Drabble, absolute drabble. I blame LadyJaida.
Yes, there is more, no I will not post it yet - if ever. I am trying to get it polished - it is not working.
-the nameless drabble!-
I wonder when I will finally decide to stop living. I shouldn't have to think about that, but I find myself dwelling on life more and more. There will be no seekage of death, I have work to do...I cannot allow his death to be in vain, and so I continue to wake up with that horrid portrait screaming obscenities. I continue to stagger into the kitchen for coffee, pushing past the other occupants of Number Twelve Grimauld Place, mumbling "excuse me please", "coffee if you would...black, thank you..." "yes, yes, good morning", and other niceties when necessary.
One could say that living helps pass the time until I am dead. One could also say, were he so inclined, that I am not really alive at all. Severus commented on this at the last meeting. Rather, he waited until it was over to approach me about this matter- he is ever the one for privacy, and I cannot say but that I was grateful. I must wonder at his reasoning, I know very well that Severus held no love for Sirius Black. Nor myself, really...but I do not blame him for that. I imagine I would have been surprised under any other circumstances, or were I more my old self. As it were, I simply smiled at him and excused myself quickly murmuring that I had business to attend.
Dumbledore must sense the change in me as well; his missives become more and more infrequent - as has happened with all the others. Perhaps he fears as they do - that I would purposely charge blindly into mortal battle with a Death Eater, or something that would have equally disastrous results. I would not. As loathe as I am to continue life this way, I find it preferable to being tortured to death by one of Voldemort's lackeys.
Remus Lupin set down his quill and gently closed the cover on his battered and worn brown leather journal and closed his eyes wearily. Some great years ago, it had been a gift from Lily Potter, and he had treasured it since. The book had blank pages yet; Lupin wrote in a form of shorthand decipherable only to himself that took up little space but was always perfectly clear to him. The passage he'd just scribed had taken but a third of a page, date included.
What he needed was a good stiff drink, and a good night's sleep; at least, that's what Remus told himself to quiet the tiny voice inside that said what he really needed was to make peace with himself. That seemed not only highly improbable, but nigh well impossible in his current state. Always Lupin had been shabbily dressed, with shaggy, unkempt hair and patches on his robes. That had not changed, but always before he'd been meticulously clean, and so his appearance had been rather charming in that bookish way. Now, he could barely be bothered with things of that nature. He had no one he wanted to impress, no one to woo, and certainly no one to gently pluck his books away when it was bath time.
"Ah, fate! I would rail against you - heartless Bitch that you are! - Save I know it would do nothing." More often than not, Remus found himself thinking aloud and along those veins.
Yes, there is more, no I will not post it yet - if ever. I am trying to get it polished - it is not working.
-the nameless drabble!-
I wonder when I will finally decide to stop living. I shouldn't have to think about that, but I find myself dwelling on life more and more. There will be no seekage of death, I have work to do...I cannot allow his death to be in vain, and so I continue to wake up with that horrid portrait screaming obscenities. I continue to stagger into the kitchen for coffee, pushing past the other occupants of Number Twelve Grimauld Place, mumbling "excuse me please", "coffee if you would...black, thank you..." "yes, yes, good morning", and other niceties when necessary.
One could say that living helps pass the time until I am dead. One could also say, were he so inclined, that I am not really alive at all. Severus commented on this at the last meeting. Rather, he waited until it was over to approach me about this matter- he is ever the one for privacy, and I cannot say but that I was grateful. I must wonder at his reasoning, I know very well that Severus held no love for Sirius Black. Nor myself, really...but I do not blame him for that. I imagine I would have been surprised under any other circumstances, or were I more my old self. As it were, I simply smiled at him and excused myself quickly murmuring that I had business to attend.
Dumbledore must sense the change in me as well; his missives become more and more infrequent - as has happened with all the others. Perhaps he fears as they do - that I would purposely charge blindly into mortal battle with a Death Eater, or something that would have equally disastrous results. I would not. As loathe as I am to continue life this way, I find it preferable to being tortured to death by one of Voldemort's lackeys.
Remus Lupin set down his quill and gently closed the cover on his battered and worn brown leather journal and closed his eyes wearily. Some great years ago, it had been a gift from Lily Potter, and he had treasured it since. The book had blank pages yet; Lupin wrote in a form of shorthand decipherable only to himself that took up little space but was always perfectly clear to him. The passage he'd just scribed had taken but a third of a page, date included.
What he needed was a good stiff drink, and a good night's sleep; at least, that's what Remus told himself to quiet the tiny voice inside that said what he really needed was to make peace with himself. That seemed not only highly improbable, but nigh well impossible in his current state. Always Lupin had been shabbily dressed, with shaggy, unkempt hair and patches on his robes. That had not changed, but always before he'd been meticulously clean, and so his appearance had been rather charming in that bookish way. Now, he could barely be bothered with things of that nature. He had no one he wanted to impress, no one to woo, and certainly no one to gently pluck his books away when it was bath time.
"Ah, fate! I would rail against you - heartless Bitch that you are! - Save I know it would do nothing." More often than not, Remus found himself thinking aloud and along those veins.