all souls' day commentary

[phineasjones]

whew. that took longer than i expected. beware, folks, i am verbose.



Those of you who knew me then know that i fell into the writing of this fic. I written very few things at all when i signed up for the challenge. And when i submitted the pairings/characters i would not be willing to write, S/R didn't even occur to me somehow. If it had, I would have included them. Why? Because I live with them in my head all the time. I felt like i was too close to them to possibly get the distance required to write about them (more on that). But it didn't occur to me, i signed up for the challenge and my assignment came back to me - S/R, somehow using the poem All Souls' Night.

I panicked. Totally freaked out. I was absolutely certain there would be no way I could do it. For the curious, here are some posts: the assignment, panic, procrastination, relief.

And then i just buckled down and started. Originally, the story was going to take place over much longer and encompass more action. I remember planning out a scene that took place when Remus was at Hogwarts... i think i probably actually wrote the scene. But that's all I remember. I scrapped everything at one point and started over by drawing inspiration from three things:
1. the Conford poem.
2. the Dar Williams song It Happens Every Day. Lyrics follow the story in this post. But you should listen to it if you haven't. They way the very last line - 'every day will happen without you' - hovers unspoken (unsung) at the end of every verse until the last one... that is so where this story came from.
3. a quote from the movie Smoke. In the movie, Auggie takes a photograph of the same street corner every day at exactly 8 am. He has albums of the photos. When Paul asks him about them, and remarks that they are all the same, Auggie says, "They're all the same, but each one is different from every other one. You've got your bright mornings and your dark mornings. You've got your summer light and your autumn light. You've got your weekdays and your weekends. You've got your people in overcoats and galoshes, and you've got your people in shorts and T-shirts. Sometimes the same people, sometimes different ones. And sometimes the different ones become the same, and the same ones disappear. The earth revolves around the sun, and every day the light from the sun hits the earth at a different angle."

These things all make me think of Remus. Remus, as I saw him then - before the tragedy of OotP. I had this vision of him living every day in the awareness of Sirius' absence. His life would be full of routine, he could go through motions without thinking and feeling. And then he would be waiting. Every day waiting for Sirius to arrive. In a sort of holding pattern. And when Sirius did arrive, though everything didn't actually change, nothing would be the same.


for the Veela Inc Valentine's Day Challenge
Title: All Souls' DAy
Author: phineas
Author's e-mail: phineasjones@livejournal.com
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me.
Rating: PG
Pairing: Sirius/Remus
Spoilers: for PoA and GoF
Summary: Remus waits. Sirius returns.
Author's notes: all of you who have been reading along here know what this little story did to me. i am so glad to have done it though and i am eternally grateful to those who helped me. annelarissa, starbuckle, fearlessdiva and cimorene111 provided invaluable and insightful beta commentary. cim and wax_jism were great with the calming and coaching along the way. and special thanks to wax for the tips on forestry.

4 betas seems a but excessive, no? Well. I hated this story when i first finished it. Honestly. And didn't trust myself to fix it up alone. starbuckle was my usual beta but she was busy so i put out a call. And i'm glad i ended up with all 4 of these wonderful ladies. They each had something unique and important to say and they helped me feel better about the story. I don't hate it anymore, in case you're worried. :) The incredible response from people who have commented has been a huge part of that, and about making me feel better about writing in general. I'm eternally grateful.

All Souls' Day


Remus stirs from a thin sleep and opens his eyes to see white sunlight through almost-bare trees. It's cold in the room; he can feel it even through his extra blanket. He rolls over and swings his legs over the side of the bed. Pulls on the robe draped across the single chair in the room. Everything looks exactly as it should. As it always does. He thinks, maybe today.

[Do other people have this thing that i have wherein there are a few houses i have been in at some point in my life that always appear in my head as settings for stories. There are two in particular for me - the house of Sally, my elderly nextdoor from my youth and one of the houses where a friend of the family - known to me as 'Uncle Bob' lived when i was young. Remus' cottage is Sally's house, thought not on a suburban street like Sally's. And the upstairs part - where his bedroom is - more closely resembles my parents' house. Sometimes the Borrow also morphs into Sally's house. And when Harry's generation get flats, they tend to look like Bob's house. Huh.]

