Title: Desperation
Author: Reija Linn (T'Reija)
Email/Feedback: theganan@gmx.de or thiari@theganan.de
Archive: Azkaban's Lair, ff-net. Others please ask beforehand and leave the full header intact.
Originally posted: SBRL list
Pairing: Sirius/Remus, Remus/Severus non-con
Rating: [R]
Summary: A scurrile piece from Remus' POV. Probably hard to follow.
Spoilers: Haven't read the books? Do so. Right away. Do not eat, sleep or pause until you're finished. Then come back.
Warnings: male/male sexuality and/or relationship(s) featured within. Don't like, don't read, don't flame. Simple really, though seemingly not simple enough for some dim witted clots out there. Additionally, this story contains non-detailed mention of rape and sexual child abuse.
Legal disclaimer: I never have, nor ever will, owned the rights to the setting of the Harry Potter books or the characters featured within. The use of said settings and characters by me is for non-commercial purposes only and does not mean to infringe upon the given legal rights that belong to Ms. J.K.Rowling and those she has associated them with.
DESPERATION
By T'Reija (September 2001)
Many people do not have a real understanding of what it means to be poor. For them, it's 'work hard and you will gain'.
I know what hard work is. I've worked 16 hours a day at times. I've spent days getting up at 5 am in the morning and getting home at 10 pm in the evening, the hours in between spent with labour. I've worked till my back ached, in jobs that others would not do even for more money. I've cut short on all the pleasantries of life, for money's sake. I've been laughed at for my shabby clothes, pitied, shunned for my poverty. Imagine, a fully trained wizard, amongst the best of the year, doing a Squib's work.
I'm a werewolf, and it's not easy to get a job if you are, sooner or later the secret will always be revealed, sooner or later you'll be fired at short notice, sooner or later they will dig up excuses, blame you, tell you your work was second-class, just to get rid of you.
Back when I was with Sirius, it was not a financial problem. He could support both of us with what he earned. Those times were wonderful, don't get me wrong, but there was a shadow hanging over them, even before we suspected each other of spying for Voldemort. He told me time and again not to worry about money, that it wasn't important. For me, it was. I didn't want to be dependant; I wanted our relationship to be even, allowing us to concentrate on our love for each other, not on things like money.
But the thought of Sirius Black, my sexy, romantic, gorgeous and deadly ex-lover hurts too much to be allowed to run free.
They also say that money doesn't count.
They are so wrong.
When you're rich, or at least well off, I agree, then money isn't that important, and should not be made so.
When you are poor, however, it means the key to the world, which lies behind a locked door. When you are poor, people will turn away from you.
Poverty is disgracing, too. Imagine an oblivious friend asking you whether you'd like to come along to the pub, and you decline, each and every time, not wanting to tell the truth. Loosing friends is easy that way, because you are to proud to tell, and they will think it has something to do with your friendship.
Or sitting in a restaurant with friends, ordering a glass of water, stating you're not hungry, though your stomach rumbles loudly, while the others order their menus. Soon, you cannot enjoy going anywhere, with anyone, anymore. You don't *want* to avoid your friends, you don't *want* to become anti-social, but even less, you want to admit being poor.
Don't want to see the look of pity on their faces. Don't want them taking you out for dinner, inviting you for supper, don't want them bringing you anything they've bought extra for you, though they state it's something old they've wanted to get rid of for ages.
You don't want to exploit them, don't want to always be on the receiving end, never giving.
You stop going out for the shame of it, you stop attending birthday parties you're invited to because you don't have anything left over for a birthday present. You don't invite people to your house; least they see how shabby it is, and how empty the fridge.
You hate the thought of people finding out, even your best friends. Oh, sure, you'd be getting help from them, but at what cost? Loosing your independence, loosing your self-esteem.
That was what had happened in my relationship with Sirius.
Damn, now I'm thinking about him again.
Long before Voldemort came between us - and I still can't believe it, I can't, my sweet Star, a murderer... - long before the doubts and suspicions set in, our relationship had gotten strained.
It started with small things. Sirius complaining about my old, battered clothes, telling me *he* could afford to buy me new ones. Sirius stating he wanted to eat out one evening, and at my worried look assuring me *he* had the money. Sirius buying anything extravagant, not for himself, but for us, or worse, for me. Sirius, assuring me that better times would come for me, too, knowing it was a lie.
