First Fall (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
scarvesnhats - Third prompt)
Oct. 4th, 2005 12:34 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rosie_ruesTitle: First Fall
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine, I just like them.
Wordcount: 907
Prompt: Out in the woods of autumn! I have cast
Aside the shackles of the town, that vex
The fetterless soul, and come to hide myself
Notes: Sixth year. Pre-slash. There are some letters he doesn’t want to read.
He didn’t want to open it. Really, there was no reason why he should. They were nothing to do with him any more. All the same he turned it over and over in his hands as he leant back against the rough trunk of the tree. The yellowed parchment felt grimy in his hands, as if it was imbued with all the dust and smut of the London air. Even the wax of the seal was black, two serpents entwined, biting each other’s tails. The wax had softened a little in the post but he could still make out some of the letters around the edge of the seal – the ornate T and the pur as if that side of the seal had been pressed down with extra force.
There were perfectly good reasons not to open it. It was probably cursed and would undoubtedly be unpleasant. It was perfectly acceptable to ignore it – discretion, after all, was the guardian of purity. However, he was the Black’s black sheep, the disgrace, the brave one, rather than the cunning one, and it was inevitable that he would open it.
Just not now.
He shoved it back into his pocket and leant back. The wide leaves of the horse chestnut were layered above him, the yellow showing in streaks around their edges. Conkers hung in thick green clusters, their cases dangerously spiked. This was not London and he tried his hardest to pretend there was no such place, that there were only trees and the smell of fading leaves and the light gold and green around him.
The letter was too heavy, though, and he sighed and shifted on the branch, trying to find a way to balance that didn’t press quite so uncomfortably on sensitive places. The branch shook, conkers rained down around him and he covered his face with his arms. When the shaking stopped he lowered his arms to find that the fine spikes of the seed cases had snagged in the rough material of his robes. He threw back his head and laughed before he began to pluck them off and toss them away.
There was a startled yelp and someone called, “Sirius?”
Bugger. He froze, drawing his legs up slowly in the hope he would be less obvious that way.
Remus appeared beneath him, his head tilted in query as he stared up. Sirius glared down at him, the full-strength, ancient-and-noble-House stare.
“Are you deliberately hiding in the prickliest place possible?”
“Yes,” Sirius said and continued to stare down at him. He looked like autumn down there, all faded hues and hints of bitterness.
“You’re daft, then. The barrage of conkers was a giveaway. Can I come up?”
Sirius considered it, scowling. He did not want to talk about it. On the other hand, if there was anyone he was going to not talk about it with, Remus was the best. James, almost-brother, that he was, just didn’t understand the mess that was family and Peter couldn’t take it seriously.
“Where are the others?”
“Lily’s brewing potions, Peter’s watching her and Prongs went for a run.”
So Sirius reached down. Remus grasped his hand and scrambled up, limber and neat. Sirius, who moved with a chaotic grace, was intrigued by that neatness. What was the point?
Remus perched on the next branch, his scarf trailing, and said, “You alright?”
Sirius shrugged. With James he would have brazened it out and it would have ended with someone punching someone and the untimely demise of a lot of good conkers. He didn’t need to lie to Remus. Instead, he bounced on his branch and caught the end of Remus’ scarf.
“Please don’t throttle me.”
Sirius grinned and combed through the fringe of red and yellow wool. “I’m just tidying you up.”
Remus rolled his eyes. “That from Mr If-I-leave-my-boxers-on-the-floor-long-enough-they’ll-clean-themselves.”
“Well, they did,” Sirius said reasonably. “Although I still don’t understand how they started smelling of lavender.”
“I’ll give you one clue. It starts with house and ends with elves.”
“Nah,” Sirius said, already feeling better. “It was Chemisty.”
“Chemistry.”
“Precisely.”
Remus threw his hands up in dismay and then wobbled. He steadied himself against the trunk of the tree, leaning comfortably, and blinked at Sirius. “Do you want to talk about this one?”
Sirius, who had been thinking about how warm that scarf looked and how much of Remus’ warmth would linger if he stole it, felt his mood plummet. “Haven’t read it yet.”
“Sorry.”
“Maybe I should just burn it. Thwart them. Maybe I should send it back. Or maybe I should just read it and not care because it doesn’t matter, does it? It’s nothing to do with me.”
Remus just waited, his eyes grave.
Sirius huffed and pulled the letter out of his pocket. Then, as if he hadn’t been brooding about it all morning, he ripped it apart and hurled the shreds into the yellow leaves. “I’m Sirius,” he said fiercely. “I am not a monster.”
Remus stared at him, wide-eyed. Then he smiled and held out his hand. “Hello, Sirius. I’m Remus and I’m not a monster either.”
Sirius looked at him, at his quiet smile and outstretched hand, and lunged forward to grab it. “Pleased to meet you.”