He's been waiting for months. Dumbledore's letter was brief but informative. He has made sure he has food to spare and clean towels, an extra pillow and blankets folded carefully by the couch in his study.

[Ok, Sally didn't have a study. I changed her dining room into a little room with books and a desk. Remus wouldn't have a dining room anyway, what would he use it for? Sally did (does, i keep forgetting she's still alive), however, have a fireplace. I picture Remus sitting by it all the time.]

He dresses and goes downstairs to make his morning tea. Drinks it in his study while he skims through The Prophet. Folds the paper neatly when he's done and leaves it on top of the stack of papers from earlier in the week. On Saturday, he'll burn them in the fireplace. On Sunday, he'll start a new pile.

Or that's what he would normally do. But things could change any day, any moment. He knows that. He just doesn't know how.

He walks out his front door, into the over-bright morning. The sky is clear like it has been through most of October, but on this first day of November there are fewer leaves to block the sunlight. Instead they form a softly-crackling carpet under Remus' feet as he walks toward the woods that meet the edge of the clearing around his house.

[Omg, this makes me crazy. A year - maybe even two years - after writing this, i found out that all souls' day is November 2. AARHGARHGRHH!!!! This drives anal retentive me up the frickin wall. I had at least one Catholic among my betas, too! Wah! I really want it to say, "on this second day of November..." but feel like i shouldn't change it now. Maybe that's silly, i don't know.

Anyway, the point was, i love fall. Adore it. But there is a significant difference to me between October fall - bright blue sky, brilliant trees - and November fall when the leaves are brown and the trees are more bare and the sky tends to be that whits-ish color that lets you know winter is coming - and for Remus, that change is coming.]

He walks quietly to the ash tree and stands where he stands every morning at this time, left shoulder under the lowest branch, squinting into the light as he looks straight up through the branches. Every morning there are constants; the tree, the ground, his house and the sky remain firmly in place. The setting is the same. But every day something is different. The colors of the sky, the firmness of the earth, the smell on the air, the birds who make nests in the tree and abandon them when the air turns cold and bitter. The leaves that reveal their true colors and then fade and fall to the ground, brown and brittle.

[I had long im conversations with wax_jism about what kind of tree Remus would stand under. She knows a lot about trees. I didn't want to pick some tree that I know and have someone say, 'um, dumbass, we don't have those in england.' or something. She was very helpful, and ash makes me happy because i once lived on Ash Street and in Possession, there's R.H. Ash and any thought of that book makes me happy.

Also, here you can see how directly i stole from Smoke. But i don't feel especially bad about that. I saw the movie once, 5 years before writing this, and this concept has haunted me since. And then... it found a home in thinking about Remus. My Remus - when without Sirius - would do this.]

This morning, the tree is completely bare. The last leaves that clung and rustled feebly in the faint breeze of yesterday morning are somewhere under foot, maybe already crushed into a fine brown powder by Remus' feet. The sky is pale blue and bright in his eyes, shot through with veins of bare branches. Remus lets his head fall back against the tree and that's when he first catches the new scent on the air.

[I imagined Sirius being his dog-self until relatively close... and that Remus, with his super-sharp werewolfy senses, would smell him coming from a ways off.]

A desperate instinct tells him to flee. But he remains standing in place, watching the sky until he hears the approaching footsteps, the snap of a dry twig underfoot. Sirius stops a few feet away and Remus finally drops his gaze from the sky to Sirius, who is taking a breath, ready to speak.

[A word about the 'flee'ing. It's Remus here and then later, in the house, Sirius seems on the verge of fleeing. I've always hoped that it was clear that that is about how afraid they are of dealing with all the wrong they have done each other. They both let each other down so fundamentally, irrevocably, so long ago. I think they each blame themselves while they each think it's ridiculous that the other would blame himself. I think they're both feeling unworthy, and that they're on the brink of being rejected.]