Gradually, I lost my self-esteem. I let him buy me new, fancy clothes, let him pay for meals, let him pay the whole rent. Let him do whatever he pleased, feeling more insecure and disparaged with every day that passed. Soon, I didn't even try to object, didn't even try to explain my hurt to him.
I noticed myself growing cold, even to his touch, even to his love, not because I no longer loved him, but because it hurt.
That was when I started thinking of myself as a whore again.
Now, Sirius is in Azkaban, found guilty - no, no, he can't be, please, don't let him be - of murder, of conspiring with Lord Voldemort. Of killing three of his, of our dearest friends - please let it be a mistake...
And I am back to a life of poverty. In many ways, this is easier, though, being alone. No longer having friends. No one there to ask, no one there who will look at you with pity in their eyes. Sometimes, you have no money for food, but no one will come over with leftovers, and for me, it has always been easier to go without something than getting the feeling I need charity.
And sometimes, you don't have the money to pay your rent, or other things you cannot avoid, and then you need to resort to desperate measures.
When I was a boy, people used to see me as sweet, innocent, pure. Sirius used to.
I wonder what he would say if he could see me now.
Wonder what he'd say if he knew.
I try to earn money by working hard, but sometimes, you just can't work hard enough.
Then you beat your pride, finally, because you don't feel you have anything left, least of all pride.
I have been many things, a beggar, thief and even a whore.
And now, after all this, after everything working against me, after my pride and self-esteem have finally subsided, after I've resorted to such means for survival, this letter arrived.
A letter written on heavy, expensive parchment, with a luxurious seal on it.
A letter from Dumbledore.
A letter offering me a future, a job at Hogwarts, my old school. Not as a janitor, or gardener, or anything else of the things I have done before.
A teaching job. Defence Against the Dark Arts.
Perhaps that can give me back at least some of the self-esteem I've gradually lost over the years.
Then I heard he was still there.
I was actually on the way to the public owlery to post my refusal when, upon passing a newspaper stand, I saw that Sirius Black had escaped Azkaban. I suddenly knew why Dumbledore had requested me specifically, and it gave me quite mixed feelings. I was glad I was getting a job because of my talent, my knowledge, a good job. But I didn't want to work against Sirius.
But as much as it hurt, it had to be done. James... I had to at least protect his son.
Some sort of obscure loyalty had still hindered me to report that Padfoot was an animagus... but if I refused to tell, I had to be there personally, as the only living person left who knew that the castle's safety measures would not automatically hold back Black. This may sound egoistic to you, and it may be - after all, they'd learnt the transformation for my sake... but still, Sirius had been my lover, I had loved him. Even if he was a murderer, I still loved him, though I could never again let him into my bed, or my soul.
I also couldn't stop loving him.
So I kept my silence and accepted the job.
And now I'm back here, back at Hogwarts.
Back with all the memories.
The memories of Sirius, and the memories of pain.
No one except Sirius knows I've been sexually abused as a child, two years before I'd come to Hogwarts. My own recollection of it is very blurred, I don't really remember it, except that I've had flashes sometimes. My mother had told me, before she'd died, apologizing for the way she'd handled it, not telling anyone, hushing it up because I couldn't describe the boy who'd done it, I hadn't been penetrated or anything so there wasn't any evidence, and she didn't want the people talking about me any more than they already were.
Sirius and I came together in our seventh, our last year, when we were both 18, but he wasn't the first one I'd been with - neither was I for him. He had been dating, and yes, sleeping with girls since he'd been sixteen, and quite enthusiastically.
And I had been bonking around, though no one ever knew. Sweet, innocent Remus Lupin would never do such a thing; degrade himself to being a tart, right?
The first time was when I was fifteen, with some boy from Hufflepuff. He hadn't been very gentle, and he hadn't very much considered my pleasure. We went out for a week or so, careful not to let anyone know - even in the wizarding world, homosexuality is often not accepted - then I told him I didn't want us to meet again. He pursued me for months afterwards, but never did more than casting me long, hurt looks, dropping notes in my books during class or writing me long letters begging me to give him another chance.
