Little unknown fact: Portals are everywhere, everywhere, everywhere.
On soil?
(yes)
In structures?
(yes)
In/on the wind?
(yes)
In water?
(…)
(most definitely)
Somewhere in the North Sea, a body—more so a corpse—swims.
(with great difficulty one might add)
Who is aware of such portals?
(nature)
Apart from nature, is any living person aware of such portals?
(very few)
Are those aware able to locate said portals?
(no, they forget their exact coordinates after they turn away or go through)
What premise occurs for one to stumble on a portal?
(chance)
Chance?
(chance)
So, a portal can’t be manipulated to change spaces or draw someone in?
(no)
Let me rephrase: until now, past or present a portal has never been manipulated? It is all chance?
(we would like to inform Remus Lupin, there is no such thing as time)
Up until now, past or present a portal has never been manipulated? It is all by chance?
(we would like to inform Remus Lupin, there is no such thing as time)
Remus swears. Of course, there’s bloody time, and the lack thereof.
Up until now, past or present a portal has never been manipulated? It is all by chance?
(we would like to inform Remus Lupin, there is no such thing as time)
And the lack thereof, if he doesn’t figure this out immediately.
Of course, there’s bloody time. It’s the present, and I need my answers now.
(what says we are not in the future to fix the past)
But you just said there was no time?
(we would like to inform Remus Lupin, there is no such thing as time)
Remus pauses.
In the future, has a portal ever been manipulated?
(…)
Remus asks again.
(…)
And again.
(…)
…
In the future, has a portal ever been manipulated?
(…)
The slivered ripple in the wall crackles, and then, dissipates into nothingness.
…
Remus is alone.
Remus is so alone.
Remus is alone in a peeling-ivory room where the gnarled roots of ivy latticework the dilapidated structure more than any remaining beams; the trunk of a tree shimmying up the centrefold.
(from nature, back to nature)
From the future back to the past to change the present?
(time is moot)
or is it?
A sad, non-disposable fact: Surging waves to a gaunt torso and ribs so apparent someone could drag a mallet across the xylophone ridges might as well feel like a massacre.
Death. Sirius wonders if this is what it is like. If this feeling of falling that lingers at the very core of his hollow stomach amounts to this; to the end of it all. He wonders if, once and for all, this is it. If he’d sink to the pits of the crashing briny and be brought onwards to the further maritime.
Part of him doesn’t care; he’s out of that place.
Will I die?
(…)
All Sirius knows, is that he’s falling or drowning into an ever-darkness, and it’s both unyieldingly painful and the most mellow he’s felt in more than a decade. It would be so easy to slip.
(“Siri-”)
As easy as closing his eyes. Maybe, just maybe, even easier than that. He can’t move his fingers or toes; he can’t see the light of day, even if it’s terribly stormy and ashen.
(“Sirius”)
There’s nothing but the slow drop of his limbs as he’s encased in what seems to be a vast ocean of water and waves that ebb and flow almost rhythmically around him in a sort of mesmerising, unimaginable dance.
(“Sirius”)
(from somewhere beyond)
“Sirius”
(something corporeal)
Two people call to him, but he can’t hear them… yet.
He listens to his environs—of the North Sea and the sweet murmurs it sings softly to him; of its kaleidoscopes of blues. It whispers of cerulean as pale as the midday Cornwall sky, midnight navies, reef shallows, lagoon turquoises, the sea-foam ripples that board on light green, and the most sombre hues that are akin to grey.
He harks it all as carefully as he can, letting the ripples rock him to drowsiness. He tries to listen to only them; they’re all he wants to hear.
He’s a baby again, being rocked to sleep, even if Sirius is well certain his mum never cradled him.
(“Sirius”)
(the voice spoke in a young cadence; the voice of a baby brother)
“Sirius”
(the warm, comforting voice cried; the voice of a lover)
He feels infinitely at peace in his current state. There’s no use of tuning into the hushed whirs of noises beyond—
—Beyond, beyond, beyond—
But Sirius hears them somewhat, nevertheless. They seem frantic and fearful and all the fragile, fiery emotions he wants to leave behind. It would be so easy to slip.
To slip or be dragged under.
