moonysmicrofics

[moonysmicrofics]

@moonysmicrofics - June 25 - Peace - 138 words

The battlement cracks behind him, but he doesn't turn to see the damage from the spell that nearly missed his head. Not even as he hears stones strike the soft earth with hollow thuds, stone dust tickling his lungs.

He needs to stay focused. Needs to kill the bastard leering at him, his face red and streaked with sweat and a small trickle of blood.

He doesn't think of his son - he can't afford to lose focus. He doesn't think of his wife. His little family, awash in color. He doesn't wonder if they will be happier if he never comes home.

A flash of green. A moment of clarity.

Remus Lupin feels peace. A greater peace than he ever knew was possible.

He isn't alive to feel his arm break as he hits the ground.

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@moonysmicrofics - jacket - 95 words

Remus spots the jacket immediately after stepping into the secondhand shop. He goes up to it as if it were calling for him, takes it off the hanger, and puts it on.

It’s slightly too big for him, a brown corduroy jacket with worn-out cuffs and the smell of detergent, feeling homely and soft on him. He looks into the mirror and sees himself as a little boy wearing Dad’s corduroy jacket. He looks for a long time, then takes the jacket off and puts it away.

Some memories are too painful to be relived.

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@moonysmicrofics - June 20 - Jacket - 144 words

Molly shook her head as Remus shouldered his knapsack. She held the jumper she had made for him in her hands, squeezing the spongy layers of wool.

“If you could keep it here for me - I don't want it to get stolen.”

He said it almost jokingly, but she had noticed he no longer had a jacket. One of many things she suspected had been stolen since he left for that camp.

He dipped his chin, adjusting the straps on his bag and, for a moment, Molly saw a little boy, alone in the world. Vulnerable. She wanted to bundle him in a coat. Wrap his throat with a scarf and cram a lumpy hat over his roughly chopped hair.

“I'll keep it safe,” she promised, resting a hand on the threadbare sleeve of his shirt. “Make sure you come back for it.”

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@moonysmicrofics - June 19 - Encourage - 102 words

CW: problematic sex

She finds she needs to encourage him. Constantly reassure him.

It's exhausting.

She tells herself he's worth it.

“I love it when you do that.”

“Fuck, that feels good.”

“You can go harder.”

Sometimes he takes forever, trapped inside his own head, thrusting desperately until Tonks is raw and he's exhausted, but she knows he's terrified that she'll laugh if he can't finish. Knows he'll shut her out if his fragile masculinity gets bruised.

So she encourages him through gritted teeth. She doesn't wince at the burn as he grunts softly. Doesn't cry when he's gone the next morning.

He's worth it.

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@moonysmicrofics - June 17 - Momentum - 79 words

He gets through the day on pure momentum.

Everything hurts. Muscles aching from the wolf's wild romp. Joints grinding. Nails torn and ragged.

Momentum.

If he doesn't stop, he can get through. He can pack his meager belongings. Hold his shattered body tall until he leaves the gates.

The tank under his arm digs into his side as he shakes Dumbledore's hand. A fishy scent wafts up from the grungy glass.

He doesn't look back at Harry.

He can't afford to lose momentum.

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@moonysmicrofics - June 16 - Spirit - 40 words

He's searching for the Christmas Spirit at the bottom of a bottle. A needle rests on the table, ready to lend a hand, if need be.

It's the first of twelve Christmases he will spend in the company of ghosts.

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@moonysmicrofics - June 15 - Umbrella - 134 words

The graveyard sank beneath his feet with each step, the wet ground sucking at his one good pair of shoes.

He imagined what would happen if it truly gave way, dragging him down amongst the mud and worms and rotting corpses. The idea was comforting.

Around him, mourners clutched at umbrellas, pulling up hoods and dabbing their faces. Mrs. Pettigrew wept as she knelt, her robes soaking in the filth as she lowered her son - Peter's finger - into the miniature grave.

Rain soaked into Remus’ clothes, his hair. It dripped down his face. He told himself he couldn't taste the bitter salt of tears.

A soft touch on his elbow. A sudden halt to the relentless grief.

“Where's your umbrella?”

He didn't own one. Never had.

Nothing to keep the rain from his head.

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@moonysmicrofics - June 14 - Tip - 85 words

His father paid for lunch.

It had been a relief - he was down to his last few quid, and rice and beans had gotten old weeks ago.

The waiter - a man maybe ten years older than Remus - clears their plates. Remus wonders sadly when he will look like that. Broken. Tired. Beaten.