After that, it continued. I knew there was only one person I really wanted, the one in which I had found my soul mate, but I knew - or thought so, at the time - that I could never have him. So I turned to others. Some were nice experiences, not love, but comfortable, nice and passionate sex, without great expectations, without violence, anger or hate. Not entirely fulfilling, but pleasurable for what they were. Others weren't so good. Lucius Malfoy from Slytherin, for example, a boy two years ahead of me, was violent, but although I didn't much care for what he did to me, my protests were feeble.
The worst was Severus Snape, an unpleasant Slytherin boy of our age. He'd always been looking at me in a strange way, but I had thought it to be mere loathing. Until one day, or rather, one evening, when we had detention together. We were supposed to clean out a disused classroom that had been used as a storage room from the school times of Nearly Headless Nick, it seemed, and he made a pass at me.
I was tempted, yes, and I admit I hadn't refused his kisses, but rather enjoyed them at first. But something about him, about the way he touched me, so rough, with such coldness in his eyes, made me ask him to stop. Snape had sneered, and had asked me whether I really thought I had a choice in the whole business. Then he raped me. That was when I was sixteen.
From then on, all resolve I'd once had was gone, I'd play fuck toy for anyone, repeatedly for Snape himself, just to get rid of the hurt feeling, thinking I'd simply go numb one day, I'd just stop feeling hurt or pain. That I'd grow cold, and eventually, I did. Roughness and violence from the people I slept with no longer really touched me, my mind just flew away.
I was trying to punish myself, for things that weren't my fault.
I was trying to kill myself, if not my body, then at least my soul.
An no one ever asked, no one ever inquired where I was those nights I stayed away late, perhaps because they knew that Remus Lupin was often brooding about one thing or the other, perhaps wanting to leave me alone. Only James and Sirius asked, but I always assured them everything was fine, and took double care to leave only late at night when everyone was sleeping.
And then, in the middle of my seventh year at Hogwarts, Sirius and I came together. Sirius had followed me one night, and he'd seen me with Snape. He told me that at first he'd wanted to turn away again, hurt that I'd never told him, not understanding because it was Snape, but nevertheless wanting to give me privacy, but something had stopped him, something hadn't seemed quite right.
He'd come into the classroom, and after a brief verbal fight Snape left the room. I'd been quiet all the while.
To cut a long story short, I told Sirius everything, from the childhood abuse up to Snape raping me, and my feelings of uselessness. I even told him there was someone, a boy, I felt I truly loved, but that he was straight and so my unrequited love was one more reason I felt I had to punish myself. At first I thought he was revolted, his eyes narrowed and everything, but when his soft embrace grew stronger, though not unpleasantly so, I knew his rage was not directed at me, but at Snape and all others who had used and abused me.
Then he asked me whether that person I was in love with was him, by any chance, and at my blushing nod, he gently stroked away a strand of hair from my face and told me he'd been feeling the same way about me for some time, but also hadn't thought I could return it.
Not much happened after that, we didn't do more than kiss for five months, though everyone teased us about it, not knowing about the preceding events, of course. I wanted to, I asked Sirius to help me forget, but he looked at me with those dark eyes of his and told me that if he slept with me now, I would not forget. I would, however, not really be with him, just with the person who could drive away the memories.
Then, Sirius tried to kill Snape, exposing him, unknowingly, to a werewolf - me. No one ever knew, even James thought Sirius had wanted to play a prank - a dangerous, stupid, impudent prank, but still a prank. I was the only one to know that it was planned murder, revenge for me, rage at what Snape had done. I never approved, but I understood. The wolf in me wanted to kill, and kill Severus Snape specifically, not just any human. Perhaps everyone has wolf inside them somewhere, a basic animalistic instinct.
My love for Sirius never lessened. Not even now that I know what he's done.
After five months, just after our NEWTs, we were already half-packed to leave Hogwarts forever (or so I thought), it did finally happen, and afterwards I knew he had been right to make me wait that long, for when I slept with him then, it was really making love, not a means to drive away unwanted memories. It was pure and it was good, and it was love.
I had found my nightmare and my soul mate at Hogwarts.
My nightmare is still there, working as a teacher.
My love, escaped prisoner of Azkaban, found guilty for murder, is suspected there, trying to get to Harry Potter, his once best friend's son.
And I have no longing to meet either of them, because to manage that I will need strength, I will need pride, and I will need self-control.
I don't know if I have any of those left.
Yet, I have to go.
