Nest of Spiders

FIC: Of Silver Light and Shadows, Part 11 of 12

Mon, 22 Sep 2008 05:39:50 GMT

Title: Of Silver Light and Shadows: Part 11 of 12
Author: mindabbles
Characters/Pairings: Remus/Sirius, James/Lily, Peter, Moody, Dumbledore, assorted Order members.
Rating: R
Summary: Life just after Hogwarts, life in the Order, is an adjustment. Herein, there's some romance, some angst of the war-time-growing-up kind, some humour, some absurd miscommunication, some adventure, and a little smut.
Notes: This is a series that was started at nest_of_spiders in August of 2007. It takes place over 17 days in August of 1979. Thank you so much to sec38 for her beta work on this part, and to elsane, gryffindor_j, and sambethe for beta help on story line and other sections.

Part 11: Sirius is smitten and James is immature, Lily speaks her mind, Remus finds his parents know more than he thinks, and Peter is in a panic.

FIC: Sailed On Shooting Stars, by such_heights

Sun, 31 Aug 2008 21:38:57 GMT

Sailed On Shooting Stars
Remus/Sirius (James/Lily)
PG, 900 words
Summary: Weddings don’t change anything that really matters.
Notes: For nest_of_spiders' Day 12 prompt.

Sirius catches Peter’s eye, exchanges a grin, and then looks around, expecting to reach out and find Remus there, but he’s nowhere in sight.

art: on impulse (james)

Sun, 31 Aug 2008 16:11:44 GMT

title: on impulse
artist nk_aoede
characters: james, implied james/lily
rating: G
prompt: day 27.
notes: i just hope the intention is clear >_>

Prompt: Day 31

Sun, 31 Aug 2008 15:36:55 GMT

Hello all!

Another month has come to an end and I'll post a formal thank you and some stats after the holiday.

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Day 30

Sat, 30 Aug 2008 20:12:28 GMT

Bloc Party - Uniform

I am a martyr, I just need a motive
I am a martyr, I just need a cause
I'm a believer, I just need a moment
I'm a believer, I just need a cause.

Full lyrics here

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Prompt Day 29

Fri, 29 Aug 2008 11:42:44 GMT

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Thu, 28 Aug 2008 21:07:44 GMT

Gosh, the beginning of August seems like only yesterday! Welcome to the 28th.

Dawn seemed to follow midnight with indecent haste. (Deathly Hallows)

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Day 27: Prompt

Wed, 27 Aug 2008 08:45:53 GMT

Looks like we skipped a prompt again, apologies!

"Nothing like a nighttime stroll to give you ideas." (Mad-Eye Moody, Goblet of Fire)

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art: family relations (bellatrix, sirius)

Wed, 27 Aug 2008 02:49:26 GMT

title: family relations
artist: nk_aoede
characters: bellatrix and sirius
rating: PG-13, just in case.
prompt: day 23
notes: omg bellatrix is evil.

btw, i totally didn't trace over the pic of the stairs. *shifty eyes*

Tue, 26 Aug 2008 04:10:19 GMT

How did it get to be the 25th already??

Tree Climbing

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Fic: The Prisoner

Mon, 25 Aug 2008 01:22:17 GMT

Title: The Prisoner

Author: Vegablack62

Characters: Selwyn, a friend, and at the end, Longbottom, Moody

Word Count: 1,823

Rating: G

Prompt: day 9, Often, the surest way to convey misinformation is to tell the strict truth. -- Mark Twain

Summary: A Death Eater meets a surprising person while under interrogation.

The woman had returned to his cell. She was the only person he had seen other than his interrogators for two days. He'd been captured, signed into jail by a clerk, taken to a mediwitch, pronounced healthy and brought to this place. Since then he'd been alone, speaking to no one but the Aurors who'd captured him and this woman, a menial, who made him tea and brought him food.

