Deform'd, Unfinish'd, Sent Before My Time (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
blanketforts Day 12)
Jan. 14th, 2006 12:04 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rosie_ruesTitle: Deform'd, Unfinish'd, Sent Before My Time
Rating: PG for language.
Disclaimer: They're not mine. I'm just borrowing them because I like them.
Wordcount: 1357
Prompt: Dog leaving prints in the snow
Notes: I go for a three day moon. In January 1979 that's the 11th to the 13th. Moonset to sunrise, outside the tunnel to the Shrieking Shack. Title from Richard III
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12
Snow.
So white-cold the world, so heavy-wet-cold clinging to his paws. The moon is bright; he is dark. The snow is white; his prints black.
The wolf turns, held at bay by the stag.
The dog crouches; growls; herds the wolf away.
The moon is sinking, falling as the star-net fades.
Turn, turn again.
The rat squeals warning and they plunge forward, dog, stag, wolf. Turn the wolf, turn him.
The whole world is turning.
Out of the forest, through the ghost-grey trees. The boughs are cracking under the ice. The sky is as deep-dark as forever.
The wolf lunges, breaks free towards the lake. The dog follows, baying, and the stag runs, snow skittering up from his hooves. They clash on the ice: fur, antler, claw, spinning as paws and hooves slip and slither. Then the wolf is forced back, shoved towards the shore with threat and jab.
They press him through the edges of the forest. He snarls and backs his way through the forest, his pelt grey-dappled through the veils of the moonshadows.
The sky is lightening, far beyond the forest. The stag lifts his head in the old signal and then leaps away, the rat clinging to his antlers.
Dog and wolf.
The wolf charges, testing, wild for freedom. The dog leaps, knocking him from the air, and they crash down. They circle, the snow splashing around them. This is an old game.
The wolf feints.
The dog snarls.
There’s the crash and thunder of the stag’s approach and the wolf throws his head back and howls, feral lamentation to the winter sky. The dog hunches. He will not be distracted.
The wolf knows it, his mind returning with the hints of the morning. He leaps away, passing the stag as he approaches, without the rat. The stag startles sideways and then shakes his antlers, as if in annoyance. Then they both plunge after the wolf.
The rat is already under the tree and the branches are still, wracked in the air, reaching for the sky. They force the wolf into the tunnel and then leap backwards.
The rat moves and the branches whip down, reaching and angry. The rat dashes out, prints eyelash-fine on the snow. The stag bows his head to them and then leaps away, bounding through the forest, the morning light glimmering until he seems to be made of light; almost unreal.
The rat curls up and then stretches…
...stretches…
…and there is a man standing there, rolling his shoulders out.
The dog growls at the Willow once more and changes.
“I still think Dumbledore will have a fit it he finds out,” Peter said. “I do. Don’t you? Don’t you, Sirius, eh?”
Sirius shrugged and walked away from the willow. “No one else needs the Shack. What does he expect? That we’ll let Remus hurt himself in some ministry cage?”
“I should hope Dumbledore doesn’t know that we know,” Peter said sharply and shook his hands out. “I’m hungry.”
“You’re always hungry.” The colour had flooded back into the world and he felt like sinking back into the dog, into black-and-white, tooth-and-claw.
“Need a fag.” Peter was still twitching. Rat-mannered prat.
“Tough.” How long did they have to wait?
“It’s about ten to seven now. When do you need to be at work?”
“Nine.” He didn’t want to go. There was no Pomfrey now; no one to mend the horrors of the night.
“I’ve got a late start today. I can stay with him until ten or so. Get him home.”
“Cheers.” He wanted to stay himself.
“Your place or Bognor?”
“Mine,” snapped Sirius. Wasn’t that obvious?
“You shagging him again, then?”
Sirius glared at him. How many times did he have to tell people there was nothing going on?
Peter was scrabbling through his pockets. He emerged with a pack of Rizlas and a tin. “Hah!” He glanced at Sirius. “What? What about New Year?”
“New Year didn’t happen,” Sirius said, dropping onto a protruding root and watching the Willow lash the sky. The snow stuck wetly to the back of his robes.
