Hymne a la Beaute

A/N: This fic is based around a Baudelaire poem, which can be found in full in the Author's Notes at the bottom. My thanks go to Stephanie for Betaing, Alicia, whose fics and persistence in writing remind me why I want to keep writing and reading myself, and, I suppose, my university French faculty for making me study this poem last year.

Hymne à la Beauté

Do you come from the heavens or the abyss,

O Beauty? your gaze, infernal and divine,

Confused and confusing, pours out good deeds and bad...

The Prewetts' deaths had clinched it.

Remus had had black, jittery suspicions lurking in the darkness of his mind for some weeks now, but yesterday, when the Death Eaters had come for the Prewetts... Now it wasn't just suspicion, it was certainty.

There was a spy in the Order. There had to be. No-one else could have given the Death Eaters that information. And it had to be someone near the centre of the Order, too.

The process of elimination had been running quietly in his head for a while now, but now he went over it again, consciously. It couldn't be anyone who had had a death in the family, Remus was sure. He had seen the way Order members had acted after it had happened to them, had seen the way their eyes had glowed with a driving inner light for some time afterwards, until eventually it was extinguished, leaving cool, steely resolve in its place. So many of their members had only joined the Order after such a tragedy. It couldn't be them.

And sadly, these days, that left few others. Remus kept trying to avoid the thought that followed, but the more he tried to escape it, the quicker it found him. If a death on the side of the Light could drive relatives into the Order, what of a death on the side of the Dark? They had discovered a few months ago that Regulus Black was dead. Information on how it had happened was patchy, and it was a very real, haunting possibility- even if no-one spoke of it- that Regulus had been one of the hooded assailants who had fallen in one of so many battles. Everyone fired spells at everyone else. It could have been anyone who had killed him. Even his own brother.

Even Sirius... Remus tried desperately not to think it, to remind himself that recently his every thought on any subject had led to Sirius, that this was just that same tendency extending itself in a particularly alarming way... But he couldn't help wondering if he was just making excuses. After all, it fit just a little too perfectly. Sirius came from a family which was traditionally Dark. The fact that they had disowned him- or he had disowned them, as Sirius would insist- meant very little in actuality, Remus knew. Sirius felt the ties of blood and honour as strongly as any pureblooded wizard, and perhaps he was even more acutely aware of them for their absence from his life. Perhaps he was finally coming home to them.

And Remus couldn't even tell himself that Sirius wasn't dangerous. Everyone knew Sirius could be a very dangerous man when he wanted, in the battles when his eyes shimmered with darkness and curses dripped from his lips as if they were his natural tongue. They couldn't help liking him anyway, of course, for the times when he was nothing but laughter and light-heartedness, the times when it seemed all but impossible to reconcile this smirking jester with the dark and taciturn man who fought alongside them... but in secret they all tended to be very glad that he was on their side.

Your gaze holds both sunset and dawn...

Do you emerge from the darkness of the chasm or descend from the stars?

But what if he weren't on their side any more?

He had always been capable of heedless destruction, laughing at others' pain, pulling pranks which verged on cruel, which Remus hadn't been at all comfortable with. Persecuting Severus Snape, and laughing gaily at his pain.

Remus still remembered vividly the morning when he had woken up in the hospital wing, James and Peter sitting palely beside him, trying to explain why Sirius had detention for the rest of the year, for the rest of his school life probably- even if such a punishment seemed absurd. Absurdly minimal, he felt at first, with a faint, ridiculous guilt at betraying his friend with these thoughts, this secret certainty that Sirius was getting off too lightly. It wasn't exactly that he wanted his friend to be punished more severely, for he could not have wanted any of this, could still barely even shape his thoughts around the fact that it had truthfully happened. He just felt a kind of flat incredulity that such a trivial, school-boy punishment could ever be thought of as equivalent to a crime of such magnitude, a matter of such seriousness, which seemed to belong so firmly in the world of adult affairs, and adult punishments. Later, as the months slipped away, somehow that many detentions seemed an absurdly large amount, lasting ages and ages- and if Sirius hadn't learnt his lesson by now, he was surely never going to.