She always arrived immediately after a questioning session while he was still bound in his chair, for her protection he supposed. The woman didn't seem scared of him though but chattered away the entire time as she made tea or brought in his tray. A holiday by the sea was her current theme. How much she'd like to take one, but how she didn't think she could this year. He usually found her prattle irritating, but now he welcomed the relief from the questions, the silence and the constant work of keeping the Aurors out of his mind.

“A wizard like you, with your family – you probably have a house by the sea for holidays, probably go there all the time.” Strangely he found himself, almost without thinking, agreeing with her and grunting in assent. After the humiliations of his arrest, it felt good to assert even in the smallest way who he was.

“What do you know about my family?” Really, how would she know anything about him?

“Name's on the door. I recognized it.”

For the first time since coming to this place, he smiled. His family was important, well-known, admired -- even a girl like this one, understood their position. He knew they'd be seeking out every friend they had, demanding every debt be paid, to release him from prison. Of that he was sure.

“They told me to give you something to drink while they take a break,” she said in her chatty fashion. “So I thought I'd bring you some tea.”

Apparently the Aurors had rules governing how long he could go without drink or food and for how many hours he could be bound or questioned.

He could hear the clatter of cups behind him as she worked. It grew quiet and the girl appeared in front of him carrying the tea. She had a custard cream of a face, sweet, soft and round, a nanny-face -- insipid and kind, young but not terribly pretty. A girl he wouldn't give a glance, if he were on the outside.

“Here you go,” she said as she brought the cup to his mouth so he could drink despite his bound hands. She must have done this before, because she seemed to know how to hold the cup to his mouth without spilling and how to remove it before he needed a breath.

He was very thirsty, and drank for a long time, but she patiently helped him till he was done. She smiled at him as she took the cup away.

He wondered if this Nanny-faced woman was a Squib. At no point in the past few days had he seen her with a wand. She did the simplest sort of labor, the kind anyone could do without magic. If she was a witch she couldn't be a very powerful one, because no witch with any skill would stick with a job like this for long.

“They strapped these too tight,” she said, gesturing to the bonds that held each wrist to an arm of his chair. She leaned over him and seemed to tap something under the chair arm. He wasn't sure what she did, but the bonds loosened just a bit, enough that he could move his hands to keep his fingers from growing numb.

“They're not allowed to tighten it so much. You'll get sores,” she said as she gently rubbed a spot on his wrist where the straps had worn his skin red. “I have half a mind to report this to the medi-witch. Have her come in to see you.” He found himself wishing she would; he'd have someone else to talk to.

“Wow,” she whispered. His sleeves had been pushed up by the bonds on his arm exposing his Dark Mark. The woman reached out and carefully brushed it with her finger.

“Is that your Dark Mark?” she asked. “I've seen them on other prisoners but never one like yours before.” She knelt next to his chair, her face level with his and fiddled with the straps on his arm pointlessly. “They're watching us,” she whispered nodding toward an apparently solid wall facing his chair. “They listen to what we say. But they can't hear so well when you face away from that wall and I duck down here. There's a bit of a dead zone. If we're quiet we're safe over here. We can't do it too much though. It'll look suspicious.”

He stared at her not knowing what to think.

“I'm a pure-blood,” she said as if in explanation of her interest.

“And you work here?” he asked.

“We have all sorts in the department. Pure-bloods, half bloods.... blood traitors.” She looked firmly into his eyes as if she was trying to communicate something to him.

Did this woman have sympathies for the Dark Lord? If she was a pure-blood perhaps she did, but then why hadn't the Aurors discovered it yet? Surely they'd catch something like that? But perhaps they didn't bother to examine a witch with such a menial job. She must really lack skill and talent if she, a pure-blood, was stuck working like a house-elf, taking care of prisoners. He couldn't see why they'd even need a witch to do her work, but he was sure now she wasn't a Squib. No pure-blood family would advertise the presence of a Squib by allowing one to take a job, even one like this. No, the woman was a witch, a talentless witch who everyone considered too weak to be a threat.

