Sleeping Beauty

sleeping beauty poisoned and hopeless
far beyond a visible sign of your awakening

failing miserably to find a way to comfort you
far beyond a visible sign of you awakening

and hiding from some poisoned memory
poisoned and hopeless sleeping beauty

The man circled her predatorily, careful not to stray into the moonlight.

Gale locked their eyes, turning slowly to watch his every move. "Who are you?" she asked in a heavy whisper, tilting her head a bit to better peer at him.

He stopped, and he bowed, his sleeves sweeping in large arcs. She started. The ones trusting enough to expose the back of their neck on first meetings were either very dangerous or very stupid. He looked up at her, smiled, and stood erect.

He extended a hand, palm inward. She accepted the gesture and placed her hand, palm down, on top of his. He kept unwavering eye contact, and slowly lowered to kiss her hand. "That which we call a rose by any other word would smell as sweet," he quoted, kissing her hand.

Her lips curled into a soft smile; it was always obvious about intentions with this type. "And by which flower might you be called?"

His lips drew back to reveal his flawless white teeth. "Only by the simplest one there is, and yet the most complex..."

~+~+~+~

Vala woke up alone. It didn't surprise her; she'd been waking up alone for nearly twelve years now. She untangled the vines of sheets, and wrapped a thin, deep green robe around herself. A brown barn owl tapped timidly on the window. She stared at it, a piece of parchment pressed between its beak. Fixing the collar of her robe, she walked to the window, and let the owl in. Unlike other owls, it skipped a trip around the room and landed obediently on the chair. It dropped the note into her hand and flew away, without a treat or a broken leg.

In an unfamiliar cursive where the words inscribed:

he's innocent.

She stared at it long and hard, and crumbling it slightly, she shoved it into a pocket. Barefoot, she made her way down the black marble stairs. She stopped on the last step, her hand slightly gripping the robes near her thigh, and the other touching the marble rail.

"…Macnair was sent for the Dementors, and when he returned Black had escaped. The Prophet has been having a Field Day with it," Saccade reported.

"And no hint of him since?" Saxon asked desperately.

"Afraid not."

"What other stories are there surrounding this?"

"Uh…" she heard a rustling of paper. "Ah, here." He handed the paper to Saxon.

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, mumbling over the words. "… in an attempt to attack Harry Potter…"

Vala reached into her pocket to retrieve the anonymous letter, but when she tried to reread it, the words had vanished. Her brow wrinkled, that was odd.

She stepped down and entered the hallway. Saxon ignored her and continued to read the paper while Saccade turned to watch her. An off-balance smirk crossed his lips. "Morning, Glory."

"Good morning, Saccade… What's that, Saxon?"

His brow furrowed, and he tossed the paper back to Saccade. "Nothing, dear. How did you sleep?"

"Well," she replied, leaning into his chair.

He wrapped an arm around her waist, and pulled her unto his lap.

Saccade shoved the paper into a pocket. "I better be on my way," he smirked. "I've got a lady waiting for me on the stroke of noon."

"Don't follow her into any dark alleyways," Vala reminded. "That run in with the banshee was a close shave."

The smirk grew wider. "Nothing I can't handle, my love." And he left.

"What's this about Harry Potter?" she asked delicately.

Saxon sighed, and shifted under her weight.

"Saxon?" she pressed.

He brought a hand to his chin, and stared off through the window. "Seems our good escapee from Azkaban has paid a little visit to Boy Wonder…"

~+~+~+~

"You're up early," Grant greeted, leaning against the doorframe.

Fae didn't so much as bother to glance at him.

"What are you doing?" he asked, craning his neck to look over her shoulder, though he was too far off to see much.

She held up a finger and shushed him loudly.

He frowned, and propelling himself from the frame, drew closer.

Fae sat cross-legged, cards splayed in front of her. With great ease, she set another down, and tracing a finger above them, calculated silently.

Like a confused parakeet, Grant's head dropped to one side. He could've tweeted.

She sighed heavily, and pulled the cards in. "Damn," she cursed. Society was Hell, and socializing was a game of the damned. When you began speaking, you began making friends, and then you were really cursed. The things people sacrifice for friends… time, love, enjoyment… sleep. When a friend has been cooped up for weeks, you sneak her out for a midnight stroll; when a friend has to finish a model of a house before six tomorrow, you make the furniture and help build the walls; when a friend is harassed, you stand up for her and throw a few punches around… Finally, when things haven't been quite right for your friend, you wake up and worry. Fae had been up since four.