"Remus," is all that he says and all Remus can do is stare. This is not the Sirius he knew and it is not the Sirius he saw at Hogwarts, deranged and filthy and barely recognizable. He is still too thin but he seems more substantial; the sharp angles of his bones softened by flesh and muscle. His hair is unkempt but it is cropped and almost shiny. There is a hint of pink on the pale flesh of his cheeks and his eyes catch the light of the November sun.

[Why does Sirius have to have long hair in OotP? Why? Boys are so much prettier with short hair.]

"You look… good. Healthy." Remus is aware of the hesitation in his words and the rasp in his throat. He is aware of the grey in his hair and the crinkled skin at the sides of his eyes and mouth. Remus is aware of time - of each second as it ticks by and Sirius stands watching him, of each year that has seen them apart from each other and left them like this. Changed.

[There's some of the poem here - 'he did not think me strange or older, nor i him.' I imagine them looking at each other with a perception altered by the love and the guilt... not seeing the age on each other but feeling it in themselves.]

Sirius laughs warmly into the chill air and turns his gaze from Remus to his side, to the tree, to the ground. "You know Arabella. I wasn't getting out of there without more food than I've had in the past… in a long time." His eyes meet Remus' again. Remus wants to look away, to be able to move his face into a small smile the way Sirius has. "And a haircut," Sirius adds, lifting his hand to the back of his head.

Remus is aware that he should speak now. Say something about Arabella and her doting ways. Ask Sirius if he's been to see Mundungus already as well. But he can't open his mouth because what might come out instead is Sirius, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry. Sorry. I failed you. I believed them and betrayed you and hated you and there's nothing I can do and I'm so terribly sorry. Sorry, sorry, sorry. He can't say these things out loud. They are inadequate, fumbling words with no power to breach the distance or the time between them. Even the sound of them echoing in his head makes his knees weak and his breath short.

[This is a feeling i have known and wanted to put here - that if i said anything, i would say the one thing i shouldn't say. It is such a tense feeling, so frightening. There's also in here some of me struggling with my tendency to write it allll out in coversation. Because that's what I do - talk things through. If i weren't constantly reminding myself about Remus and his self-repression, etc, they would have stood here and talked things through for several hours and then all would be well, they'd go inside for a cuppa and this would be the most boring story that ever was.]

Sirius is looking at him still. The silence is thick between them and Remus remembers again that it's his turn to speak. Sirius' words, his stance, his expression are casual. Remus wishes for some of Sirius' characteristic ease - something he seems to have recovered, at least partially, in this past year of relative freedom.

[Ugh, i so feel that. Remus recognizing this old, old feeling that Sirius has always been more comfortable and that he has always had to be the alert, responsible one. Poor Remus.]

A year. One year. Remus remembers thirteen years and thinks that he deserves his discomfort and more.

[The guilt! Wah!]

"Remus." It's barely a whisper. Sirius reaches out slowly, fingers extending to touch the side of Remus' face. Remus doesn't mean to flinch but the touch is so warm compared to the cold, dry air that surrounds them.

"You don't have to… I got Dumbledore's owl. Months ago. You can stay here as long as you want to… need to. I'm going… I'll go make some tea." He moves around Sirius, carefully not touching him, and strides toward the house over dead leaves and dying grass, not looking to see whether Sirius has followed.

[Sirius, at any age, in any place, seems like an overgrown puppy to me. He just wants to touch - some physical comfort. And Remus, here, thinks Sirius harboring anger, bitterness... that he's here because he was told to come. That he's just doing what he knows, not what he wants. Oh, Remus.]

Alone in his tiny kitchen, he bends over empty tea cups and gasps for breath. He can't do this. How can he do this?

[Here I owe cimorene11 bigtime for basically drawing a big, red X through the paragraph. The bit above went on much longer with me spelling out for you readers exactly why Remus was guilt-ridden and exaclty how he was feeling right then. It was, to put it mildly, overkill. I'm so glad it's gone and that she had the presence of mind to point and make a gagging noise. Which, ok, is not what she actually did, but the effect was the same.]

