Fic: What To Keep
Apr. 28th, 2006 03:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
merrilyI reread Fandom-Pillory's exponentially hot fic, The Collar a few days ago, and suddenly couldn't stop wondering what happened to the collar post-MWPP @ Hogwarts. So I wrote this.
Title: What to Keep
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing/Character-focus: Remus/Sirius (past), Remus, Harry
Timeframe: Post-OotP
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Grief makes you do funny things.
Two months after Sirius fell, Molly suggested to Remus, gently, that it was time to start going through his belongings and deciding what to keep.
Remus stared at her. It was eight in the morning on a Tuesday, and they were eating breakfast in the kitchen at 12 Grimmauld, which despite Kreacher's long charge was still more homey than the rest of the house. Arthur had already left for the Ministry; Ron and Ginny were with Fred and George at the joke shop; Harry was at the Dursleys, the rest of the Order were away at their day-jobs.
"You don't have to do it alone," Molly said, stricken to see grief so openly on someone's face. "But it can't be good for you -- all his clothes still in the wardrobe, his shoes on the mat-"
"What to keep..." he repeated.
"Harry might want some of his jumpers or shirts."
"And what to get rid of."
"Yes." Molly looked away. She'd known about Remus and Sirius, they all had, and it wasn't fair, not after Azkaban, after everything, for him to be alone, Sirius gone again. Gone for good.
But he was.
"Would you like me to help you?" she asked, trying to sound brisk.
"No." And Remus had risen, quite quickly, leaving behind a nearly-full mug of tea and an untouched plate of toast with marmalade.
----
He looked at the dresser.
Officially, Remus had his own room. He slept there exactly once a month, the day after the full moon. It was kitty-corner from Sirius’, and up until Sirius’ death Remus had stayed scrupulous about waiting until the others had gone to bed before walking across the hallway.
Arthur had caught him once. “You don’t have to do that, you know.”
“Safer this way,” Remus said, not meeting his eyes. Arthur nodded, after a moment, and the two of them parted ways.
Sirius had taken over a second-floor guest bedroom with an enormous sleigh-bed. When they moved in, the room was painted a dullish bracken-green with silver tapestries, but Sirius changed that immediately, tore the hangings off the wall with a burst of manic energy, grabbe Remus' wand and directed a hasty Rhuaddium! with a swish and turn of his wrist. The spell should have turned the walls red, but, as they both knew, one wizard's wand rarely works properly for another, so instead they became a muddy brown.
"Perfect!" Remus had declared hastily, recognizing the murderous look in Sirius' eyes "It's just like chocolate." It wasn't, really -- it was more like polluted pond-water, but Remus had smiled at Sirius and Sirius decided to pretend that's what he had meant to do.
"Right. 'Cause you like chocolate."
"Best thing ever," Remus agreed, solemnly.
"No, s'not," Sirius said, still annoyed with his inability to do a simple piece of magic, but letting himself be distracted by the quirk of Remus' lips. And then they'd started kissing, Sirius considerably more intense than usual because he needed to prove that he could do this right, at least.
So the walls had stayed brown, Remus had found a cream and red quilt, they'd moved in a double dresser and a wardrobe, Sirius had put up old Quidditch posters and Remus had put up bookshelves, and even though the rest of the house was still cadaverous and awful, the room had felt like theirs.
Had.
The night after Sirius fell, when exhaustion finally took over, Remus had walked into his own room, the close, stale, single-bedded room across the hallway, and stayed there. He did it without drama – moved over his clothes methodically and efficiently the next afternoon (keeping his head tucked, not looking at anything except the dresser and the wardrobe) and then shut the door firmly on what had been theirs.
No one had opened the door since. It was getting ridiculous, really. They could use the space, Remus knew – should’ve had the bedroom in case anyone needed it. But Molly never suggested it, had taken pains to make sure it never came up.
Good of her, Remus thought. Must let her know when I’m done.
Half the dresser -- and most of the wardrobe, since Remus didn't own very many things that needed to be hung up -- were filled with Sirius' clothes. One of the side tables was his, too, overflowing with mugs, motorcycle and Quidditch magazines, and chocolate for Remus ("If it goes on your side you'll never save any for when you really need it"). The shoe rack had a messy pile of Sirius' trainers and oxfords; the chair next to the dresser still held one of Sirius' crumpled jackets.
