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saudadeonly · 3 years

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burn my heart out: rewrite the history pages (Chapter 4)

Read on ao3. Part 8, consisting of 4 chapters.

Death Eater!Sirius Black AU

Lord Voldemort wages war on Hogwarts but he is unaware of the years-worth of battle fought against him.

(or, several instalments following the Battle of Hogwarts with Sirius Black standing on the wrong side)

In which the House of Black tailors the tapestry of fate.

Word count: 6425

___

James’s knees have gone out from under him, the words streaming out of his mouth far, far away from English or any spells known to man; they’re his mother’s prayers, ancient and further away than the possibility of their survival. It’s only thanks to Marlene’s quick swish of her wand that James doesn’t end up on the floor and remains upright, half-standing, half-floating instead, but the book he was holding isn’t afforded the same luxury. It falls to the ground and slams open, revealing familiar handwriting curved over the pages, covered by an ever-moving picture of James, Lily and Harry; James pressing a kiss to Harry’s wild hair, Harry grinning and Lily’s mouth pressed to Harry’s chubby hand, all of them swaddled in thick, winter-coming clothes. Remus used to read pages-long letters in that handwriting; it’s burned to the back of his eyelids and the words the letters used to convey are the first ones he remembers when he wakes up. He doesn’t know how the picture he took got into the hands that loop their letters this way.

“James,” Remus whispers, stepping in close to take on James’s weight. He doesn’t dare look at the book or the picture again. “James,” he repeats, louder this time, as he presses his fingertips to the sweep of James’s ribs, where he was always sensitive, “we have to go, we have to –”

He doesn’t know how to finish that sentence. He doesn’t know how to help them get out of this one. Lily and Harry were supposed to be safe. He saw them out as far as he could and kept them protected as far as the Invisibility cloak would allow him to. It was his idea to use the passage underneath the Whomping Willow, even if Lily said that they shouldn’t, but there was nowhere else to go. If it was his idea that got them captured – or worse, by now – he will never forgive himself.

“Yeah,” James says anyway, nodding as he rights his glasses on his drained face, “yeah, let’s go.”

They rush out of the Great Hall, the two of them and others Remus cannot, for the life of him, think of right now, and they go down the corridor, through the side door of the Entrance Hall and out into the torch-lit courtyard. There is a shadow that passes behind the colonnade on the side but Remus sees the group of dark-robed figures next and he can’t look away.

Lily struggled. She is still struggling even with a stream of blood from her temple down the side of her face but her efforts are futile against the strength of the woman holding her against her chest. Aubrie Rostami, he remembers with vivid clarity, the young leader of a werewolf pack he talked to on Dumbledore’s orders. A lifetime ago but she told him his, as well as the other side’s, efforts were in vain and he believed her. Now, with Lily’s wand tucked into the belt around her narrow hips, his naivety about her words adds insult to injury.

“You have come to watch,” Voldemort says, a cruel smile playing at his lips. Beside him, Harry is caught in the arms of a masked Death Eater, who doesn’t seem to be struggling with keeping him in place. Harry has his Padfoot plushie hugged to his chest and probably doesn’t sense the danger drawing down over him. “I hoped you might.” He swishes his wand.

It’s too unexpected to counter, too sudden to make a grab for their wands – they all go up in the air, suspended in it but still able to move until Voldemort points his wand at them again and adds, almost lazily, “Immobulus.”

A desperate sound escapes Lily. “James,” she says, an apology, a plea, as Aubrie drags her little ways to the side, toward the tattered part of the group, leaving Greyback the only werewolf not standing with the Death Eaters. “James, I –”

“It’s okay, Lily,” James says, tears in his eyes. “It’s alright, I love you, I love you.”

“Touching,” Voldemort sneers. “Unfortunately, we have other things to do than to listen to you desperate lovebirds.”

“Please,” Lily says, tears running through the dirt streaked across her cheeks, voice strained through the pressure across her neck, “please, not Harry, take me instead, please.”

She must have said it a thousand times over during their walk up to the castle, begged each one of the cold, hidden faces for the life of her son; it doesn’t make it any less heartbreaking.

The Death Eaters don’t stir. They all have their masks on, except for Bellatrix who has covered her face with manic delight instead and Narcissa with her bright head bowed at the very back, but Remus doesn’t see the one he’s always looking for. If Sirius, even masked, were among them, Remus would know him by the easy way he moves, the way his spells cut cold and precise to the others’ wicked delight. It is for the better, perhaps, that Sirius is not here; Remus wouldn’t be able to stand knowing that when faced with the choice himself Sirius would easily give Harry’s life away.