Sirius had never apologised, not to Snape, not to Remus, not to anyone. Remus had thought he was just ashamed, but trying not to show it, in his stubborn Sirius way. Now he wondered painfully if his friend had felt remorse at all, or if he had continued laughing on the inside, as gaily as he had laughed on the outside before James had realised the consequences for him. Perhaps Sirius had known all along exactly what he was doing- he was thoughtless, yes, but not stupid. Surely he must have known?

You haphazardly sow both joy and disaster...

You tread carelessly upon dead men, Beauty, you mock them.

Sirius had always been mercurial, fickle, unpredictable. His moods shifted in the blink of an eye, and good ones were built on unstable foundations, houses built on sand. You never knew when the sand would shift, dragging you downwards with it. You never knew entirely where you stood, and when the mood seized him he had been capable of incredible acts of generosity towards his enemies... or extraordinary acts of callous cruelty towards his friends.

He had always been inscrutable, unfathomable. You could never entirely tell what he was thinking. Beneath the laughing, extrovert exterior lay a deep, dark well, and nobody had yet sounded its depths, not even Remus. Secret upon secret lay at its bottom, the things Sirius never talked about, the things they had all learned not to ask about. Unspecified things in the past. His feelings in the present. Whenever Remus tried to talk to him about emotional matters, he clammed up tight. He was a closed book, of the sort you found in the Restricted Section back at school. Silent, forbidding, and shut tight. And when you did force them open, there were only horrors inside, and things you wished you had never insisted on seeing...

He had always been the one Remus loved. Despite all of this danger and fickleness and impossibility, or because of all of this, Remus wasn't quite sure which, or even if it had to be one or the other. Something about him had fascinated Remus from the first, and he had been helpless, captivated by a strange power. Certainly life around Sirius was never boring. While being far from essential- although it was impossible to imagine Sirius any other way, so in a way it was essential to who he was, just like all of the rest of it- it hadn't hurt, of course, that he had been extremely good-looking. His hair, dark as the black night sky which had given him his first name, dark as his surname... dark as his core? It hung in straight sheets around his aristocratic bone structure, getting in those ice-blue eyes. It tapered down to the nape of his neck, a fascinating spot which to Remus always seemed somehow simultaneously vulnerable and exposed, and yet the centre of all of the coiled strength which tensed in his broad shoulders.

But it wasn't physical characteristics alone that determined whether or not someone was good-looking, Remus was well aware, and Sirius had that way of carrying himself, of being so sure of who he was, and so sure that everyone else would either like him or hate him, but certainly take notice of him. And that certainty was what made sure that they did, that upper-class, instilled confidence which Sirius had never even considered, had never even known it existed because, for him, it had always been there. It was what tore all eyes in a room towards him, and somehow it left no question, not the slightest possibility that he was not the most strikingly handsome person in that room.

The dazed mayfly flies towards you, lit candle-

It crackles, catches light, and says: Bless this flame!

Remus tried to shake away his thoughts, but memories kept pouring through his mind, all of the evidence for and against. He had spent too many years composing essays, he could feel the arguments marshalling themselves into order, and coldly, calmly drawing the evidence from his own mind.

Sirius was sitting on the sofa, full of tension still, fidgeting, leaning forwards, not allowing himself to relax. The newspaper lay abandoned on the table, a just-emptied coffee mug obscuring half of the headline, no doubt ringing it with dark liquid when there were perfectly good coasters available.

"It's so frustrating," he said, knotting and un-knotting his fingers, shaking his head slightly. Well, it never did take much to frustrate Sirius. "They keep messing around in their silly little Ministry building, pushing bits of paper around, never actually doing anything. But when a gang of Death Eaters are apprehended, do they mention that they found them practically gift-wrapped and hand-delivered to the Auror office? No, they take all the credit! Sometimes I wonder why we bother doing all their work for them."