The bed was made, Remus saw with a wave of relief. He hadn’t been able to glance at it on the day he’d moved away his things, his eyes so full of unshed tears that it was like being underwater. Sirius was a messy person, tended to strew his papers and books and clothes around, but he still got up every morning and carefully straightened the bedclothes. He hadn’t explained why.
Now it meant that there was no Sirius-shaped hollow, no cloth outline of the way he slept, on his back, limbs flung akimbo and Remus tucked carefully into his side.
"What to keep..." Remus murmured.
The wardrobe was easy: Remus could use the robes and button-downs himself. It was a boon, really, all this free clothing, somewhat more flash than he normally wore, but mostly in good shape, he thought, the familiar refrains of poverty blessedly keeping him from dwelling on why he could have these things, why they were his now. The belts, too, those were useful. The jumpers -- Remus stilled as the first one he pulled down turned out to be a grey cashmere pullover, bought to match Sirius' eyes. He pushed it back up. Harry could have them. Right. Now the dresser.
The first drawer was easy -- socks, underwear, undershirts. Toss. The second was jeans and corduroy trousers -- too short for Remus, who was taller than Sirius though it had always surprised him to realize it. Harry and Ron might want them. Charlie could use the leather ones, Remus thought (swinging an iron door shut on memories of Sirius' wearing them on his motorcycle, at clubs, twisting against him while dancing). Leather was probably required for dragon-handling.
The last drawer: T-shirts -- here Remus shuddered a bit, but straightened and chose four that he loved, then put the rest on the pile for the Harry and the Weasleys. It was hard, now, to keep his touch clinical, hard not to stroke the worn cotton, hard not to think about Sirius in these shirts, Sirius taking off these shirts, leaving them in a trail as he walked Remus backwards to the bed...
Remus closed the drawer and left the room.
---
On Saturday morning, he passed Harry in the hallway on his way out to get milk from the corner store.
"Hi Professor." Harry had gotten taller and thinner, his cheekbones sharp. In the dim of the front hallway, save for his glasses, he looked remarkably like the two other black-haired boys who had grown up at 12 Grimmauld, and Remus was exhausted by all the reasons why his heart felt pierced. "I'm here for the Order meeting tonight."
"Right. Yes. Harry." Remus reached out to grasp his shoulder in greeting, then stopped. "Sirius' things..." It was hard to say. "Molly thought -- I thought you might want some of them. Some of his clothes. There are a couple of bags in the library. When you're done, Ron might want to have a look, too."
Harry had frozen mid-stride "Yeah. Okay."
And Remus didn't want to see them again, didn't want to watch Harry look through them, so he walked out the front door and stayed out, sitting on a park bench and watching people walk their dogs, until it had ripened to evening and he knew Molly would be asking where he'd gone.
----
The meeting lasted a good four hours. They had dinner first -- Hermione and Ron had shooed Molly from the kitchen and served a quite passable lasagna with garlic bread. Snape, Kingsley and Tonks arrived after the table was cleared, and the clock struck midnight before anyone made a move to go.
Harry had sat quietly through most of it. It was summer, but evenings at Grimmauld Place were cool even in late July, and he had arrived dressed in his school clothes, white shirt buttoned up, tie tight around his neck. Remus found himself glancing over at him repeatedly as the night wore on -- Tonks arguing with Minerva over infiltration techniques, Kingsley and Arthur deep in a discussion of how they might use Muggle technology to monitor suspected Death Eaters. Harry kept his eyes down. He was listening, Remus could tell, but he didn't want to talk. Remus didn't want to talk either, was glad that Harry hadn't arrived for the meeting wearing any of Sirius' jumpers. He had decided to catch Harry's eye, to ask him something, anything, to draw him out -- Merlin, Harry was the one who would have to do the final, awful task, and here he was at the meeting, silent -- when Harry leaned forward a little and the neck of his shirt slid down and Remus froze.
Black leather.
It was just peeking above the white cotton, but Remus knew what it was, knew where it had come from, and he couldn't believe Harry had taken it, was wearing it here, in this room, at this table where Sirius had been sitting only two months ago--
The clock struck twelve, interrupting, and Molly took advantage of the pause to wrap things up. New orders were to be forthcoming, Dumbledore said, and everyone began to gather purses and jackets. Harry was furthest from the door and ended up at the back of the crush, and it was the work of a moment for Remus to grab him by the shoulder, pull him tight into his chest, and apparate them both upstairs to Remus' bedroom.