“My eyes must have deceived me.”
“It didn’t happen. It would have been wrong.”
“Incendio. What do you mean wrong? I’ve seen your poster collection, you daft pervert. You don’t have issues.”
“Not because I’m gay,” Sirius muttered.
Peter stared at him incredulously. “You fancy Remus. Remus fancies you. You went out with him for months – and, may I add, provided my young and innocent brain with significant trauma.”
“Yeah, and look how that ended.”
Peter squinted at the sky. “James and Snivellus didn’t get eaten. You and Remus didn’t get expelled. You got dumped.”
“I did not get dumped. Give me a fag.”
“You dumped him? You are a bit of a wanker, aren’t you, Pads?”
“Fag.”
“Thought you didn’t smoke?”
“Don’t. Not round Moony.” Sirius glared at the Willow again. Surely the moon had set.
“Catch. He’s obviously forgiven you.”
Sirius huddled onto his root. The snow was soaking through the bottom of his robes and his toes felt like slugs from the cold. He lit the cigarette and cradled it between lips and hands, not drawing on it. The small heat seemed too unfair when Remus was hurting down there.
“Padfoot.”
“Wormtail.”
Peter tapped his foot against the ground, twitching. “Not forgiven then.”
“Dunno. Leave it.”
The stag came back through the trees and shook himself down into James Potter.
“Howling’s stopped. You two alright?”
“Padfoot’s not right in the head,” Peter said.
“Old news, Wormtail, old news.”
Sirius pushed up. “Let us in, then, Pete.”
“Not until you talk.”
Sirius whirled. Remus was hurting. How dare he?
Peter glared back. “Prongs, he dumped Moony.”
“No, he didn’t,” James said automatically. “Moony dumped him because he was a bit of wanker. Can’t blame him, really, but he’s a bit of a git for holding a grudge all this time.”
“He is not,” Sirius growled, looking between them. He couldn’t hit both of them at once. “Let me into the passage.”
“Padfoot dumped him,” Peter said patiently. “He just told me.”
James turned to glare at Sirius, the dawn reflecting off his glasses. “Padfoot?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Sirius muttered, eyeing the Willow. He could make a run for it. “Bad idea, anyway. Deserves better.”
James looked at Peter. “You hold, I hit?”
Peter shrugged. “Full body-bind. Then we both hit.”
“What are you wankers on about? Let me in, Wormtail.”
“Don’t,” James said quietly and it was his Head Boy voice. “Why, Sirius?”
They couldn’t just leave it, could they? “Fucking betrayed him.”
“I thought you were meant to apologise for things like that. Or have I missed some of the relationship wisdom of Sirius Black?”
“Might do it again.”
There was a silence, broken only by Peter huffing around his fag and the snow creaking under James’ feet. Then James said coolly, “Full body-bind, we hit and then I give him to Lily. To roast.”
Sirius looked at him, startled. James was meant to understand these things. Not get angry. “He can’t trust me, Prongs. Wouldn’t be right.”
“Have you asked him that?”
He shuffled, pushing at the snow with his feet, erasing pawprints. “No.”
“I trust you.”
“And so do I,” Peter added.
“I don’t. Let me in.”
“Go on, Wormtail.” James waited until Peter transformed and then said softly, “There’s a war on.”
“I know that.”
“Do you? Do you know it in your bones? Do you know it every time you look at someone and wonder if they’ll be next? I’m the one who has to tell people their children are dead. Every time I look at Lily, I know, and I’m fucking scared, Pads. And maybe he’s less of a target than her and maybe he’s more, but you can’t waste a chance.”
Sirius closed his eyes against the sting of the cold sunrise. “Lily’s safe with you, mate. And, yeah, I know there’s a war on and I’d do anything, absolutely anything, to get us all through. He’s not safe with me.”
The branches of the Willow stilled and Sirius stepped forward through them.
Remus was waiting.
Rating: PG for language.
Disclaimer: They're not mine. I'm just borrowing them because I like them.
Wordcount: 1357
Prompt: Dog leaving prints in the snow
Notes: I go for a three day moon. In January 1979 that's the 11th to the 13th. Moonset to sunrise, outside the tunnel to the Shrieking Shack. Title from Richard III
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12
Snow.