She had an interest in him, though. He knew he was good looking and from a powerful family. She wasn't a pretty girl; maybe she liked being so close to a man like him. That could be useful. The Dark Lord had admirers everywhere, apparently even in the bowels of the Auror department.

“I've seen other prisoners, but I've never seen a Dark Mark like yours,” she repeated.

“Mine is different. It was an honor given to my family.” His father had been one of the earliest Death Eaters. His prominence exceeded only by Nott and Malfoy. How jealous his friends had been at the difference between his Mark and their's.

Her hand tightened on his arm, her eyes widened; she didn't take her eyes off his face. She jumped up walked to the side of the room and fixed another cup of tea.

“Complaining the last cup of tea was cold. You're lucky to have any at all.” She clattered the cups while she worked, turned and walked purposefully to the side of his chair, where it was safe to talk. “Here it is. I could scald you, and you couldn't do anything about it. But I won't because I'm not that kind of witch. Everyone knows that.” She knelt beside him and held the tea to his lips. His eyes met hers.

“Be careful,” she whispered. “The young one, he's strong and powerful and he doesn't like you, but he's soft hearted. The old one with the scars, he's the one you need to watch. He's speaks quietly but he's the tough one. He's hard.”

She pulled the cup away. He stared into her eyes willing her, wooing her. “Get me a wand. With a wand there's so much I could do for myself.”

As the words left his mouth he regretted it; he'd pushed the girl too far too fast. She would back away from him, perhaps even report him. He should have asked for something easier at the start.

She shook her head in response. The expression on her face surprised him. She looked sad, not frightened, just sad.

“No one but the interrogators are allowed a wand in here,” the witch said. “They'd know in a moment if I brought one in. Plus there isn't much you could do with a wand in this room. It's too protected.” Of course, he should have known. He closed his eyes at his own idiocy. When he opened them she was still staring at him, a worried look on her face. He needed to keep her on his side. She was valuable; he was sure that if he thought long enough he'd come up with a use for her.

“I have to go now. They'll get suspicious if they haven't already. I'll tell them I lingered over your sores. There own fault for giving them to you.” She stood up and left with a clatter of dishes. She'd had to grab the tray before she left, still working like a house-elf. He felt a small surge of hope rise up in his chest; he had a tool he never expected to have.

Alice was grinning when she walked into the observation room. She'd gotten three good looks into her prisoner's eyes, which were as unguarded as a ten year old child's. How Alice loved arrogant, handsome men with lots of O's in their NEWTS and a fine family heritage. No one was easier to manipulate than a wizard with a sense of his own superiority.

Frank met her at the door looking pleased. He rested his hands on her shoulders and walked with her to a work table set up in the middle of the room. "That looked like it went well," he said.

“Smart move making the bonds too tight. It gave me an opening.”

Moody grunted without bothering to take his eyes off the Death Eater, who he was watching through the wall.

“Moody's idea,” Frank replied. “Did you get anything worth having?”

“Lots, He thinks I'm the charwoman impressed by the handsome powerful Death Eater. He doesn't bother hiding from me.”

“He'll ask you to carry messages for him soon. Surprised he hasn't already,” Moody piped in.

Alice laughed, because she'd had the same thought. She'd even considered offering to do it, but had backed off for fear she'd lose her fish if she played him too aggressively. Alice wanted many things from her prisoner, and if she handled him gently, she'd get them all.

Frank whispered in her ear, "Half of me wanted you to start making offers and the other half was warning you not to scare him off." He grabbed a set of photos of various Dark Marks off the work table and left her to join Moody.

Photographs, letters and other contraband lay scattered on the table top. Alice picked through them until she found the one she wanted.