“I wish you'd come back home. You look dreadful.”

“I'm getting by.”

He hangs back, watching his father wind his way to the door.

He leaves behind a small, careful stack of coins.

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@moonysmicrofics - June 13 - Year - 64 words

A year ago, he thought he would be the first to die.

A year ago, he knew his friends would shed tears over his casket, throw in their fistfuls of dirt, and move along.

“What a shame. At least he isn't suffering anymore.”

A year ago, he didn't know what pain was. Not really. Didn't know the loneliness of waking in a stranger's bed.

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@moonysmicrofics - June 12 - Solstice - 55 words

The day is endless.

He feels the stares. The horror beneath the congratulations he's received. The claps on the back, the jovial smiles and elbows jabbed into his ribs.

Five days into his marriage. The honeymoon shattered the moment the secret was no longer theirs.

Had to happen on the longest day of the year…

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@moonysmicrofics - June 11 - Image - 24 words

He has spent a lifetime

Perfecting this image

Of soft tones and carefully mended jumpers

To hide the scars that have never stopped hurting

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@moonysmicrofics - June 10 - Semester - 79 words

An eleven year old boy sits on the train, daydreaming of Christmas pudding while the boys he doesn't dare refer to as his friends muck about.

Someone chucks a chocolate frog at his head. James stands on the bench seat, lifting a melting, struggling frog in his fist.

“Cheers, gentlemen, to making it through our first semester!”

Remus’ hands tremble as he opens the box, praying these boys would never know just how much the words mean to him.

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@moonysmicrofics - June 9th: Guilt - wc: 125

Remus knew he shouldn't look at Sirius the way he did. He shouldn't notice the way he sticks his tongue out when he is concentrating. He shouldn't know how Sirius takes his coffee every morning and his daily routine. How Sirius loves to ramble, and when he gets going? He doesn't know how to stop. Remus can listen to him for hours and never find himself bored.

A pit of guilt bubbles in his stomach. He knows Sirius sees him as nothing more than a friend. But Remus sees him as his everything. He wanted this to go away, but it's been five years. Five long years of living with Sirius and noticing everything. They were so close yet so far apart in Remus' world.

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@moonysmicrofics - June 9 - Decade - 146 words

He had missed a decade, Sirius. A decade, plus two.

Remus climbed the grimy stone steps to Grimmauld Place, coughing lightly at the smog tickling his lungs. His hands were clasped around the handles of the shopping bag slung over his shoulder.

Sirius was unimpressed as Remus proudly held up the stack of secondhand records.

“I, er - I thought we could do some catching up,” he said lamely, looking down at the brightly colored cardboard in his hands. It was pathetic, when he thought about it.

“The 80s were quite something.”

For a moment, he thought Sirius might punch him out. Might send him sprawling for having the nerve to have experienced an entire decade while Sirius rotted in prison.

He would deserve it.

Instead, Sirius plucked the record from Remus’ hands, peering at the cover critically.

“Okay,” he said grudgingly. “Let's see what I missed.”

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@moonysmicrofics - June 8 - Hot - 69 words

Sweat carves its way along his spine. He shivers, despite the heat inside his tent.

He can barely stand it. The stench of the latrine rises, hot and steaming in the late summer air.

He deserves it. Deserves to be here, in the worst spot in this sorry camp.

He wonders what she's doing right now.

Closing his eyes, he imagines he can taste the salt on her skin.

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@moonysmicrofics - June 7 - Lung - 75 words

He knows his life will never be the same every time his lungs begin to ache.

Ache.

Ache from screaming as the monster hurt him.

Ache from sobbing and retching. Ache from the pain of losing everything.

Ache from the way she had gripped him by his tattered robes and demanded he accept a chance at happiness.

They ache now. He's afraid to breathe. Afraid to disturb the tiny human in his arms.

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@moonysmicrofics - June 6 - Spa - 148 words

He is grateful for the darkness. The solitude that hides his shame.

The legs of the blue jumpsuit he's forced to wear rustle loudly in the silence as he makes his way from one room to another, cleaning each surface with his wand. Scrubbing the floors until they shine.

“Don't know how you do it - best cleaner we've ever had.”

He knew it wouldn't matter soon. Not once his absences began to pile up. He would be scrounging for another night gig by Christmas.

It's almost ridiculous, he decides. Sanitizing massage tables while trying to ignore the ache of his own body. Wiping up richly scented oils that he would never be able to afford.

The memory of human touch hangs in the air.