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31_days2005-12-01 11:13 pm
ex-kittu9.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2005-12-01 11:13 pm
[December 1] [Harry Potter] Not even enough
December 1: E come vivo? (And how shall I live?)
Title: Not even enough
Series: Harry Potter
Character: Remus Lupin
Notes: Set during book 6
The easiest thing about war, Remus though, was that very seldom afforded one time to grieve, let alone dwell upon the sorry events of one's own life. (He was of course consciously not thinking of Sirius and Harry and Tonks and the sorry business that is love, a sorry and terribly varied business with as many different varieties as there were languages to learn.) All he could afford to do these days was be on guard, hackles up and body tense with lines of caution, fear, and the pervasive trembling ache that developed in his jaw and other muscles as he attempted to hold himself back (which was stupid and, for Remus, habitual. He was rather more used to restraint than he was to throwing himself bodily towards something that was called The Hunt and which he would rather not define).
I hate this place, he thought often, and he remembered thinking it long after the moon rose. It was a little more constant than the smell of despair.
Title: Not even enough
Series: Harry Potter
Character: Remus Lupin
Notes: Set during book 6
The easiest thing about war, Remus though, was that very seldom afforded one time to grieve, let alone dwell upon the sorry events of one's own life. (He was of course consciously not thinking of Sirius and Harry and Tonks and the sorry business that is love, a sorry and terribly varied business with as many different varieties as there were languages to learn.) All he could afford to do these days was be on guard, hackles up and body tense with lines of caution, fear, and the pervasive trembling ache that developed in his jaw and other muscles as he attempted to hold himself back (which was stupid and, for Remus, habitual. He was rather more used to restraint than he was to throwing himself bodily towards something that was called The Hunt and which he would rather not define).
I hate this place, he thought often, and he remembered thinking it long after the moon rose. It was a little more constant than the smell of despair.