Harry sprang away from him immediately, blushing and angry. "What the hell was that for?" but he wouldn't meet Remus' eyes, looked everywhere else as Remus advanced, backed him up against the wall and put both hands on Harry's shirt under his tie, ripped it open, buttons flying.
"This," hissing, curling his fingers underneath the collar, under the familiar worn leather, pulling Harry's face to within an inch of his. "This is not yours."
Harry was choking, trembling, still not looking at Remus. "Was in one of the bags!" he managed to gasp out. "I ... wanted ... it ... Sirius."
"Sirius wore it for me!" and Remus was seeing red, now, the wolf inside growling, his body holding Harry full-length and hard against the wall.
"Can't... breathe... Profess..." and Harry was panting, now, face turning red and eyes beginning to water, and that did it, one tear sliding down Harry's cheek, over those bones that grief had revealed. Remus let his numb fingers fall from the collar, stepped back, and Harry fell over, coughing.
For a minute no one moved. Remus felt the wolf recede, felt a numb horror at hurting Harry, but still, looking at him, bracing himself on the floor, kneeling, felt furious rage: this black-haired boy who was not Sirius wearing that.
"Take it off, please," and Remus marveled at how calm his voice sounded, despite it all. "Now." They'd get through this, he'd apologize later, the collar could go at the back of the wardrobe and he wouldn't look at it...
Harry wasn't moving.
"Harry. Take it off."
Harry shuddered.
"It's not for you, Harry."
He was beginning to sob, quietly, had taken off his glasses and tucked his head further down onto his chest, and Remus couldn't stand it, any of it, the tears, the collar, and so he reached down to undo the latch, to take it off, so that he could comfort Harry, so that things could be normal again.
But Harry jerked when Remus stepped closer, and moved frantically back, against the wall, huddling there.
"No, please..." he was crying. "No. Don't make me."
"Don't you understand?" Remus was too tired to be angry. "He wore it for me. It said he was mine."
"Your name's on it," Harry was snuffling now, with the tears. "Moony."
"Yes."
"But couldn't," Harry stammered, panting a little as he tried to stop crying, "Couldn't... couldn't I be yours?" And he lifted his head and met Remus' eyes with his own, with Lily's brilliant green eyes sparkling with tears, and the wild grief there made Remus freeze.
"I'm not..." the words were whispered, sticking in Harry's throat, "I don't belong to anyone. Not anymore. I don't have..." Harry swallowed thickly, his bottom lip trembling, and Remus couldn't stand it any longer, this boy hurting, this echo of James and Sirius and Lily and all the people who'd loved him huddled in pain on the floor of his bedroom.
"Hush, hush, hush" finding grace enough to drop to his knees and gather Harry up in his arms. "It's all right. It's all right." Harry leaned in limply, breath shuddering as he moved into Remus' arms, let his cheek rest, heavily, on Remus' shoulder. Remus lifted his hand automatically to rub circles on Harry's back. The tension immediately melted from both of their bodies—Harry comforted by being held, Remus soothed by the utter familiarity of it, the ageless regularity of a black-haired boy in his arms. They'd crawled into his bed at Hogwarts -- both Sirius and James (though usually not at once), having woken up from nightmares. James told him early in their first year that his mum would rub his back when he couldn't sleep, and so Remus, thrilled to have friends, thrilled to be able to offer something, immediately started tracing a circular pattern between James' shoulder-blades. He'd been snoring in minutes, and it had stilled Sirius, the first time Remus had tried it, made him relax and sink deeper into the pillow.
Remus reached a hand up to stroke Harry's hair, and that was the same too, messy but silky, slipping through his fingers, and God he'd missed this, missed touching...
Harry.
Not Sirius.
Remus took a deep breath, tamped firmly down all the grief and lust swirling inside him. This was Harry, who was still a child, and who needed adults who wouldn't betray him or use him. Or let him wear collars when he didn't understand what they meant, didn't understand what he was asking.
And so Remus reached up and took it off and helped Harry to his feet and hugged him tightly.
"I don’t want you to keep it on,” he said, bending a little to look Harry in the eye. “You don’t need it. You have all of us," he said, holding the too-skinny boy in his arms, reaching to toss the collar away, anywhere. “We’re yours. Really.”
