Title: Soar, Icarus, Soar

Pairing: Remus/Tonks, if any.

Summary: He is Icarus; he will fly.

Warnings: Um. Cryptic angst. And a lot of it. And, um, grab a tissue, maybe? *looks down at the review button* And maybe a tissue for that guy too. Enjoy!

He is Icarus, imprisoned in his tower. Metaphorical, of course, unless you count the Gryffindor tower. Did you know that it used to be a dungeon? Remus didn't.

But he is Icarus, brave daring Icarus who flew and escaped and fled and fell-

He is Icarus, and that is that.

Remus fashions wings. The feathers are that of honesty, of hope, and the glue is held together by love and by friendship, and the straps are made solely of the name Icarus. He fashions his wings carefully, everything just so, careful not to rip, careful not to tear.

He is Icarus; today, he flies.

He is tentative, at first - Remus is used to the ground, used to watching Sirius and James and Peter and others soar in his place - but soon he soars. Icarus.

He soars towards the sun, so big, so bright. He soars higher. He can feel the heat - burnburnIcarusburn - but no matter. It singes his feathers, but they hold, for now. He can't turn back. He soars higher. The heat is not enough, never enough.

Just a little further, Remus thinks, ever the Icarus. His feathers made of honesty and hope start to burn and shrivel before his eyes. His glue made from love and friendship starts to melt. His straps hold. He soars higher.

He knows, like Icarus, that he will fall, but he can't bring himself to care. Remus reaches the sun, and his glorious wings fall apart.

He falls. He falls as he has always known he would.

In the ocean, it is a damp, bleak place. Twelve years Remus spends there - a lifetime for some, a second for others. But it is too long for him; not a lifetime, not a second, but twelve long years.

Once Remus is out of the ocean and back in a new tower, one not quite as bright or quite as beautiful, he meets the real Icarus, the Icarus who fashions wings for others, others who don't fly or fall quite as far. He knows he cannot compare.

But Remus starts to make wings. They are not as carefully crafted, not as exquisite. There are rips and tears, but they will hold, each ragged feather now made of the word Icarus.

(soar, Icarus, soar)

The strong glue is made solely of the name Dora. He soars higher.

Remus is Icarus; he will fall.