Author's Note: I almost can't believe that this story only had three hundred words or so, but Blood on My Hands only had about five hundred.
It may be short, but I still think you all will enjoy it.
Oh, yeah... Pretty sure this counts as movie-verse, but don't let it turn you off! 300 words. You can do that, right?
Now presenting,
"You Promised!"
It's Christmas.
Grimmauld Place, despite being generally dark and dank, seems to hold a sparkle of cheer.
The children ought nestled in their beds and dreaming of sugar plums right about this time but have actually been sneaking about, only now to crouch behind the door to the sitting room.
Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Fred and George stop to watch as a large Grim-like creatue emerges from the shadows to pounce upon an unsuspecting Remus, who, prior to this event, had been humming tunelessy while stringing up a last few decorations around the mantle.
He tumbles backward over presents and knick-knacks before landing with a muffled thump. Several anxierty-filled seconds pass before the children see the former-professor lift his head.
"You promised to behave," the graying, tawny-haired man dryly admonishes the dog on his chest, though the hidden teenagers swear they can detect a hints of mirth and fond exasperation from the retired Marauder.
The black, mangy mongrel of a dog morphs into a rougishly smiling Sirius Black, perched atop his friend, just as Hermione whips out her camara.
"Remus, my friend, don't you know? Some -"
It's a picture. It's a memory. It's in the past.
Harry Potter sits in his room at Number Four Privet Drive. He is on his bed, running his fingers over his godfather's smiling face, seeing it dulpicated over and over in his mind.
Offering him a home.
Saying he'll write.
Coming back to support him.
Holding onto his shoulder, onto him, like he'll never let go.
Welcoming him.
Walking with him into Kings Cross.
"Just remember, I'll always be here when you need me. Family, right?"
A clap on the shoulder. A bear hug.
A falling tear.
It splashes onto the plastic image. Harry quickly wipes it away, but the spell is broken. He's alone again.
He wants to scream at the picture in his hand. "You promised!"
And he can almost hear Sirius's laughing words to Remus.
"Some promises are made to be broken."
Fin. Review, seriously. Please? Pretty Pwease? Thanks ever so much!