He hears the swish of Sirius' robes in the doorway before he speaks, "Look, Remus, I'm sorry it's taken so long. I went to the others first because I thought I might… well, that I could stay here longer then. But I don't have to…"

Remus doesn't have time to think before he whirls to face Sirius with wide eyes. You're sorry? resounds in his head but again he remains silent. Sirius looks wary, hovering in the doorway as though he might turn and flee at the first sign of danger. His eyes glitter brightly, watching Remus as though expecting him to move suddenly, to pounce or to run.

[See? Fleeing. He's afraid Remus doesn't want him! Does that kill you??? It kills me. :) But it's my Sirius, who's going to keep trying to make things alright until he... ok, I'm not going to think about that.]

The silence lingers and Sirius breaks it again. "I'll make the tea." He brushes by Remus and picks up the kettle, fills it with water. Remus watches. What is happening? He thought he was ready for this morning. He has had a year to contemplate this encounter. He would have taken the ugliest words from Sirius. He would have taken a beating, agreed, helped. But Sirius isn't yelling, isn't scolding, isn't enumerating the tortures he has endured or berating Remus' lack of trust, his lack of faith, the weakness of his love. Sirius is making tea.

[Erk. What is he doing, boiling the water on the stove? Why did i not look back at the scene with Harry and Remus in PoA when Remus heats the water with his wand? I don't know, maybe it's not clear here that that's not what he's doing, but I'll confess, in my head, there was a much more muggle process going on.]

Remus sits in a chair at his tiny oak table, drops his head into his hands. He hears the raspy noise that comes from the back of his throat. And then Sirius is there beside him, on one knee, pulling his hands away from his face and holding them in both of his, warming them. Sirius' face is wrinkled with worry as he looks up at Remus.

[Wouldn't you be Sirius here? I mean... Remus all sad... who could stand it?]

"Do you want me to go?" The question is quiet and measured. Sirius' lips stop trembling when he presses them together.

"Go where?" Remus asks tiredly and Sirius bares his teeth in a brief smile.

He stops smiling when he asks again, "Do you want me to leave? I can… Mundungus said I can stay with him if I need to but I was hoping… I'd rather be here if you'll have me."

If you'll have me. Remus looks into the tired face and can see now, at this proximity, lines to match his own and more on the brow - just above the eyes. "No. Yes, of course I want you here."

[They're old. But not really old (hello, movie casting peoples!). But I am haunted by this thought too - of the differences in someone's face after that many years, and how they would be such painful and poignant reminders of the time you weren't together.]


Only when he feels the rush of air across his own face does Remus realize that Sirius has been holding his breath, waiting. He is about to speak again, I'm sorry, when Sirius presses his hands together, releases them and stands. The kettle is whistling and Remus watches him pour the water into cups and rifle through items on the countertop until he finds tea and sugar.

The cups clunk against the wooden table when Sirius sets them down. Remus looks into his steaming cup. He lifts it and tastes the over-sweetness for a second before it burns his tongue. [Is it just me? I think Sirius would over-sweeten tea.] Sirius is watching, sitting still but his fingers are twitching around his cup. Remus watches his fingers. Maybe this is it. Sirius will torture him with kind gestures and two feet of distance and beautifully long fingers around untasted tea. If this is were the best offer - or the worst - Remus would take it.

[And those last few sentences really sum up my Remus.]

But the fingers drop away from the cup and Sirius lays his hands flat on the table, "Remus," he breathes deeply as though with effort, "can I just… can I…." He swallows the words as he pushes away from the table and he's on both knees now, beside Remus again.

[Puppy. He can't take it. This is how i think it would happen - er, obviously. But Remus would be all willing to suffer because he deserved it and yada yada. Whereas Sirius would be all twitchy and omg, I can't be this close without touching!!! Pet me! I mean, hold me.]


