|Slow Burning Feeling
Author: Bhangra Santa PM
It's a slow burning feeling...Rated: Fiction K - English - Angst/Humor - Remus L. - Words: 407 - Reviews: 4 - Published: 11-05-05 - Status: Complete - id: 2647228
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Disclaimer: Not mine, but the feeling is
Dedication: Well, this may make me repetitive, but to Katie again, who I could so imagine doing this.
Slow Burning Feeling
It's a slow, burning feeling that starts around the pit of his stomach. It slowly spreads, up towards his heart and grips like a glove, or a hand, or something. He's too tired to specify.
He looks to either side and sees his friends. They're not worrying about things like this. They wouldn't care about these kind of things, they'd even laugh at him if he told them what he was thinking at that precise moment.
He wrings the sheets in his pale hands, all the while gazing at that weird canopy above his head that seems to move even without wind.
He mumbles a soft 'No' to himself. It doesn't matter, it shouldn't matter. He bets he's the only one in the whole of Gryffindor, no, the school, who is thinking this.
Before he came to school, he wouldn't have to think about this. When the only people he saw on a daily basis were his loving parents. He ponders on his parents.
The kind Catriona Lupin, who always ties her hair up so tight, and only lets it down (both literally and figuratively) when told to by her husband or when incredibly happy. He also thinks about his Dad, Micheal Lupin, with his sad smile and tendency to lift an eyebrow when amused, or upset, or when thinking, generally at any time. If they knew what he was thinking just now, they'd bustle into the room, bringing with them the air of a worried parent. They'd tell him it's alright, not to be worried, go back to sleep.
But they're not here, he's all alone in this big bed. With people he hardly know surrounding him. He knows he could very easily make it right. In fact he will. Right now, at this moment.
He lifts the red and gold covers and pads quietly toward the mahogany desk that stands proud by the window. He picks up his wand, and pointing it slowly at the long piece of parchmet. He mumbles a charm that should be too complex for someone his age. He readies his quill and ink and re-writes the word 'Goblin' on his History Of Magic essay.
That was close.