Love To The Loveless Shown

Chapter VII

The record player; state of the art and a Muggle device, is switched on at the wall, causing the tiny scarlet

(blood)

LED to sputter into life. A hand, shaking, digs around in the chaos on the floor and places one of the only unsmashed discs onto the turntable, lifts the arm, and places it onto the record. The hair point zippppppps across the grooved plastic, and is hurriedly removed. Fingers, grimy and nail-bitten, brush ineffectually at the deep scored scratch that mars the disc, and tries again. This time...

Guitar and drums kick in, and the fingers start to tap along, slightly out of rhythm. The tune they beat out is raw and emotional, music written by someone scorched and tortured by love. As lyrics drift into the consciousness, a baritone voice, once pleasant but now tormented and agonised, whispers along...

You spurn my natural emotions
You make me feel like dirt
And I'm hurt
And if I start a commotion
I run the risk of losing you
And that's worse

Losing you. That´s worse.

James and Lily. Lost forever.

Ever fallen in love with someone
Ever fallen in love
In love with someone
Ever fallen in love
In love with someone
You shouldn't've fallen in love with

Love. Doesn´t have to be sexual. Never fall in love. You just get fucked over when you are deserted either in death or in antagonism or in betrayal.

In the background, a young child starts to wail.

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Chapter VIII

~Now~

Remus always thought that his trolley was going to crash into the ticket booth between platforms nine and ten, so he always closed his eyes and ran until he could scent the musty smoke from the Hogwarts Express and the almost sherbet smell of magic that cracks and fizzes in his sensitive nostrils. This year was no exception.

As ever, there were no problems and he was able to enter Platform Nine and Three-Quarters without anything awful happening to him. Remus always felt a little foolish about being so worried about the barrier not opening, but to worry about things was in his nature; he was sure that it was something to do about his werewolf status. His father, who believed in being punctual, had died just before the war had ended, and had imbued his youngest son with the sense that one must never be late. He could remember that his father never came onto the platform with him. Remus knew his dad used to become emotional and thought it best if the tears he shed for his youngest son were expelled in private. Things did not change, and until the day he died his father sobbed every time his favourite son, quiet, intelligent and slightly introverted, left on whatever journey he was driven, by nature, to make..

He opened his eyes, noticing that his father´s bequeathal of an almost obsessional need to be on time meant that he had arrived just over half an hour before the eleven o´clock departure of the scarlet engine. The cargo of witches, wizards, assorted pets, trunks and broomsticks had not yet started to fill the small platform, so Remus was able to freely wheel his trolley down the smooth, worn stone to a carriage right next to the guard van. He manhandled his trunk onto the train (oh the strength benefits of werewolf status, he thought bitterly) and settled in the corner seat to gaze at the arriving pupils and see what sort of children he would be teaching. In his vantage position Remus could see the large majority of the platform, his keen eyes trained on those who were passing through the portal.

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The first he saw was Harry, his untidy hair sticking up and an almost harassed look on his slightly tense face. Harry Potter was not the best-looking boy to have entered Gryffindor, but there was a certain chirpy demeanour that lent humour to his thin face, and to Remus he was achingly like the father he had never known. He could see the ghost of James within him, that when he grew older that they would be hauntingly similar. Images of slender, toned, creamy skin and callused gentle fingers sometimes haunted his dreams, even now. The boy´s green eyes were tired but jovial behind his round spectacles as he hauled his trolley along, looking for anyone he knew, and he clambered into the train about half way down

`Ron! Hermione! Place here I think!´ Lupin heard Harry yell suddenly. The red-haired freckly boy, chocolate eyes gleaming with amusement, was able to get his own trunk onto the train, and then helped a bushy-haired girl with hers.

Remus smiled to himself, eyes crinkling with amusement but made dark by memories. It reminded him horribly of old days. Good old days.

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`Ah, I always forget how comfortable you are, Hermione.´ Ron turned and started trying to fluff up Hermione´s shoulder to make leaning on it extra snuggly. They were forced to stand at this point, and wait for the hubbub of students to settle, before they could find a compartment. `Mmmm, nice to be with my lovely friends, even after staying the summer with me. Even you, Potter, you snoring git - I have a spell to stop that, so if you just...´

`Hell no! You are putting no spell on me! Last time you did that you did Pinoccious and my nose refused to stop growing whenever I told a lie for a week. And it had to be at the time I was trying to shake off Colin Creevey. Every time I told him I was doing homework what would happen? Another half-inch on my nose, thanks to you. No more spells, thank you very much; especially as it is our third year at Hogwarts and contrary to popular belief I want to do well in my exams.´

`Ach Potter. You don´t need to pass exams with looks like that - with your body, my beauty and Herm´s brain we could go far, could we not?´

`At least it wouldn´t be my body, Harry´s face and your brains, Ron.´ Weasley threw a shoe at Granger, which missed its target and flew out of the window. Grumbling, Ron had to fetch it and spent several moments amusing himself by sticking himself to the glass with his open mouth. Harry threw a pepper imp at him, and the red-head, not wanting to miss out on any food, came racing back in and swiped a handful. Hermione closed the window with a thunk, pressing her forehead to the cool glass.

Ron noticed that his best girl friend was gazing out of the window, pointed chin resting on the knuckles of her long fingered elegant hands. Hermione does have pretty hands, he thought irrationally.

`Found anyone you fancy, Hermy my love. Don´t you forget, you are mine.´ Fingers, squarer, stronger and larger than the ones he had been studying slithered jokingly around her robed waist and were swatted away in good temper by the girl.

`No. Draco has just got here and is looking as Slytherin as he can possibly get.´ There was a rush to the still open at this point as Harry and Ron tried to get a decent glimpse at their enemy.

`Good God! I think he has stopped his sneer!´

`Nah - was the light, Harry. He´s still as sneery as ever.´

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They ended up in his compartment, where he protected them from the Dementors and fed them chocolate for the shock. And as they giggled and chattered about inconsequential things, eighteen years melted away to nothing, and in the short but endless hours, Lily, James and Sirius lived again.