Three schoolboys joked and japed by the sea, a cottage behind them. They held their fists raised up in the air brandishing their Dark Marks for the camera, showing off as schoolboys will. One was the wizard from whom Frank had taken the picture, one a younger version of the handsome man bound in the cell, but the identity of the third was unknown. He'd pulled a deep hood over his head, keeping his face hidden. However much he postured and gestured with his friends, he remained protected from the camera.

Alice had two questions when she looked at the photograph. Who was the boy under the hood and who was taking the picture? Her prisoner knew and he would tell her. All she needed was patience.

Sun, 24 Aug 2008 20:32:59 GMT

Hello, for the first time!

Fic: Holiday

Sun, 24 Aug 2008 04:56:58 GMT

Title: Holiday
Author: alohachary1851
Characters: Sirius Black, Regulus Black, Walburga Black, Kreacher
Word Count: 904
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: G
Summary: for prompt #23 at nest_of_spiders. Sirius' first holiday back home during his first year at Hogwarts doesn't go smoothly.

(Holiday)

Day 23

Sat, 23 Aug 2008 23:28:47 GMT

Apologies for the delay!

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Prompt Day 22!

Fri, 22 Aug 2008 15:46:27 GMT

Happy Friday to you all - have a prompt and celebrate the weekend! :)

Love Potion

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Prompt: Day 21

Thu, 21 Aug 2008 12:56:25 GMT

Sorry about yesterday folks. Our prompter wasn't able to post and I didn't realize that until this morning. My apologies!

For manipulation to be most effective, evidence of its presence should be nonexistent... It is essential, therefore, that people who are manipulated believe in the neutrality of their key social institutions.
- Herbert Schiller

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Fic: Five Fragments

Wed, 20 Aug 2008 22:07:41 GMT

Title: Five Fragments, or How Remus Lupin Remembers the Summer of 1977

Author: L. Stone

Pairings: Benjy/Remus, former Sirius/Remus

Word Count: 1,238

Rating: PG

Prompt: #8: Ah, summer, what power you have to make us suffer and like it (Russell Baker)

Summary: Lazy out of school days, summer. Or so it seems, though he’s all grown up now.

Among his bad habits: smoking cigarettes stolen from ex-boyfriends; not crying at funerals; Sirius Black. But today he indulges only in one. Today he has a map of Europe and the draft of one of Benjy’s essays on the defeat of Grindewald in 1945 and the smell of the city in summer, all hot pavements and smoke. Benjy has his notebook out again and he’s writing, an old compulsion of his, he says. Remus watches him and watches him and forgets he’s watching him.

Lazy out of school days, summer. Or so it seems, though he’s all grown up now (he tells his mother) and there’s no going back now (he tells Sirius) and anyway the war, it’s growing (James tells him, all the time, as if he were in any position to forget). He’s not sure what to do, anymore. Without books and classes and tests. Sometimes he just throws himself into self destruction.

Benjy looks up and catches him staring. Remus, very resolutely, doesn’t look away but only asks what he’s writing.

“Dear Diary,” Benjy answers, keeping Remus’s stare. They are on opposite ends of the balcony sitting on the floor because there’s no furniture here, and Benjy’s knees are up against his chest, and Remus’s have just enough room to sprawl out in front of him.

“Dear Diary. My boyfriend refuses to leave his roommate for me.”

And he says it with a straight face, too.

Remus looks down at the manuscript, scrawled out on parchment with red ink notes and cross outs. “You’re pretentious,” he says. “And dramatic. And sometimes I hate you.”

Benjy laughs a single snorting ugly laugh, takes the last drag off his cigarette and throws it carelessly away, and says, “Now who’s being dramatic.”

Sirius wakes up at midnight with nightmares and suddenly he’s in Remus’s room. Remus knows because the door is open—he can see the dim light of the main room slipping into the pitch black in which he sleeps—and he always keeps his door closed.

“Padfoot,” he whispers, his voice creaky with the volume he’d wanted to give it, and hears a shuffling in the darkness.