Dragged. Dragged under.
There is a cave. There is a cave. There is a cave and his brother. Oh, one of the voices. He hears it now—(“Sirius”). It’s his brother. It’s his brother’s. There is a cave and his brother and a horcrux. There is Voldemort and his brother and a cave and a horcrux and Regulus.
His brother and Regulus.
Regulus and his brother.
Regulus is his brother. He doesn’t need to distinguish the two apart anymore. He’s not sure he ever did, anyway. A cave and a horcrux and—
Did my brother die in that cave?
(…)
Sacrifice.Sacrifice.
Dragged. Dragged.
Inferi.
My brother sacrificed himself.
Sirius is no longer asking. He knows.
(yes)
We are in the same sea. We are in the same water.
(yes)
I’m home.
(yes)
(no)
(yes!)
(no, not yet, big brother)
…
Remus speaks in the future, the ivy daring to sprig and knottle around his heart, if he doesn’t find a solution to whatever he’s looking for.
(but time—future and past and present—don’t exist like that. they’re all occurring at once)
Up until now, past or present a portal has never been manipulated? It is all by chance?
(we would like to inform Remus Lupin, there is no such thing as time)
Sirius can hear the other voice, the one of a lover, asking the same question over and over again as if he’s just on some faraway shore. It isn’t in the future. There is no time.
In the future, has a portal ever been manipulated?
There is no answer.
The man asks again.
There is no answer.
And again.
There is no answer.
…
In the future, has a portal ever been manipulated?
There is no answer, and then, something breaks and Sirius no longer feels the man’s presence.
The man—Remus. Remus’ voice.
Sirius wishes he could stay with Reggie in the sea, but the mere voice of the man makes a curious urge pool inside of him; one that makes him teeter on the edge between the rocky, mountainous shores and the harmonious yet unpredictable sea. He leans forward, trying to hear his voice again. He needs to hear Remus call his name again. He needs to call his name desperately, too.
Do soulmates exist?
(…)
Sirius asks, but it’s rhetorical. He knows the answer. He feels it—it’s just on that shore over there, over—
—Over, over, over—
Soulmates exist.
(yes)
(an unworldly voice speaks)
(but it is your time)
Sirius begins to sink, more and more. He’s simply too weak. It doesn’t matter how much he tries to keep his head above water; how he tries to cling to Cornwall blue and laughter and amber eyes and freckles and how-howl-howling.
Everything hurts. His ribs are making music now. He’s good for something. Painful, ragged screams.
No. No, it can’t be my time!
(I’m sorry)
(It isn’t. Hold on.)
(the voice of his brother)
Aforementioned rule: Portals are a game of chance. It is only fair.
(yes, it’s his time. i’m sorry)
(no!)
(Regulus screams)
Sirius drowns.
(dragged, dragged, dragged)
The most ultimate rule of the universe: soulmates exist.
(Sub-rule: the most ultimate rule supersedes every other rule.)
—Over, over, over—
—Beyond, beyond, beyond—
—Everywhere, everywhere, everywhere—
Little unknown fact (also priorly stated): Portals are everywhere, everywhere, everywhere.
In water?
(…)
(most definitely)
Sirius is underwater, blanketed in blue-black in every direction. He’s being dragged to the very pits. He’s dying—
or—
(objective truth: the moon controls the tides)
(says Regulus’ voice, snickering as if he wagers maybe the moon is capable of controlling the whole sea—the tides, the depths, the—)
A portal is being torn across the ocean floor for kilometres upon kilometres and borne straight open.
(—if it means their soulmate will die, if not.)
(i’ll see you soon enough, Siri)
(Regulus both mourns and rejoices.)
Sirius is being yanked and yanked and pulled by his feet through, through, through—
Darkness.
Remus is edging the Black Lake now, in the opening of the Forbidden Forest. He’s been called there.
And then, light.
Sirius coughs; he’s on the shore. Coughs and coughs up lungs full of saltwater.
And then, amber, amber, amber. Amber eyes and Remus and mate—soulmate—
Mate.
And wolf and fur and curls and freckles.
Remus and Sirius.
Moony and Padfoot.
And home. Home. Home. Home.
(from nature, back to nature)