So white-cold the world, so heavy-wet-cold clinging to his paws. The moon is bright; he is dark. The snow is white; his prints black.
The wolf turns, held at bay by the stag.
The dog crouches; growls; herds the wolf away.
The moon is sinking, falling as the star-net fades.
Turn, turn again.
The rat squeals warning and they plunge forward, dog, stag, wolf. Turn the wolf, turn him.
The whole world is turning.
Out of the forest, through the ghost-grey trees. The boughs are cracking under the ice. The sky is as deep-dark as forever.
The wolf lunges, breaks free towards the lake. The dog follows, baying, and the stag runs, snow skittering up from his hooves. They clash on the ice: fur, antler, claw, spinning as paws and hooves slip and slither. Then the wolf is forced back, shoved towards the shore with threat and jab.
They press him through the edges of the forest. He snarls and backs his way through the forest, his pelt grey-dappled through the veils of the moonshadows.
The sky is lightening, far beyond the forest. The stag lifts his head in the old signal and then leaps away, the rat clinging to his antlers.
Dog and wolf.
The wolf charges, testing, wild for freedom. The dog leaps, knocking him from the air, and they crash down. They circle, the snow splashing around them. This is an old game.
The wolf feints.
The dog snarls.
There’s the crash and thunder of the stag’s approach and the wolf throws his head back and howls, feral lamentation to the winter sky. The dog hunches. He will not be distracted.
The wolf knows it, his mind returning with the hints of the morning. He leaps away, passing the stag as he approaches, without the rat. The stag startles sideways and then shakes his antlers, as if in annoyance. Then they both plunge after the wolf.
The rat is already under the tree and the branches are still, wracked in the air, reaching for the sky. They force the wolf into the tunnel and then leap backwards.
The rat moves and the branches whip down, reaching and angry. The rat dashes out, prints eyelash-fine on the snow. The stag bows his head to them and then leaps away, bounding through the forest, the morning light glimmering until he seems to be made of light; almost unreal.
The rat curls up and then stretches…
...stretches…
…and there is a man standing there, rolling his shoulders out.
The dog growls at the Willow once more and changes.
“I still think Dumbledore will have a fit it he finds out,” Peter said. “I do. Don’t you? Don’t you, Sirius, eh?”
Sirius shrugged and walked away from the willow. “No one else needs the Shack. What does he expect? That we’ll let Remus hurt himself in some ministry cage?”
“I should hope Dumbledore doesn’t know that we know,” Peter said sharply and shook his hands out. “I’m hungry.”
“You’re always hungry.” The colour had flooded back into the world and he felt like sinking back into the dog, into black-and-white, tooth-and-claw.
“Need a fag.” Peter was still twitching. Rat-mannered prat.
“Tough.” How long did they have to wait?
“It’s about ten to seven now. When do you need to be at work?”
“Nine.” He didn’t want to go. There was no Pomfrey now; no one to mend the horrors of the night.
“I’ve got a late start today. I can stay with him until ten or so. Get him home.”
“Cheers.” He wanted to stay himself.
“Your place or Bognor?”
“Mine,” snapped Sirius. Wasn’t that obvious?
“You shagging him again, then?”
Sirius glared at him. How many times did he have to tell people there was nothing going on?
Peter was scrabbling through his pockets. He emerged with a pack of Rizlas and a tin. “Hah!” He glanced at Sirius. “What? What about New Year?”
“New Year didn’t happen,” Sirius said, dropping onto a protruding root and watching the Willow lash the sky. The snow stuck wetly to the back of his robes.
“My eyes must have deceived me.”
“It didn’t happen. It would have been wrong.”
“Incendio. What do you mean wrong? I’ve seen your poster collection, you daft pervert. You don’t have issues.”
“Not because I’m gay,” Sirius muttered.
Peter stared at him incredulously. “You fancy Remus. Remus fancies you. You went out with him for months – and, may I add, provided my young and innocent brain with significant trauma.”
“Yeah, and look how that ended.”
Peter squinted at the sky. “James and Snivellus didn’t get eaten. You and Remus didn’t get expelled. You got dumped.”