Remus is still looking at the cup where Sirius' fingers aren't, until Sirius reaches up and places his hand at the nape of his neck, turning Remus' face toward him. Remus' whole body reacts to the touch, his heart beats faster and blood rushes in his ears. Sirius holds him that way for a moment then pulls him down into an awkward hug, bent over, his knee pressing into Sirius' side. Remus shifts, turns in his chair and Sirius pulls them closer together, head tucked into Remus' neck, hands gripping tightly, desperately, to his robes and his hair.

Remus doesn't know whose need this is. Who is comforting and who is being comforted. He thinks maybe it doesn't matter. Sirius's hair is soft on his chin, the lean muscles of his back taut under his fingers. He pulls back, raises his hands and touches Sirius's face. Lowers his head and kisses the lines on Sirius' forehead, the creases at the corners of his eyes, the soft, dry skin at the edge of his lips.

[I doubt i really need to say what this is... the claiming of those years apart... yeah.]

Sirius pulls. Pulls Remus off his chair, to the floor so they're both kneeling and Sirius can kiss him. He answers Remus' gentle touches with a desperate ferocity that leaves them both gasping. Remus clings, digs his fingers into Sirius' shoulder and holds on like he wishes he always had. [Omg, twist the knife much? I'm cruel.] Sirius keeps pulling, dragging his hands across Remus' back to bring him closer until he overbalances and they half-topple, half-slide to the floor, caught at the last moment only by Remus' hand.

[Cim said something to me at one point about their old, creaky hips on the cold floor and the image stuck. She and wax_jism were working on Thing at the time... Now that I think about it... They're what, 35? Shouldn't really be all that creaky. This from a 30 year old, mind you. Still, the floor... age... old things being new, these things became necessary to the scene, to rounding out the themes that inspired the story in the first place.]

Sirius laughs and Remus can't help but laugh with him. It's a new old sound and Remus wants more of it. But he lets Sirius pull him down and kiss him again and as his hips press into the cold floor he thinks, absurdly, that he's never been down here before - he's been in this house for years, walked on this floor for years but he's never toppled onto it before, never knelt and been kissed by someone on it. His mind moves to other rooms in the house, outside, to the ash tree and the leaves and the sky. "Stay," he murmurs against Sirius' lips and he feels a smile in return.

[And that's it... that breaks the Happens Every Day thing. Because Remus' life will never be what it has been for so long... in more ways than I knew when I wrote this and in more than I can contemplate without crying all over myself. What happens to this Remus after OotP? Well, I found my answer in jjtaylor's story, Home is a Feeling. When i read that story, i knew it was in the same place, that it was the same Remus, the same world in which this story happened. And when i said that to her, she said, yeah, it is. Which is amazin and wonderful. I don't think i would have been able to write that story and i'm so very glad that she did.

Thanks for reading, folks. Hope there was something here to interest or entertain you. ::kisses::]

My love came back to me Under the November tree Shelterless and dim. He put his hand upon my shoulder, He did not think me strange or older, Nor I, him.
-Frances Cornford, All Souls' Night


It Happens Every Day - Dar Williams

The first part of every day for me is good
I've got the bus stop in my neighborhood
And everything's on purpose everywhere they go
Hiding in my car and running in the snow

Running with the friends they'll know for years
I've seen it all from here, from here

It happens every day, before they go to school
They play until the bus drives up beside my lawn
And there's always been a mother who waits 'til they are gone
Then she turns away
It happens every day

Noon comes and turns this campus upside down
I watch the students in this college town
You would think they're carefree, I have seen their trials
Frowning into Shakespeare and practicing their smiles

Even underlining Nabokov
When I am not in love, in love

It happens every day with their journals in cafes
Looking up at their reflection on the other wall
With every new idea wondering if they've changed at all
And then they look away
It happens every day

Well life is as hard and as easy as they say
Walking the steps we've chosen on this day
Some will be outrageous, some have rarely shown
Some will walk in couples, some will walk alone

As I think about the world I see
They stare and smile at me, at me

It happens every day at the crossing of the street
Walking out to see what's new and what is just the same
And the only word for love is everybody's name
And that will always stay
It happens every day
And every day will happen without you