END
Author: Reija Linn (T'Reija)
Email/Feedback: theganan@gmx.de or thiari@theganan.de
Archive: Azkaban's Lair, ff-net. Others please ask beforehand and leave the full header intact.
Originally posted: SBRL list
Pairing: Sirius/Remus, Remus/Severus non-con
Rating: [R]
Summary: A scurrile piece from Remus' POV. Probably hard to follow.
Spoilers: Haven't read the books? Do so. Right away. Do not eat, sleep or pause until you're finished. Then come back.
Warnings: male/male sexuality and/or relationship(s) featured within. Don't like, don't read, don't flame. Simple really, though seemingly not simple enough for some dim witted clots out there. Additionally, this story contains non-detailed mention of rape and sexual child abuse.
Legal disclaimer: I never have, nor ever will, owned the rights to the setting of the Harry Potter books or the characters featured within. The use of said settings and characters by me is for non-commercial purposes only and does not mean to infringe upon the given legal rights that belong to Ms. J.K.Rowling and those she has associated them with.
DESPERATION
By T'Reija (September 2001)
Many people do not have a real understanding of what it means to be poor. For them, it's 'work hard and you will gain'.
I know what hard work is. I've worked 16 hours a day at times. I've spent days getting up at 5 am in the morning and getting home at 10 pm in the evening, the hours in between spent with labour. I've worked till my back ached, in jobs that others would not do even for more money. I've cut short on all the pleasantries of life, for money's sake. I've been laughed at for my shabby clothes, pitied, shunned for my poverty. Imagine, a fully trained wizard, amongst the best of the year, doing a Squib's work.
I'm a werewolf, and it's not easy to get a job if you are, sooner or later the secret will always be revealed, sooner or later you'll be fired at short notice, sooner or later they will dig up excuses, blame you, tell you your work was second-class, just to get rid of you.
Back when I was with Sirius, it was not a financial problem. He could support both of us with what he earned. Those times were wonderful, don't get me wrong, but there was a shadow hanging over them, even before we suspected each other of spying for Voldemort. He told me time and again not to worry about money, that it wasn't important. For me, it was. I didn't want to be dependant; I wanted our relationship to be even, allowing us to concentrate on our love for each other, not on things like money.
But the thought of Sirius Black, my sexy, romantic, gorgeous and deadly ex-lover hurts too much to be allowed to run free.
They also say that money doesn't count.
They are so wrong.
When you're rich, or at least well off, I agree, then money isn't that important, and should not be made so.
When you are poor, however, it means the key to the world, which lies behind a locked door. When you are poor, people will turn away from you.
Poverty is disgracing, too. Imagine an oblivious friend asking you whether you'd like to come along to the pub, and you decline, each and every time, not wanting to tell the truth. Loosing friends is easy that way, because you are to proud to tell, and they will think it has something to do with your friendship.
Or sitting in a restaurant with friends, ordering a glass of water, stating you're not hungry, though your stomach rumbles loudly, while the others order their menus. Soon, you cannot enjoy going anywhere, with anyone, anymore. You don't *want* to avoid your friends, you don't *want* to become anti-social, but even less, you want to admit being poor.
Don't want to see the look of pity on their faces. Don't want them taking you out for dinner, inviting you for supper, don't want them bringing you anything they've bought extra for you, though they state it's something old they've wanted to get rid of for ages.
You don't want to exploit them, don't want to always be on the receiving end, never giving.
You stop going out for the shame of it, you stop attending birthday parties you're invited to because you don't have anything left over for a birthday present. You don't invite people to your house; least they see how shabby it is, and how empty the fridge.
You hate the thought of people finding out, even your best friends. Oh, sure, you'd be getting help from them, but at what cost? Loosing your independence, loosing your self-esteem.
That was what had happened in my relationship with Sirius.
Damn, now I'm thinking about him again.
Long before Voldemort came between us - and I still can't believe it, I can't, my sweet Star, a murderer... - long before the doubts and suspicions set in, our relationship had gotten strained.
It started with small things. Sirius complaining about my old, battered clothes, telling me *he* could afford to buy me new ones. Sirius stating he wanted to eat out one evening, and at my worried look assuring me *he* had the money. Sirius buying anything extravagant, not for himself, but for us, or worse, for me. Sirius, assuring me that better times would come for me, too, knowing it was a lie.