"We knew it was going to be like this, Sirius. I know it's irritating, but this is what we signed up for. We knew we'd have to work in the shadows." Sirius' eyes sparked, suddenly alight with curiosity.

"It must be even worse for you, though, right? They may not give the rest of us what we deserve, but you, well, they give you a lot of problems you don't deserve. They treat you like a second-class citizen, and yet you just stand there infinitely calm, ever ready with a platitude. Don't you ever feel like letting off some steam, showing them that they'd regret it if you weren't on their side? Do you ever wish you could turn your back on the ingrates, and, and... Sometimes, couldn't you want to?" The dark fascination which filled his gaze, the intentness of it... it was disturbing.

The panting lover leaning over his beauty

Looks like a dead man caressing his tomb.

Remus felt as if he were at once both an obstinate teenage girl and her over-protective mother. The latter kept issuing dire warnings about getting involved with dangerous men, the former was intent on ignoring any such advice.

He had been having this internal argument for some time now, though covertly, beneath his own consciousness even, for the most part. But surely this today, Fabian and Gideon... they had been good men, and surely their deaths would prove the tipping point? Now, maybe, he would be able to act on what he knew was the course of action he should follow. He could break it off with Sirius, make some excuses, he could even explain his suspicions to Dumbledore. Someone ought to know. Someone had to know.

How could he even want to be with someone who could commit such acts? Only a couple of days before, Sirius had been laughing with the Prewetts in an Order meeting, teasing James about something, and now... now they were dead. Remus would have to be a truly depraved person himself to want to continue associating with someone who could do that, someone who could even be suspected of doing something like that. Surely he couldn't suspect what he did and still be attracted to Sirius?

And it might be dangerous for him, Sirius could be a danger to them all... and what if Sirius were using Remus? He didn't know everything about the Order's work, after all, no-one did, except perhaps Dumbledore, and the spy would be trying to get further information from any source he could. What if Remus was his source? Even if Remus knew that these were in some way just more excuses, more scrapings of his frantic mind, still that idea stunned him like a blow to his middle.

It should be easy then, simple, to detach himself from Sirius. It wasn't as if they had any true time together anyhow, there was a war on after all, and how much worse would it be if it had to happen later, if it had to happen because everyone suspected, or everyone knew, or if it was the truth? Better to get it over with quickly, better not to get any more emotionally involved, because with Sirius, quicksand Sirius, closed book Sirius, you never knew what you were getting involved in. And if it was what Remus suspected... best to get out now.

Whether you come from heaven or from hell, what does it matter,

O Beauty!...

If your gaze and your smile open a door for me

Onto an Infinite which I love and have never known before?

Remus tried to ignore the fact that he knew just from the sound of the knock precisely who was at the door.

He tried to ignore the habitual, ingrained mix of irritation and tolerance he felt as he heard the shuffling feet pacing restlessly outside while he made his way across the room.

He opened the door, and tried to ignore the swooping feeling in his gut, the sudden chattering in his head. Tried to ignore the way Sirius' dark hair brushed his pale, strong cheek, the way his eyes glittered with a dark fire which so few people saw, failing to look beyond Sirius the jester. Tried to ignore the remembrance of what he knew but had been pushing aside, the fact that this black passion and intensity was what he loved. Loved for the fact that, as if in a mirror, it brought out that same intensity and depth of emotion in him. The rest of the world was cold and muted, but with Sirius he was set ablaze in heat and flame and colour.

Remus tried desperately to ignore the love which bubbled gloriously and uncertainly in his heart and on his lips. He tried to ignore it, and, as strong arms found his body, jangling with tension, as strong kisses found his nervous mouth... he failed.