“I did not get dumped. Give me a fag.”
“You dumped him? You are a bit of a wanker, aren’t you, Pads?”
“Fag.”
“Thought you didn’t smoke?”
“Don’t. Not round Moony.” Sirius glared at the Willow again. Surely the moon had set.
“Catch. He’s obviously forgiven you.”
Sirius huddled onto his root. The snow was soaking through the bottom of his robes and his toes felt like slugs from the cold. He lit the cigarette and cradled it between lips and hands, not drawing on it. The small heat seemed too unfair when Remus was hurting down there.
“Padfoot.”
“Wormtail.”
Peter tapped his foot against the ground, twitching. “Not forgiven then.”
“Dunno. Leave it.”
The stag came back through the trees and shook himself down into James Potter.
“Howling’s stopped. You two alright?”
“Padfoot’s not right in the head,” Peter said.
“Old news, Wormtail, old news.”
Sirius pushed up. “Let us in, then, Pete.”
“Not until you talk.”
Sirius whirled. Remus was hurting. How dare he?
Peter glared back. “Prongs, he dumped Moony.”
“No, he didn’t,” James said automatically. “Moony dumped him because he was a bit of wanker. Can’t blame him, really, but he’s a bit of a git for holding a grudge all this time.”
“He is not,” Sirius growled, looking between them. He couldn’t hit both of them at once. “Let me into the passage.”
“Padfoot dumped him,” Peter said patiently. “He just told me.”
James turned to glare at Sirius, the dawn reflecting off his glasses. “Padfoot?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Sirius muttered, eyeing the Willow. He could make a run for it. “Bad idea, anyway. Deserves better.”
James looked at Peter. “You hold, I hit?”
Peter shrugged. “Full body-bind. Then we both hit.”
“What are you wankers on about? Let me in, Wormtail.”
“Don’t,” James said quietly and it was his Head Boy voice. “Why, Sirius?”
They couldn’t just leave it, could they? “Fucking betrayed him.”
“I thought you were meant to apologise for things like that. Or have I missed some of the relationship wisdom of Sirius Black?”
“Might do it again.”
There was a silence, broken only by Peter huffing around his fag and the snow creaking under James’ feet. Then James said coolly, “Full body-bind, we hit and then I give him to Lily. To roast.”
Sirius looked at him, startled. James was meant to understand these things. Not get angry. “He can’t trust me, Prongs. Wouldn’t be right.”
“Have you asked him that?”
He shuffled, pushing at the snow with his feet, erasing pawprints. “No.”
“I trust you.”
“And so do I,” Peter added.
“I don’t. Let me in.”
“Go on, Wormtail.” James waited until Peter transformed and then said softly, “There’s a war on.”
“I know that.”
“Do you? Do you know it in your bones? Do you know it every time you look at someone and wonder if they’ll be next? I’m the one who has to tell people their children are dead. Every time I look at Lily, I know, and I’m fucking scared, Pads. And maybe he’s less of a target than her and maybe he’s more, but you can’t waste a chance.”
Sirius closed his eyes against the sting of the cold sunrise. “Lily’s safe with you, mate. And, yeah, I know there’s a war on and I’d do anything, absolutely anything, to get us all through. He’s not safe with me.”
The branches of the Willow stilled and Sirius stepped forward through them.
Remus was waiting.
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no subject
Date: 2006-01-14 04:48 am (UTC)Great chapter, anyway, the simplistic style fits the mood, and as always, your Marauder!frienship is spotless. :)
no subject
Date: 2006-01-14 11:27 am (UTC)I really want to experiment a bit with the dog-perspective. The slightly impressionistic style was fun. I don't often let myself go with descriptive writing these days.
Thanks for the comment :)
no subject
Date: 2006-01-16 01:58 am (UTC)I loved Peter twitching every so often while in human form -- really nice touch.
no subject
Date: 2006-01-16 09:30 am (UTC)I had a lot of fun with the d0g-perspective, playing with light and colour.
Thanks for the comment :)
no subject
Date: 2007-08-28 04:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-25 09:28 pm (UTC)