Human or animal—for a moment he can’t tell. Then, against the wall, a shadow moves, unsettles and then stills, half in the gray light coming through the door, and Remus can just see the shape of his nose, his chin, his hair falling down to his shoulders.

“This,” Sirius says, “this is sick,” but it is after Remus has come to stand next to him, barely visible himself in the darkness, after he has circled his arms around Sirius, after he’s given in, and he doesn’t really care what Sirius thinks.

After the rain he walks on the edge of the curb and dares himself to fall into the puddles. He feels—but does it matter. He throws himself at people—he does what they ask of him. Still he must try to rank priorities, and when, even when, his back is close against the wall and Benjy is hands at his hips and lips to his ear and voice, telling him, you’re not in school anymore, and stop being so…in the middle…of things, even then he still says no. So he continues in the middle. Benjy pulls away but he doesn’t leave. Remus lets himself fall splashing into the puddle and the water leaks over and into his shoes. Above him, gray clouds sift over and against each other, and it looks like it will soon rain again.

Sirius is in the land of the giants and with the flat so empty, Remus starts to feel jittery. Benjy comes over. They lie squashed together on Remus’s thin bed. Benjy has his notebook again—or no, he’s left it behind this time—and they have stolen Sirius’s cigarettes and are smoking them with the windows open. They are lazy and even the wind is hot and Benjy watches the smoke trailing out and says, “You make me so wretched sometimes, Lupin, so stupid.”

“No, it’s the summer,” Remus answers. “Making us all wretched and stupid.” Then he spits out Benjy’s last name—“Fenwick”—just to even the space still between them.

“Anyway,” he adds, “I’ve seen worse.”

“Your roommate?”

Somehow they are always talking about Sirius. Remus doesn’t have many things and the room is bare; then, too, he still holds on to this belief, even against the mounting evidence, the slipping down and falling down and breaking of all his defenses—he still thinks maybe he’ll move out eventually. Benjy visits rarely but when he does he’ll flip through the books that Remus keeps in his old Howarts trunk, next to the bed with his wand and a glass of water on top like a nightstand, and they make these vague plans to write something together.

“A chain smoker and a horrible cook, he brings home girls sometimes, just because he can—they all love him you know—and as if I were his mother, or some other person he hates but wants to impress or anger. He can be quite horrible to them; I don’t know why they still come. Perhaps because he is very charming.”

“Or very good at acting charming,” Benjy adds. Remus is looking at the ceiling. There are cobwebs in the corners but spiders, at least, have never scared him.

Sirius, back now and treating his new bruises with his legs stretched out and resting on the chair next to him, asks, “So how miserable are you this summer?” Remus, across the table from him and writing, a letter perhaps, there’s a quill in his hand anyway, and also a bottle of ink that he will, before the week is out, spill accidentally over Sirius’s papers, answers, “Not miserable at all.”

“Liar.” He winces. The bruise is on his left arm and it is large and misshapen and already yellow at the edges.

“Your point?”

Sirius smiles. “Ah ha. You have me. There is no point. And Benjy? How…content is he?”

Remus would rather let Sirius think he is lying than try and explain this: how each sharp stab of calendar days seems somehow worth the sting, how each day he crashes but he also floats, how if he is nothing he is also everything.

“As happy as anyone would be,” he answers, “who gets to be with me.”

If only Sirius would, here, put his feet back on the floor and look up from his own discolored skin and maybe try and meet Remus’s eye. If only Sirius would say, Do you remember when, and if only they could remember, something pleasant for a change.

But Sirius doesn’t say anything. Just snorts and shakes his head, a dismissal of the type that always gets under Remus’s skin, gets deep into him, where he feels sick with it for days like a fever or flu.

Remus’s quill scratches against the parchment, useless words. With his free hand he presses his finger tips to the corner edge of the parchment.

“Do you ever think about the past?” he asks, finally, into the silence.

