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HP: Aphelion (Remus Lupin)

Title: Aphelion
Author: voleuse
Fandom: Harry Potter
Character: Remus Lupin
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: He was alone when he woke.
Notes: Pre-series

The day of the full moon, Remus very carefully swept the whole of his flat. He polished his silverware (five spoons, two forks, and a table knife), and polished his kitchen table the Muggle way, with cloth and a lemon-scented solution.

He made sure his laundry had been done, restocked the cupboard with chocolate and tea, and set bandages and antiseptic out on his bedside table.


His mother's eyes were sad as she settled him into bed. He wanted to shiver, wanted to cry, but he knew she would, too, if he gave in.

He smiled at her, and asked that she draw the drapes closed, extra-tight. He asked for a drink of water. He asked for a song.

And his father brought the manacles in, and the metal burned against his wrists. He winced at the contact, but didn't protest.

He wouldn't feel it for long.


By the time he had everything in order, the sun was already setting. He cast a silencing charm over the door to his flat, over the windows. He hoped the rugs, piled three-high on the floor, would be enough to muffle the noise from his neighbors downstairs.

Then, Remus retreated to his bedroom and removed his clothing, folding it precisely and setting it on the bed. For good measure, he cast another silencing charm over his bedroom door, then set his wand next to his clothing on the bed.


He hated the way the sound bounced in the root-entwined tunnel underneath the Whomping Willow. His shoes crunched against clods of dirt, and he wrinkled his nose at the smell of damp and mold.

When he emerged from the tunnel, into the dank corridor of the Shrieking Shack, a more pleasant smell met him: Tea, and licorice, and a ham sandwich.

"Moony," Sirius called, swinging over the rickety staircase without a care for the leaning banister. "Wormtail's gone all domestic on us."

Peter emerged from the ramshackle kitchen with a plate in hand, his blush only superceded by his scowl. "It's just a sandwich."

"My favorite sort." Remus smiled at him, and took the sandwich with murmured thanks.

James hopped around in the foyer, shedding his shoes and socks. "Is there enough time for tea, do you think?" He pulled his jumper over his head.

Sirius snorted. "Save your exhibitionist tendencies for--"


A shoving match commenced and, grinning, Remus followed Peter into the kitchen.


In the corner of Remus' bedroom, there sat a chair. It was solid, sturdy oak. Draped over the seat of the chair was a blanket, a single concession to the evening's chill.

When he settled in the chair, it did not creak, nor did it yield.

He muttered in Latin, triggering a spell already in place, and the arms of the chair shifted, encircled, bound.

He felt the sun set, and waited, resigned, for the moon to rise.



( 2 comments — Leave a comment )
Jan. 1st, 2008 05:52 pm (UTC)
Oh, Moony. This broke my heart into little bits. You captured his loneliness so well!
Jan. 5th, 2008 12:47 am (UTC)
I'm trying
This feels a little forced - like your trying to fit into some prescribed language format. It might fit into the HP series - maybe - but it lacks the fluidity that Rowling exhibits (of course, since she is writing in her native tongue, and that is difficult to emulate).
( 2 comments — Leave a comment )

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