She shuffled the cards again, cut them a few times, brought them together, and began lying them out again.

"Fae?" Grant asked softly. He sat down next to her. "What are you doing?" From the corner of his eye he spotted movement, and turned his head to stare. A quill stood on its tip, scrolling across tiny scraps of paper.

He glanced around him, his brow furrowing. Paper coated the floor. He picked one up.

full moon.

If possible, his eyebrows knitted more tightly, and he picked up another.

the rat.

He twisted to look around him, picking up scraps along the way. Nonsense phrases and words were scrawled across each one.

"Fae?" he addressed, handfuls of the collected paper pressed forward. "What is all of this?"

"What?" she muttered hurriedly, brushing a lock of hair from her eyes, and turning to see what he held. "I don't know," she snapped, lying out another card.

Perhaps for the first, Grant noticed they weren't regular playing cards. She held a stack of colorful and slightly faded oracle cards.

A brown barn owl swooped inside, glared at Grant, and nipped a piece of parchment from him. With the spread of its wings, the owl was out before it had really registered for Grant. "Wha…? Where's he going?"

"Delivering, of course," she snapped.

Grant frowned, and dropped all the shreds of paper unto the floor. "What's going on?"

She turned to look at him, and suddenly she looked extremely tired.

Grant closed his mouth, and slowly dropped his gaze.

Fae rose a hand to Grant's cheek, softly rubbing her thumb across it in circular motions. Touching the back of his neck, she brought him closer, and rested her head on his shoulder. "Grant," she whispered, "It all begins today." And a thick tear rolled down her cheek.

~+~+~+~

"Remus," Vala greeted, an aristocratic taste in her mouth. "How do you feel? I've missed you."

"I…" he wrung his hands. "We have to talk, Vala." A smile tugged at his lips.

She smiled softly. "Of course…" she trailed, observing her surroundings. They were inhabiting a darkened alley, and she wasn't quite sure why. Summer was breathing across the land, and the sun danced in the sky. She'd expect a stroll through a park over an alley; it just wasn't… his way of things. It just wasn't stylish. He never was very fashionable, she reminded with a smirk.

"Have you heard the news today?"

She redirected her eye contact. "No, why?" No, he was nothing compared to--

"Sirius," he said, "He came to Hogwarts."

She stared, and managed to sputter, "Wha-at?"

He handed over the newspaper. "Don't believe everything you hear, but you're--Vala? Are you listening? Snap out of it, Vala."

"Wha-at?" she pleaded from her daze.

"He's been out of Azkaban for long time now, Vala… Vala? You have to keep with me now. Please, if nothing else, just listen to me now…" In an attempt to keep her attention he spoke her name at the end of each statement. He felt like a teacher, helping a child with severe case of ADD grasp the small strings of attention.

"--He came back to Hogwarts, but he wasn't after Harry--" and this he said on the curb of glee. One little push and he might fall into the grass of giddiness.

She stared, and she blinked, but none of it was absorbed. All the vowels and all the constenants fell into a jumbled mess of chaos, and everything she heard was drowned out by the pounding of her confusion.

"--He's innocent, Vala, he's innocent… Peter's alive!"

She reached back, and swung a hit at Remus. "No!" she shouted. "No! He's dead! And Sirius is guilty!" She missed the hit, but her fists balled up none the less, and she kicked at an upturned box. "No!" she repeated. "He killed the Potters and he killed Peter!" She hit Remus' chest. "There were witnesses, Remus! Witnesses!" she insisted. "What did they see?" she demanded. "What did I hear?"

"Vala, Vala!" he tried to reason. He attempted to wrap his arms around her, but she fought, slapping her palms against him and crying.

She broke, and she gave in. "They died, Remus, they died… and he did it. He was their Secret-Keeper, Remus… Why are you doing this to me?"

"Shhh… Shhh…" he cooed softly. "There, there…" He rocked her as much as an upstanding man could, and rubbed her back. "Don't you see, Vala?" he asked gently, pulling back the veil of lies. "It was never Peter who tracked Sirius down, it was the other way around, Sirius tracked Peter down… Peter was their Secret-Keeper."

She looked up with tear-stained cheeks. "What?" she whispered in a hush.

He nodded, and she shook, burying her head into his robes.