Gradually, I lost my self-esteem. I let him buy me new, fancy clothes, let him pay for meals, let him pay the whole rent. Let him do whatever he pleased, feeling more insecure and disparaged with every day that passed. Soon, I didn't even try to object, didn't even try to explain my hurt to him.
I noticed myself growing cold, even to his touch, even to his love, not because I no longer loved him, but because it hurt.
That was when I started thinking of myself as a whore again.
Now, Sirius is in Azkaban, found guilty - no, no, he can't be, please, don't let him be - of murder, of conspiring with Lord Voldemort. Of killing three of his, of our dearest friends - please let it be a mistake...
And I am back to a life of poverty. In many ways, this is easier, though, being alone. No longer having friends. No one there to ask, no one there who will look at you with pity in their eyes. Sometimes, you have no money for food, but no one will come over with leftovers, and for me, it has always been easier to go without something than getting the feeling I need charity.
And sometimes, you don't have the money to pay your rent, or other things you cannot avoid, and then you need to resort to desperate measures.
When I was a boy, people used to see me as sweet, innocent, pure. Sirius used to.
I wonder what he would say if he could see me now.
Wonder what he'd say if he knew.
I try to earn money by working hard, but sometimes, you just can't work hard enough.
Then you beat your pride, finally, because you don't feel you have anything left, least of all pride.
I have been many things, a beggar, thief and even a whore.
And now, after all this, after everything working against me, after my pride and self-esteem have finally subsided, after I've resorted to such means for survival, this letter arrived.
A letter written on heavy, expensive parchment, with a luxurious seal on it.
A letter from Dumbledore.
A letter offering me a future, a job at Hogwarts, my old school. Not as a janitor, or gardener, or anything else of the things I have done before.
A teaching job. Defence Against the Dark Arts.
Perhaps that can give me back at least some of the self-esteem I've gradually lost over the years.
Then I heard he was still there.
I was actually on the way to the public owlery to post my refusal when, upon passing a newspaper stand, I saw that Sirius Black had escaped Azkaban. I suddenly knew why Dumbledore had requested me specifically, and it gave me quite mixed feelings. I was glad I was getting a job because of my talent, my knowledge, a good job. But I didn't want to work against Sirius.
But as much as it hurt, it had to be done. James... I had to at least protect his son.
Some sort of obscure loyalty had still hindered me to report that Padfoot was an animagus... but if I refused to tell, I had to be there personally, as the only living person left who knew that the castle's safety measures would not automatically hold back Black. This may sound egoistic to you, and it may be - after all, they'd learnt the transformation for my sake... but still, Sirius had been my lover, I had loved him. Even if he was a murderer, I still loved him, though I could never again let him into my bed, or my soul.
I also couldn't stop loving him.
So I kept my silence and accepted the job.
And now I'm back here, back at Hogwarts.
Back with all the memories.
The memories of Sirius, and the memories of pain.
No one except Sirius knows I've been sexually abused as a child, two years before I'd come to Hogwarts. My own recollection of it is very blurred, I don't really remember it, except that I've had flashes sometimes. My mother had told me, before she'd died, apologizing for the way she'd handled it, not telling anyone, hushing it up because I couldn't describe the boy who'd done it, I hadn't been penetrated or anything so there wasn't any evidence, and she didn't want the people talking about me any more than they already were.
Sirius and I came together in our seventh, our last year, when we were both 18, but he wasn't the first one I'd been with - neither was I for him. He had been dating, and yes, sleeping with girls since he'd been sixteen, and quite enthusiastically.
And I had been bonking around, though no one ever knew. Sweet, innocent Remus Lupin would never do such a thing; degrade himself to being a tart, right?
The first time was when I was fifteen, with some boy from Hufflepuff. He hadn't been very gentle, and he hadn't very much considered my pleasure. We went out for a week or so, careful not to let anyone know - even in the wizarding world, homosexuality is often not accepted - then I told him I didn't want us to meet again. He pursued me for months afterwards, but never did more than casting me long, hurt looks, dropping notes in my books during class or writing me long letters begging me to give him another chance.
