Author Note: So I haven't written a note in quite some time, as I feel that notes would detract from the other story I've got going on at the moment. So hooray for still being alive. I had written one story before while listening to the song that I got my namesake from, but this is the first time that I've ever really played with the lyrics to make it into something. I got my inspiration, of course, from J.K. Rowling, the Jack's Mannequin song "Hammers and Strings (A Lullaby)", and the particular inspiration for this story from a singular line in SweetDeamon's fic "Destruction". I wanted to make the format distinctive, so hopefully it reads well. If you'd be so kind as to leave a review, it is always much appreciated.
Those pages and ink have been following me around. From the cold, molding shelves to the dark recesses of Hogsmeade Village.
She went about her duty mechanically, making her sweeps, stealthily tracking her targets, upholding the law and keeping every last Death Eater at bay. It was her job.
And I call my friend up. Ask how has he been? They say "Dear, he's been well. The information is coming."
At least he was still alive. Knowing that was the only thing that could get her through another day in her so-called life.
But I miss him like hell. I can still see him in those dusty volumes, yeah.
She had immersed herself in literature. She had begun to scrutinize the words, the sentences, the paragraphs of the books available to her. They had been a gift from him, and if that's what it took to feel closer to him, so be it.
I say "Remus I know we don't talk as much. But I still hear your ghost in these old, beat up walls."
She told him countless times how much she cared for him, and he constantly rebuffed her with the same excuses. Too old. Too poor. Too dangerous.
Come on. Just lend me a phrase. Give me something to trust. Just promise you won't let it be just the book that you touch.
Any tomes of wisdom, any book of old sayings that would let her in on his feelings. Any small speckle of hope in a hopeless world. He had picked out a few thick books and handed them to her.
Give me something to believe in – a breath from the breathing – and write it down.
The books were books of hope. Books of love. Books of happiness. Ironic in such an unhappy time. But he had always cared for her and wanted to see her happy. To see her with someone "young and whole". She groaned as she remembered that comment.
I don't think that I'll close my eyes, because lately I'm not dreaming. So what's the point in sleeping? It's just that at night I've got nowhere to hide.
Night after night, the constant worry paralyzing her soul. She had lost the ability to morph her appearance, her jack rabbit Patronus had changed, and her parents were getting worried. And yet, all she could do to get through the day was read.
I'll read myself to sleep.
Those heroic princesses, those star crossed lovers, those masters of deduction, those brave souls pushing ever forward.
Those pages and ink have been following me around. Behind invisible cloaks, through the mud, rocks and moats of a thousand British towns.
Constantly vigilant, constantly tracking and providing intelligence, but always with the thought of words unread resting on her table.
And my friends call me up, with my heart heavy still.
He was back, but briefly. She quickly went to find him, to make known all the feelings she'd held in.
I say "Remus your absence is making me ill. But I know I'm not crazy. I'm losing my will. So please, won't you please, stop trying to be killed?"
A desperate plea escaped her. She wanted him to be safe. She wanted him to abandon those deadly missions and come home to her, but those words didn't come.
I need something to believe in – a breath from the breathing – so write it down.
He walked away without so much as a glance at her. No note like last time. None of his scratchy handwriting to keep her sated until next they met. Only the pages and words that he hadn't picked up on his way out.
I don't think that I'll close my eyes, because lately I'm not dreaming. So what's the point in sleeping? It's just that at night, I've got nowhere to hide.
She couldn't keep this up. She couldn't just fall asleep with a book in her hand every night. No matter how sweet the dreams of azure fields were, she wanted to stay up to think about him.
I'll read to stay awake.
She resolved to herself that she would stay up as long as it took until she could find a resolution to her situation. She had to find him. She had to get him back. She wouldn't stop until she did.
Give me something to believe in.
He had never rejected her outright. He had just made pathetic excuses as to why he couldn't be loved.
Write it down.
She pulled out the last note she had got from him. Those scratchy lines that started with "I love you..."
I won't close my eyes.
She resolved to find him. She resolved to tell him everything. She would tell him to stop the excuses and love her as she loved him.
To my sleepless wolf, this is my reply.
I'll make you see the light.