“About as much as I think about the future,” Sirius answers, then swears in a thin paper cut breath as he presses a bruise too sharply. But he can feel Remus’s gaze on him, meets it when he looks up, and adds, “I suppose you’re always thinking about it, aren’t you?”

Ficlet: Endgame (Lily/James), G

Wed, 20 Aug 2008 14:03:44 GMT

Title: Endgame
Author: Kris, sambethe
Characters: Lily Evans/James Potter
Summary: Peter comes to perform the Fidelus Charm
Rating: G
Notes: For Prompt 13. Part of Lily Evans, as told A – Z.

Harry squirmed in his crib and let out a small sigh, but remained asleep. Lily ran her fingertips along his brow and bent to kiss his head. As she stood back up she felt James move up behind her and circle her waist with one arm. She sighed and sank back against him and he pulled her tight.

'It shouldn't be this way,' she whispered.

James kissed the tip of her ear. 'Pete's waiting for us.'

'I know.' She was reluctant to leave. She turned to face James and planted a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth. 'Are we sure about this?'

He hesitated then bent his head to rest his forehead against hers.

'We could send Pete off,' she continued. 'Leave tonight and tell no one, you know. Magic isn't the only option we have.'

James shook his head. 'I can't. You can't. I trust him, Lil. He'll buy us the time we need.'

'You trusted Remus, too.' She regretted the words as soon as she saw him wince. 'I'm sorry.'

'No, you're right, I did. But it doesn't changes things. We won't be safe and Harry won't be safe. Not until we do this.'

Lily bit back a sigh. She knew he was right, that they were out of options and time. That they - he - wouldn't stop. But she still dreaded the isolation it would bring.

'It won't be forever. I promise you, Lil. Just long enough to give Dumbledore and the others the time they need.'

Lily nodded and James kissed her forehead. He then stepped back and offered her his hand. 'Ready?'

She took it without a word and with only a brief glance back at Harry, she followed him out of the room and down the stairs.

A | B | C | D | E | F | G | H | I | J | K | L | M | N | O | P | Q | R | S | T | U | V | W | X| Y | Z

Day 19!

Wed, 20 Aug 2008 00:00:06 GMT

Eep! My apologies on the lateness, it was a bit crazier than expected around Casa Sambethe this morning.

Because this is what I would have preferred to do this morning...

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Ficlet: Still Frame

Tue, 19 Aug 2008 01:56:19 GMT

Title: Still Frame
author: alohachary1851
Characters: James Potter, Sirius Black,
Word Count: 402
Rating: PG13 for swearing
Summary: For prompt #18. Sirius and James go camping the summer before their seventh year.

(Still Frame)

Prompt: Day 18

Mon, 18 Aug 2008 16:30:04 GMT

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Prompt Day Seventeen

Sun, 17 Aug 2008 13:46:12 GMT

"But you won't fool the children of the revolution."
-T. Rex, Children of the Revolution

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Fic: Tug-o-War (Remus/Sirius, PG-13)

Sun, 17 Aug 2008 03:12:55 GMT

title: Tug-o-War
author: musicgeekgirl26 @ freshly_ground
summary: There's always been something unexplainable between Remus and Sirius, and it's never been an easy thing to deal with.
characters/pairings: Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew, Remus/Sirius
genre: angst/drama
word count: 917
ratings/warnings: PG-13 for swearing.
a/n: written for Prompt 14.

(tug-o-war; the real struggle or tussle)

Prompt: Day 16!

Sat, 16 Aug 2008 14:02:45 GMT

Eek...half the month already gone.

Belief in the truth commences with the doubting of all those "truths" we once believed.
- Friedrich Nietzsche

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art: indoors starscape (sirius, regulus)

Sat, 16 Aug 2008 05:38:14 GMT

title: indoors starscape
artist: nk_aoede
characters: ickle sirius and regulus!
rating: G
prompt: day 12.
notes: not sure i like how this one turned out -- but here goes anyway.