After that, it continued. I knew there was only one person I really wanted, the one in which I had found my soul mate, but I knew - or thought so, at the time - that I could never have him. So I turned to others. Some were nice experiences, not love, but comfortable, nice and passionate sex, without great expectations, without violence, anger or hate. Not entirely fulfilling, but pleasurable for what they were. Others weren't so good. Lucius Malfoy from Slytherin, for example, a boy two years ahead of me, was violent, but although I didn't much care for what he did to me, my protests were feeble.
The worst was Severus Snape, an unpleasant Slytherin boy of our age. He'd always been looking at me in a strange way, but I had thought it to be mere loathing. Until one day, or rather, one evening, when we had detention together. We were supposed to clean out a disused classroom that had been used as a storage room from the school times of Nearly Headless Nick, it seemed, and he made a pass at me.
I was tempted, yes, and I admit I hadn't refused his kisses, but rather enjoyed them at first. But something about him, about the way he touched me, so rough, with such coldness in his eyes, made me ask him to stop. Snape had sneered, and had asked me whether I really thought I had a choice in the whole business. Then he raped me. That was when I was sixteen.
From then on, all resolve I'd once had was gone, I'd play fuck toy for anyone, repeatedly for Snape himself, just to get rid of the hurt feeling, thinking I'd simply go numb one day, I'd just stop feeling hurt or pain. That I'd grow cold, and eventually, I did. Roughness and violence from the people I slept with no longer really touched me, my mind just flew away.
I was trying to punish myself, for things that weren't my fault.
I was trying to kill myself, if not my body, then at least my soul.
An no one ever asked, no one ever inquired where I was those nights I stayed away late, perhaps because they knew that Remus Lupin was often brooding about one thing or the other, perhaps wanting to leave me alone. Only James and Sirius asked, but I always assured them everything was fine, and took double care to leave only late at night when everyone was sleeping.
And then, in the middle of my seventh year at Hogwarts, Sirius and I came together. Sirius had followed me one night, and he'd seen me with Snape. He told me that at first he'd wanted to turn away again, hurt that I'd never told him, not understanding because it was Snape, but nevertheless wanting to give me privacy, but something had stopped him, something hadn't seemed quite right.
He'd come into the classroom, and after a brief verbal fight Snape left the room. I'd been quiet all the while.
To cut a long story short, I told Sirius everything, from the childhood abuse up to Snape raping me, and my feelings of uselessness. I even told him there was someone, a boy, I felt I truly loved, but that he was straight and so my unrequited love was one more reason I felt I had to punish myself. At first I thought he was revolted, his eyes narrowed and everything, but when his soft embrace grew stronger, though not unpleasantly so, I knew his rage was not directed at me, but at Snape and all others who had used and abused me.
Then he asked me whether that person I was in love with was him, by any chance, and at my blushing nod, he gently stroked away a strand of hair from my face and told me he'd been feeling the same way about me for some time, but also hadn't thought I could return it.
Not much happened after that, we didn't do more than kiss for five months, though everyone teased us about it, not knowing about the preceding events, of course. I wanted to, I asked Sirius to help me forget, but he looked at me with those dark eyes of his and told me that if he slept with me now, I would not forget. I would, however, not really be with him, just with the person who could drive away the memories.
Then, Sirius tried to kill Snape, exposing him, unknowingly, to a werewolf - me. No one ever knew, even James thought Sirius had wanted to play a prank - a dangerous, stupid, impudent prank, but still a prank. I was the only one to know that it was planned murder, revenge for me, rage at what Snape had done. I never approved, but I understood. The wolf in me wanted to kill, and kill Severus Snape specifically, not just any human. Perhaps everyone has wolf inside them somewhere, a basic animalistic instinct.
My love for Sirius never lessened. Not even now that I know what he's done.
After five months, just after our NEWTs, we were already half-packed to leave Hogwarts forever (or so I thought), it did finally happen, and afterwards I knew he had been right to make me wait that long, for when I slept with him then, it was really making love, not a means to drive away unwanted memories. It was pure and it was good, and it was love.
I had found my nightmare and my soul mate at Hogwarts.
My nightmare is still there, working as a teacher.
My love, escaped prisoner of Azkaban, found guilty for murder, is suspected there, trying to get to Harry Potter, his once best friend's son.
And I have no longing to meet either of them, because to manage that I will need strength, I will need pride, and I will need self-control.
I don't know if I have any of those left.
Yet, I have to go.
END