From Satan or God, what does it matter? Angel or Siren,

What does it matter, if you make...

This world less hideous, the moments pass less heavily!

Remus knew, in moments like this, without conscious thought, simply through instinct, that he would never go to anyone with these suspicions. However much he might chastise himself, hector himself with his own worries... he was still blind, horribly, beautifully, wilfully blind where Sirius was concerned. Somehow, with Sirius, nothing else, nothing exterior to them seemed to matter any more. Innocence and guilt, life and death... they were simply fleeting concerns. This was all that mattered.

If he felt guilt, some months later, that he hadn't said anything... if he accused himself of killing James and Lily through his passivity... still somewhere deep down he knew that he had been helpless, captive... and happily so. Whether Sirius had been Light or Dark, Remus had only ever been his.

Angel or Siren... what does it matter?

* * *

A/N: This is the poem the fic's based one, first in the original French, then my shoddy, fairly literal translation:

Hymne à la Beauté

Viens-tu du ciel profond ou sors-tu de l'abîme
O Beauté? ton regard, infernal et divin,
Verse confusément le bienfait et le crime,
Et l'on peut pour cela te comparer au vin.

Tu contiens dans ton œil le couchant et l'aurore;
Tu répands des parfums comme un soir orageux;
Tes baisers sont un philtre et ta bouche une amphore
Qui font le héros lâche et l'enfant courageux.

Sors-tu du gouffre noir ou descends-tu des astres?
Le Destin charmé suit tes jupons comme un chien;
Tu sèmes au hasard la joie et les désastres,
Et tu gouvernes tout et ne réponds de rien.

Tu marches sur des morts, Beauté, dont tu te moques;
De tes bijoux l'Horreur n'est pas le moins charmant,
Et le Meurtre, parmi tes plus chères breloques,
Sur ton ventre orgueilleux danse amoureusement.

L'éphémère ébloui vole vers toi, chandelle,
Crépite, flambe et dit: Bénissons ce flambeau!
L'amoureux pantelant incliné sur sa belle
A l'air d'un moribond caressant son tombeau.

Que tu viennes du ciel ou de l'enfer, qu'importe,
O Beauté! monstre énorme, effrayant, ingénu!
Si ton œil, ton souris, ton pied, m'ouvrent la porte
D'un Infini que j'aime et n'ai jamais connu?

De Satan ou de Dieu, qu'importe? Ange ou Sirène,
Qu'importe, si tu rends, - fée aux yeux de velours,
Rythme, parfum, lueur, ô mon unique reine! -
L'univers moins hideux et les instants moins lourds?

* * *

Hymn to Beauty

Do you come from the profound heavens or emerge from the abyss

O Beauty? your gaze, infernal and divine,

Mixes in confusion good deeds and bad,

And for that reason you can be compared to wine.

Your eye holds both sunset and dawn;

You spread scents like a stormy evening;

Your kisses are a philtre, and your mouth an amphora

Which makes a hero a coward, and a child courageous.

Do you emerge from the black chasm or come down from the stars?

Charmed Destiny follows your skirt-tails like a dog;

You haphazardly sow joy and disaster,

And you govern all and are responsible for nothing.

You walk upon dead men, Beauty, whom you mock;

Horror is not the least charming of your jewels,

And Murder, among your dearest toys,

Dances lovingly upon your proud belly.

The dazed mayfly flies towards you, candle,

Crackles, catches light, and says: Let us bless this flame!

The panting lover leant over his beauty

Looks like a dead man caressing his tomb.

Whether you come from heaven or from hell, what does it matter,

O Beauty! enormous, terrifying, innocent monster!

If your eye, your smile, your foot, open a door for me

Onto an Infinite which I love and have never known?

From Satan or from God, what does it matter? Angel or Siren,

What does it matter if you render,- fairy with velvet eyes,

Rhythm, scent, glow, o my only queen!-

The universe less hideous, and the moments less heavy!