Title: Advent Calendar
Fandom: Harry Potter
Part: Dec 1st
Pairing: RemusxSirius
Warning: Suggested Slash
Spoilers: Up to and including OotP
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Remus Lupin or any of the characters or situations herein. JK Rowling owns them. I just write for pleasure and procrastination.
Note: A nice simple one for you today.
The room is dim, but what little light that filters in from outside reveals a decrepit old bed at its centre. There is no other furniture, only pieces of shattered and scattered wood, sometimes a spring or the stuffing of a chair. Deep grooves can be seen in the larger pieces and even the floorboards and the bed. Especially the bed; where the mattress and quilt are simply a mess of feathers, torn cloth and blood. But even this is in a better condition than the man nestled in the centre of this carnage and the only occupant of the room. Dawn chill brings out goose flesh on the parts of his snowy skin that are still visible between the bites and scratches. There may have been scars on that skin, but it's so hard to tell with his heart weakly beating away what's left of his blood into the feathers.
Strangely there's no pain on his face. No tears on his cheeks from the pain that's wracking his body. But there is a small, bitter smile curving his soft lips. His amber eyes are fixed intently on the door, bright and aware of what's happening to him. He's dying, but he doesn't think he'll get to go on that far. Not now, not yet, not without taking at least one of the two they hate with him. Something else flashes through his eyes momentarily. Something predatory. Something primal. And his fingers close into a fist in response to the feeling. It's the most strength he has to spend.
As he knew they must, two women enter the room; the youngest cautiously, the eldest with sure confidence of the professional in their natural environment. She looks down at him and shakes her head silently, no horror on her face although he can taste it in her scent. She's familiar, from long ago, but familiar. The grey hair, the matronly demeanour, the faint smell of disinfectant. He knows her name, and tries to force it past abused vocal cords. She hushes him, and puts a bottle to his lips that eases the pain in his throat and body. He imagines the cuts slowly slop bleeding, as he knows they will, and ignores the blatant horror on the young one's face.
"I– I- Poppy, is he going to…?"
She's terrified, he realises distantly as the bottle is taken away and numbness starts spreading.
"He'll be fine." Certainty, authority. He smiled again, softly, as he let himself fall into unconscious. Just before he submits completely, he hears the younger one talking as he's lifted from the bloody nest and wrapped in a rough blanket.
"Why didn't he tell us Sirius meant that much to him?"
"Dear, that's none of our affair."
He agrees with her silently as darkness finishes its task, taking him away to the little death. It has absolutely nothing to do with them.
