burn || remus lupin

sydney

Her execution was never perfect.

The intent was there, every time her intent was there, in the right place. The perfect place, even.

But her execution was

flawed.

Sydney believed herself to be flawed. Too flawed.

Everyone was flawed, she knew that. No one person could ever be completely perfect. And Sydney loved more than anything to find perfection in the "imperfections".

Sirius's chaotic loud, Peter's certified clumsiness, Marlene's coffee addiction, Alice's clutter of candy wrappers, Lily's chipped nail polish, James's obsessive need for constant togetherness.

And Remus, Remus was so obviously imperfect. With his slashing scars and his worn sweaters. With his crooked smile and his charred story.

And yet, Sydney couldn't find any flaws at all. Not really.

Sirius was loud to compensate for his life of deafening quiet, and so Sydney loved when he screamed the lyrics of her tapes, their voices powering over one another until nothing around them mattered.

Peter was so ironically careful, with his words, his touch, his feelings. Sydney loved that he occasionally shattered a pot or knocked into a vase because he was so emotionally delicate that he felt the break, even when it was fixed with the flick of a wand.

Marlene always had a coffee in one hand, burning hot or freezing cold. And Sydney loved that her other hand almost always had a hot chocolate ready, too.

Alice, with her candy wrapper clutter, was an adorably horrible hoarder. Sydney loved it: sweet little Alice with her stacks of mess.

Lily's nails chipped with her stress, which built up with each new task she took on. And yet, Lily never lost time for her friends, for what mattered. Sydney loved repainting their nails each week, resetting the calm and starting anew.

James needed things together so he wouldn't fall apart. Sydney never felt so at home, so whole, than when she became a part of James's together. She loved it.

And she inescapably loved every imperfection about Remus. The pink lines that told unspoken stories, the sweaters that folded naturally in his arms, his scent, his smile that doused her in unbearable waves, the story she knew too little about. He was so imperfect, and she loved it.

So why, then, could she not love this about herself?

She tried, so hard, so many times. But it was impossible, she felt.

She was more than imperfect. Sydney was flawed.

It's why she wasn't enough for her parents, her grandparents, her brother. It's why she was easily forgotten by her friends in Pennsylvania. It's why she chose Sirius, believing Remus was an unreachable entity. It's why she believed Theo.

Her intent was there. Surely. She believed it to be there.

She intended to help, to find answers. She intended to come back, love her friends, be with Remus.

But her execution was flawed. She missed the mark. She fell off the tracks.

And maybe it wasn't the execution at all. Maybe the flaw really did lie in her intent.

Maybe she intended to blow it all up, like she always did. Like something else always would.

Maybe that's why she was here, not there.

Maybe that's why he was here, too.

_______ 

A/N

i feel like this pov was less sad so you're welcome