Title: What to Keep
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing/Character-focus: Remus/Sirius (past), Remus, Harry
Timeframe: Post-OotP
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Grief makes you do funny things.
Two months after Sirius fell, Molly suggested to Remus, gently, that it was time to start going through his belongings and deciding what to keep.
Remus stared at her. It was eight in the morning on a Tuesday, and they were eating breakfast in the kitchen at 12 Grimmauld, which despite Kreacher's long charge was still more homey than the rest of the house. Arthur had already left for the Ministry; Ron and Ginny were with Fred and George at the joke shop; Harry was at the Dursleys, the rest of the Order were away at their day-jobs.
"You don't have to do it alone," Molly said, stricken to see grief so openly on someone's face. "But it can't be good for you -- all his clothes still in the wardrobe, his shoes on the mat-"
"What to keep..." he repeated.
"Harry might want some of his jumpers or shirts."
"And what to get rid of."
"Yes." Molly looked away. She'd known about Remus and Sirius, they all had, and it wasn't fair, not after Azkaban, after everything, for him to be alone, Sirius gone again. Gone for good.
But he was.
"Would you like me to help you?" she asked, trying to sound brisk.
"No." And Remus had risen, quite quickly, leaving behind a nearly-full mug of tea and an untouched plate of toast with marmalade.
----
He looked at the dresser.
Officially, Remus had his own room. He slept there exactly once a month, the day after the full moon. It was kitty-corner from Sirius’, and up until Sirius’ death Remus had stayed scrupulous about waiting until the others had gone to bed before walking across the hallway.
Arthur had caught him once. “You don’t have to do that, you know.”
“Safer this way,” Remus said, not meeting his eyes. Arthur nodded, after a moment, and the two of them parted ways.
Sirius had taken over a second-floor guest bedroom with an enormous sleigh-bed. When they moved in, the room was painted a dullish bracken-green with silver tapestries, but Sirius changed that immediately, tore the hangings off the wall with a burst of manic energy, grabbe Remus' wand and directed a hasty Rhuaddium! with a swish and turn of his wrist. The spell should have turned the walls red, but, as they both knew, one wizard's wand rarely works properly for another, so instead they became a muddy brown.
"Perfect!" Remus had declared hastily, recognizing the murderous look in Sirius' eyes "It's just like chocolate." It wasn't, really -- it was more like polluted pond-water, but Remus had smiled at Sirius and Sirius decided to pretend that's what he had meant to do.
"Right. 'Cause you like chocolate."
"Best thing ever," Remus agreed, solemnly.
"No, s'not," Sirius said, still annoyed with his inability to do a simple piece of magic, but letting himself be distracted by the quirk of Remus' lips. And then they'd started kissing, Sirius considerably more intense than usual because he needed to prove that he could do this right, at least.
So the walls had stayed brown, Remus had found a cream and red quilt, they'd moved in a double dresser and a wardrobe, Sirius had put up old Quidditch posters and Remus had put up bookshelves, and even though the rest of the house was still cadaverous and awful, the room had felt like theirs.
Had.
The night after Sirius fell, when exhaustion finally took over, Remus had walked into his own room, the close, stale, single-bedded room across the hallway, and stayed there. He did it without drama – moved over his clothes methodically and efficiently the next afternoon (keeping his head tucked, not looking at anything except the dresser and the wardrobe) and then shut the door firmly on what had been theirs.
No one had opened the door since. It was getting ridiculous, really. They could use the space, Remus knew – should’ve had the bedroom in case anyone needed it. But Molly never suggested it, had taken pains to make sure it never came up.
Good of her, Remus thought. Must let her know when I’m done.
Half the dresser -- and most of the wardrobe, since Remus didn't own very many things that needed to be hung up -- were filled with Sirius' clothes. One of the side tables was his, too, overflowing with mugs, motorcycle and Quidditch magazines, and chocolate for Remus ("If it goes on your side you'll never save any for when you really need it"). The shoe rack had a messy pile of Sirius' trainers and oxfords; the chair next to the dresser still held one of Sirius' crumpled jackets.
The bed was made, Remus saw with a wave of relief. He hadn’t been able to glance at it on the day he’d moved away his things, his eyes so full of unshed tears that it was like being underwater. Sirius was a messy person, tended to strew his papers and books and clothes around, but he still got up every morning and carefully straightened the bedclothes. He hadn’t explained why.
