fact, there were so many things he adored about Remus he could not list them all. Remus had once, in a flash of insecurity, asked him, "Padfoot? Why do you love me?" He'd started to tell him, and they both fell asleep before he was finished, bodies pressed together tightly in their warm bed, limbs tangled and hands intertwined.
Sirius Black's life is a tale of beauty, full of both unimaginable love and inconceivable pain. It holds everything literature craves: friendship, devotion, sorrow and passion.
The man himself was a hero extraordinare: friend, lover, Marauder and prince of his own world.
You can never tell enough about him.
(1) Can you hear James say 'So?' in his terribly sexy British accent? And it just came to my attention that Sirius, being London-born, must truly have about the most beautiful voice in the world (accent-fussing again). I am officially, totally, completely whipped.
It all sounds like an excessive homage, doesn't it? I've stopped myself from writing any comedy in this. Wanted to keep it angsty (and kinda hope I've succeeded).
Cheers!!
As there's no purple button anymore (at least I can't see it – stupid updates and new versions of websites): Will you please, please take 10 more seconds, click on the strange new Review button, and write anything? You will make my day.