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petroniaFirstly, Shousetsu Bang*Bang no.9 is up - but you knew that. XD
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helvetius's ficlet onna card about Sirius and Remus. It's #3 because there is a #2, it just hasn't been entrusted to the post yet. XD;; "Solace", if you're having trouble placing it, is a Scott Joplin rag.
Solace (Portrait of a Pianist #3)
forhelvetius
The same tune as always:
Remus rapped his knuckles against the doorframe. The music stopped. Sirius looked up, brushed his hair from his eyes and grinned.
"Play something else," said Remus.
"And a Merry Christmas to you too, my friend." Remus was holding two glasses of mulberry-dark liquid. As he crossed the room Sirius tracked the punch's progress with a mix of longing and suspicion. "Don't tell me that's Lily's non-alcoholic brew."
"Should I lie?"
"Oh, for the love of—" But he accepted one of the drinks from Remus's hand. "Fruit juice and soda water. It's blasphemy. Blatant cruelty. Prongs may have folded but I don't see what right she has to make us suffer along with her."
"A woman is queen of her own castle," said Remus.
"Humbug," Sirius said simply.
"Solidarity in the name of a higher cause. Think of your future godchild. What sort of example would all this drunken carousing set?"
"An exceedingly disreputable one—"
"At least he's honest—"
"—I hope. Did I miss the point?"
Remus laughed. Sirius toasted him and took a lengthy swig, followed by a grimace of exaggerated distress. He set the glass down and returned his hands to the keys.
Remus did not repeat his request. They both knew it was the only song Sirius had taught himself to play: a Muggle melody, from a Muggle moving picture they had viewed in London, on a secondhand Muggle instrument – a Muggle conceit, in short. Sirius had little patience for formal musical training, but he was the sort of man who, finding a guitar or fiddle thrust into his hands, would pick at the strings until satisfied of his ability to pick out something. This was the something. Remus sat in the alcove and drew his feet up underneath him. The diamond-shaped windowpanes at his back exuded a noticeable chill, but for once it didn't bring discomfort, rather a pleasing contrast with the sound and warmth within.
There was conversation in the sitting room and in the kitchen. Savory scents and forest scents and sweet. A clatter, more voices, a peal of laughter. Lily. Remus rested his forehead against the billows of tie-dyed curtain.
The tune was one of those that left off where it began, and thus had no true end. He had read an abstract once – was it Scold? No, Woldbottom, surely – Woldbottom had argued such melodies were primitive cantrips, of a form long fallen into desuetude and forgotten. Particular pieces of unknown folk provenance may have been charms or curses in and of themselves, dormant for lack of the right words – the first words – but unlessened in native potency since Merlin walked British soil. Heir of the great bards, teacher of mages...
The Muggle song was wordless, insofar as he knew, but it stuck in the mind with spellbound tenacity. No one had yet invented a charm to dislodge such things.
There was a taste of nostalgia about it.
Perhaps it, too, was older than it seemed.
"Penny for your thoughts," said Sirius, not looking up. Remus made a visible show of pondering.
"I could do with a real drink myself," he said. Sirius snorted and reached over to bat at Remus's head, but Remus ducked and the gesture changed. The melody was left undone.
Secondly, this is
helvetius's ficlet onna card about Sirius and Remus. It's #3 because there is a #2, it just hasn't been entrusted to the post yet. XD;; "Solace", if you're having trouble placing it, is a Scott Joplin rag.Solace (Portrait of a Pianist #3)
for
helvetiusThe same tune as always:
Remus rapped his knuckles against the doorframe. The music stopped. Sirius looked up, brushed his hair from his eyes and grinned.
"Play something else," said Remus.
"And a Merry Christmas to you too, my friend." Remus was holding two glasses of mulberry-dark liquid. As he crossed the room Sirius tracked the punch's progress with a mix of longing and suspicion. "Don't tell me that's Lily's non-alcoholic brew."
"Should I lie?"
"Oh, for the love of—" But he accepted one of the drinks from Remus's hand. "Fruit juice and soda water. It's blasphemy. Blatant cruelty. Prongs may have folded but I don't see what right she has to make us suffer along with her."
"A woman is queen of her own castle," said Remus.
"Humbug," Sirius said simply.
"Solidarity in the name of a higher cause. Think of your future godchild. What sort of example would all this drunken carousing set?"
"An exceedingly disreputable one—"
"At least he's honest—"
"—I hope. Did I miss the point?"
Remus laughed. Sirius toasted him and took a lengthy swig, followed by a grimace of exaggerated distress. He set the glass down and returned his hands to the keys.
Remus did not repeat his request. They both knew it was the only song Sirius had taught himself to play: a Muggle melody, from a Muggle moving picture they had viewed in London, on a secondhand Muggle instrument – a Muggle conceit, in short. Sirius had little patience for formal musical training, but he was the sort of man who, finding a guitar or fiddle thrust into his hands, would pick at the strings until satisfied of his ability to pick out something. This was the something. Remus sat in the alcove and drew his feet up underneath him. The diamond-shaped windowpanes at his back exuded a noticeable chill, but for once it didn't bring discomfort, rather a pleasing contrast with the sound and warmth within.
There was conversation in the sitting room and in the kitchen. Savory scents and forest scents and sweet. A clatter, more voices, a peal of laughter. Lily. Remus rested his forehead against the billows of tie-dyed curtain.
The tune was one of those that left off where it began, and thus had no true end. He had read an abstract once – was it Scold? No, Woldbottom, surely – Woldbottom had argued such melodies were primitive cantrips, of a form long fallen into desuetude and forgotten. Particular pieces of unknown folk provenance may have been charms or curses in and of themselves, dormant for lack of the right words – the first words – but unlessened in native potency since Merlin walked British soil. Heir of the great bards, teacher of mages...
The Muggle song was wordless, insofar as he knew, but it stuck in the mind with spellbound tenacity. No one had yet invented a charm to dislodge such things.
There was a taste of nostalgia about it.
Perhaps it, too, was older than it seemed.
"Penny for your thoughts," said Sirius, not looking up. Remus made a visible show of pondering.
"I could do with a real drink myself," he said. Sirius snorted and reached over to bat at Remus's head, but Remus ducked and the gesture changed. The melody was left undone.