Now it meant that there was no Sirius-shaped hollow, no cloth outline of the way he slept, on his back, limbs flung akimbo and Remus tucked carefully into his side.
"What to keep..." Remus murmured.
The wardrobe was easy: Remus could use the robes and button-downs himself. It was a boon, really, all this free clothing, somewhat more flash than he normally wore, but mostly in good shape, he thought, the familiar refrains of poverty blessedly keeping him from dwelling on why he could have these things, why they were his now. The belts, too, those were useful. The jumpers -- Remus stilled as the first one he pulled down turned out to be a grey cashmere pullover, bought to match Sirius' eyes. He pushed it back up. Harry could have them. Right. Now the dresser.
The first drawer was easy -- socks, underwear, undershirts. Toss. The second was jeans and corduroy trousers -- too short for Remus, who was taller than Sirius though it had always surprised him to realize it. Harry and Ron might want them. Charlie could use the leather ones, Remus thought (swinging an iron door shut on memories of Sirius' wearing them on his motorcycle, at clubs, twisting against him while dancing). Leather was probably required for dragon-handling.
The last drawer: T-shirts -- here Remus shuddered a bit, but straightened and chose four that he loved, then put the rest on the pile for the Harry and the Weasleys. It was hard, now, to keep his touch clinical, hard not to stroke the worn cotton, hard not to think about Sirius in these shirts, Sirius taking off these shirts, leaving them in a trail as he walked Remus backwards to the bed...
Remus closed the drawer and left the room.
---
On Saturday morning, he passed Harry in the hallway on his way out to get milk from the corner store.
"Hi Professor." Harry had gotten taller and thinner, his cheekbones sharp. In the dim of the front hallway, save for his glasses, he looked remarkably like the two other black-haired boys who had grown up at 12 Grimmauld, and Remus was exhausted by all the reasons why his heart felt pierced. "I'm here for the Order meeting tonight."
"Right. Yes. Harry." Remus reached out to grasp his shoulder in greeting, then stopped. "Sirius' things..." It was hard to say. "Molly thought -- I thought you might want some of them. Some of his clothes. There are a couple of bags in the library. When you're done, Ron might want to have a look, too."
Harry had frozen mid-stride "Yeah. Okay."
And Remus didn't want to see them again, didn't want to watch Harry look through them, so he walked out the front door and stayed out, sitting on a park bench and watching people walk their dogs, until it had ripened to evening and he knew Molly would be asking where he'd gone.
----
The meeting lasted a good four hours. They had dinner first -- Hermione and Ron had shooed Molly from the kitchen and served a quite passable lasagna with garlic bread. Snape, Kingsley and Tonks arrived after the table was cleared, and the clock struck midnight before anyone made a move to go.
Harry had sat quietly through most of it. It was summer, but evenings at Grimmauld Place were cool even in late July, and he had arrived dressed in his school clothes, white shirt buttoned up, tie tight around his neck. Remus found himself glancing over at him repeatedly as the night wore on -- Tonks arguing with Minerva over infiltration techniques, Kingsley and Arthur deep in a discussion of how they might use Muggle technology to monitor suspected Death Eaters. Harry kept his eyes down. He was listening, Remus could tell, but he didn't want to talk. Remus didn't want to talk either, was glad that Harry hadn't arrived for the meeting wearing any of Sirius' jumpers. He had decided to catch Harry's eye, to ask him something, anything, to draw him out -- Merlin, Harry was the one who would have to do the final, awful task, and here he was at the meeting, silent -- when Harry leaned forward a little and the neck of his shirt slid down and Remus froze.
Black leather.
It was just peeking above the white cotton, but Remus knew what it was, knew where it had come from, and he couldn't believe Harry had taken it, was wearing it here, in this room, at this table where Sirius had been sitting only two months ago--
The clock struck twelve, interrupting, and Molly took advantage of the pause to wrap things up. New orders were to be forthcoming, Dumbledore said, and everyone began to gather purses and jackets. Harry was furthest from the door and ended up at the back of the crush, and it was the work of a moment for Remus to grab him by the shoulder, pull him tight into his chest, and apparate them both upstairs to Remus' bedroom.