Then the branch sprang back in protest and, as is always inevitable when one disregards the laws of gravity, Sirius fell out of the tree, dragging Remus, scarf and all, behind him.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine, I just like them.
Wordcount: 907
Prompt: Out in the woods of autumn! I have cast
Aside the shackles of the town, that vex
The fetterless soul, and come to hide myself
Notes: Sixth year. Pre-slash. There are some letters he doesn’t want to read.
He didn’t want to open it. Really, there was no reason why he should. They were nothing to do with him any more. All the same he turned it over and over in his hands as he leant back against the rough trunk of the tree. The yellowed parchment felt grimy in his hands, as if it was imbued with all the dust and smut of the London air. Even the wax of the seal was black, two serpents entwined, biting each other’s tails. The wax had softened a little in the post but he could still make out some of the letters around the edge of the seal – the ornate T and the pur as if that side of the seal had been pressed down with extra force.
There were perfectly good reasons not to open it. It was probably cursed and would undoubtedly be unpleasant. It was perfectly acceptable to ignore it – discretion, after all, was the guardian of purity. However, he was the Black’s black sheep, the disgrace, the brave one, rather than the cunning one, and it was inevitable that he would open it.
Just not now.
He shoved it back into his pocket and leant back. The wide leaves of the horse chestnut were layered above him, the yellow showing in streaks around their edges. Conkers hung in thick green clusters, their cases dangerously spiked. This was not London and he tried his hardest to pretend there was no such place, that there were only trees and the smell of fading leaves and the light gold and green around him.
The letter was too heavy, though, and he sighed and shifted on the branch, trying to find a way to balance that didn’t press quite so uncomfortably on sensitive places. The branch shook, conkers rained down around him and he covered his face with his arms. When the shaking stopped he lowered his arms to find that the fine spikes of the seed cases had snagged in the rough material of his robes. He threw back his head and laughed before he began to pluck them off and toss them away.
There was a startled yelp and someone called, “Sirius?”
Bugger. He froze, drawing his legs up slowly in the hope he would be less obvious that way.
Remus appeared beneath him, his head tilted in query as he stared up. Sirius glared down at him, the full-strength, ancient-and-noble-House stare.
“Are you deliberately hiding in the prickliest place possible?”
“Yes,” Sirius said and continued to stare down at him. He looked like autumn down there, all faded hues and hints of bitterness.
“You’re daft, then. The barrage of conkers was a giveaway. Can I come up?”
Sirius considered it, scowling. He did not want to talk about it. On the other hand, if there was anyone he was going to not talk about it with, Remus was the best. James, almost-brother, that he was, just didn’t understand the mess that was family and Peter couldn’t take it seriously.
“Where are the others?”
“Lily’s brewing potions, Peter’s watching her and Prongs went for a run.”
So Sirius reached down. Remus grasped his hand and scrambled up, limber and neat. Sirius, who moved with a chaotic grace, was intrigued by that neatness. What was the point?
Remus perched on the next branch, his scarf trailing, and said, “You alright?”
Sirius shrugged. With James he would have brazened it out and it would have ended with someone punching someone and the untimely demise of a lot of good conkers. He didn’t need to lie to Remus. Instead, he bounced on his branch and caught the end of Remus’ scarf.
“Please don’t throttle me.”
Sirius grinned and combed through the fringe of red and yellow wool. “I’m just tidying you up.”
Remus rolled his eyes. “That from Mr If-I-leave-my-boxers-on-the-floor-long-enough-they’ll-clean-themselves.”
“Well, they did,” Sirius said reasonably. “Although I still don’t understand how they started smelling of lavender.”
“I’ll give you one clue. It starts with house and ends with elves.”
“Nah,” Sirius said, already feeling better. “It was Chemisty.”
“Chemistry.”
“Precisely.”
Remus threw his hands up in dismay and then wobbled. He steadied himself against the trunk of the tree, leaning comfortably, and blinked at Sirius. “Do you want to talk about this one?”
Sirius, who had been thinking about how warm that scarf looked and how much of Remus’ warmth would linger if he stole it, felt his mood plummet. “Haven’t read it yet.”
“Sorry.”
“Maybe I should just burn it. Thwart them. Maybe I should send it back. Or maybe I should just read it and not care because it doesn’t matter, does it? It’s nothing to do with me.”
Remus just waited, his eyes grave.
Sirius huffed and pulled the letter out of his pocket. Then, as if he hadn’t been brooding about it all morning, he ripped it apart and hurled the shreds into the yellow leaves. “I’m Sirius,” he said fiercely. “I am not a monster.”
Remus stared at him, wide-eyed. Then he smiled and held out his hand. “Hello, Sirius. I’m Remus and I’m not a monster either.”
Sirius looked at him, at his quiet smile and outstretched hand, and lunged forward to grab it. “Pleased to meet you.”
Then the branch sprang back in protest and, as is always inevitable when one disregards the laws of gravity, Sirius fell out of the tree, dragging Remus, scarf and all, behind him.