Harry sprang away from him immediately, blushing and angry. "What the hell was that for?" but he wouldn't meet Remus' eyes, looked everywhere else as Remus advanced, backed him up against the wall and put both hands on Harry's shirt under his tie, ripped it open, buttons flying.
"This," hissing, curling his fingers underneath the collar, under the familiar worn leather, pulling Harry's face to within an inch of his. "This is not yours."
Harry was choking, trembling, still not looking at Remus. "Was in one of the bags!" he managed to gasp out. "I ... wanted ... it ... Sirius."
"Sirius wore it for me!" and Remus was seeing red, now, the wolf inside growling, his body holding Harry full-length and hard against the wall.
"Can't... breathe... Profess..." and Harry was panting, now, face turning red and eyes beginning to water, and that did it, one tear sliding down Harry's cheek, over those bones that grief had revealed. Remus let his numb fingers fall from the collar, stepped back, and Harry fell over, coughing.
For a minute no one moved. Remus felt the wolf recede, felt a numb horror at hurting Harry, but still, looking at him, bracing himself on the floor, kneeling, felt furious rage: this black-haired boy who was not Sirius wearing that.
"Take it off, please," and Remus marveled at how calm his voice sounded, despite it all. "Now." They'd get through this, he'd apologize later, the collar could go at the back of the wardrobe and he wouldn't look at it...
Harry wasn't moving.
"Harry. Take it off."
Harry shuddered.
"It's not for you, Harry."
He was beginning to sob, quietly, had taken off his glasses and tucked his head further down onto his chest, and Remus couldn't stand it, any of it, the tears, the collar, and so he reached down to undo the latch, to take it off, so that he could comfort Harry, so that things could be normal again.
But Harry jerked when Remus stepped closer, and moved frantically back, against the wall, huddling there.
"No, please..." he was crying. "No. Don't make me."
"Don't you understand?" Remus was too tired to be angry. "He wore it for me. It said he was mine."
"Your name's on it," Harry was snuffling now, with the tears. "Moony."
"Yes."
"But couldn't," Harry stammered, panting a little as he tried to stop crying, "Couldn't... couldn't I be yours?" And he lifted his head and met Remus' eyes with his own, with Lily's brilliant green eyes sparkling with tears, and the wild grief there made Remus freeze.
"I'm not..." the words were whispered, sticking in Harry's throat, "I don't belong to anyone. Not anymore. I don't have..." Harry swallowed thickly, his bottom lip trembling, and Remus couldn't stand it any longer, this boy hurting, this echo of James and Sirius and Lily and all the people who'd loved him huddled in pain on the floor of his bedroom.
"Hush, hush, hush" finding grace enough to drop to his knees and gather Harry up in his arms. "It's all right. It's all right." Harry leaned in limply, breath shuddering as he moved into Remus' arms, let his cheek rest, heavily, on Remus' shoulder. Remus lifted his hand automatically to rub circles on Harry's back. The tension immediately melted from both of their bodies—Harry comforted by being held, Remus soothed by the utter familiarity of it, the ageless regularity of a black-haired boy in his arms. They'd crawled into his bed at Hogwarts -- both Sirius and James (though usually not at once), having woken up from nightmares. James told him early in their first year that his mum would rub his back when he couldn't sleep, and so Remus, thrilled to have friends, thrilled to be able to offer something, immediately started tracing a circular pattern between James' shoulder-blades. He'd been snoring in minutes, and it had stilled Sirius, the first time Remus had tried it, made him relax and sink deeper into the pillow.
Remus reached a hand up to stroke Harry's hair, and that was the same too, messy but silky, slipping through his fingers, and God he'd missed this, missed touching...
Harry.
Not Sirius.
Remus took a deep breath, tamped firmly down all the grief and lust swirling inside him. This was Harry, who was still a child, and who needed adults who wouldn't betray him or use him. Or let him wear collars when he didn't understand what they meant, didn't understand what he was asking.
And so Remus reached up and took it off and helped Harry to his feet and hugged him tightly.
"I don’t want you to keep it on,” he said, bending a little to look Harry in the eye. “You don’t need it. You have all of us," he said, holding the too-skinny boy in his arms, reaching to toss the collar away, anywhere. “We’re yours. Really.”
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Glad you liked it. :-)
Date: 2006-04-29 09:36 pm (UTC)