Bellatrix is the only one that reacts. “My lord,” she murmurs as she turns to Voldemort with gleaming eyes, “if the Mudblood wishes so –”

“You’re right, Bellatrix,” he says, gaze flicking towards Lily as he runs the tip of his finger down the length of his wand. “There’s no harm in a little entertainment before we go on to the next part and Nagini has not properly eaten.” His eyes, red as blood, slide to Aubrie, the Death Eaters behind him chuckling. “You,” he snaps. “Bring the Mudblood here.” A scornful glance at Lily, his face cold. “Don’t worry, I will be more merciful than I was with your dear Severus.”

Remus’s stomach turns at the remark. Snape’s body turned up months ago, mangled and tortured beyond recognition, with scores down his face and sides, his bones broken a hundred times over; it is not a high bar of mercy to clear.

“No,” James shouts, his body straining against the magical restraints, to no avail. “No, don’t hurt them, please!”

Aubrie glances at the colonnade across from her then looks back at Voldemort and nods, her expression steeled. Remus follows her gaze but there is nothing there but dust and shadows, dancing with the flickering lights.

Aubrie tightens her grip on Lily, then, when they take a step forward, stumbles over the ground and ends up pushing Lily away from her, far away from the reach of her or the other werewolves’ arms, nearly to the foot of the staircase of the side entrance, where Hogwarts’ students, pale-faced, are now beginning to gather. Lily gasps out a breath, two, and stays, heaving, on the ground.

“You imbecile!” Bellatrix screams, pointing her want at Aubrie. “Do you half-breeds know how to do anything right?”

Aubrie smiles, guilelessly, at her. “Oops,” she says, tucking her hands behind her back, the lines around her eyes and mouth cut in marble. “Stupid werewolf, me.”

Bellatrix exclaims, the curse flashing out of her wand too familiar to warrant any kind of actual words. Except a purple curse slashes through its trajectory, away from Aubrie, and the combined force of the two spells slams into a wide pillar to the side, sending up a flurry of dust and debris.

Among the surprised exclaims that break out, Bellatrix looks toward the source of the second spell and finds, as the rest of them do, a masked Sirius Black strolling out from behind the columns on the opposite side. “I would appreciate it, Bella,” he drawls, hands in his pockets, “if you didn’t break an alliance I worked for months to obtain.”

“Sirius,” James gasps out, the sound more relief than anything else if it weren’t for the hope filling it up, “Sirius, you have to –”

“Silencio,” Sirius says, flicking his wand at James, whose mouth remains open around the non-existent words and eyes wide. Marlene a few paces behind him is pressing her mouth into a pained frown. Remus doesn’t want to know what she was about to tell him back in the Great Hall or how many more seeds of hope that would now be crushed she would have planted with it.

“Sirius,” Voldemort drawls with a tilt of his head, eyes narrowed, “how wonderful of you to join us.”

Sirius, positioning himself next to Aubrie, dips his head into a quick, precursory bow. “The Hogwarts grounds are vast, my lord,” he answers, his voice muffled enough it betrays no emotion. It doesn’t make sense, any of it, his book in James’s hands or his name in James’s mouth, inflected like an orison, because there was nothing he had to gain from it if this is the side he’s chosen now. Remus has never understood him but he never thought he’d let them get so close to the brink. Not ever and especially not after they saw each other in Hogsmeade, when Remus thought a line had clearly been drawn: not Harry.

Voldemort’s face doesn’t clear but he inclines his head and moves his gaze to Aubrie. Sirius’s hand reaches behind her, to where exactly Remus can’t really see but Aubrie tilts her chin up.

Before Voldemort can exact his fury over Aubrie, however, there’s a rustle among the students and they part to the side to let a tall, thin figure steps past. His blond hair reflects reddish in the torchlight as he pauses only for a second by then moves forward. Lily pulls herself to her feet with the help of a student’s extended hand instead but when she tries to follow after, an invisible wall seems to stop her.

“Barty,” Voldemort says, echoing the name murmured among the students, teeth bared the tiniest bit in an appropriation of a smile, cold as death. “You should have been back long ago.”

Barty Crouch moves toward the crowd of Death Eaters with a sort of fluidity Remus wouldn’t expect of someone who was just addressed in such a displeased tone by Voldemort. His robes are ripped at the top of his left sleeve and his leg is dusted with white so he might have an excuse but still, Remus can’t imagine he’d be that confident. He bows before Voldemort but his eyes flick toward the glowing sphere Voldemort’s snake is floating in. “Forgive me, my lord,” he says. “I got held up.”

Voldemort considers him and the robes lying out of place. “No matter now,” he answers, waving him off, “if you found it.”

“I did, my lord,” Barty says as he straightens and pulls a pouch out of his pocket. The Death Eaters around Voldemort quiet as Barty pulls the top of the pouch open and fishes out a mangled, dull silver piece that Remus recognises to have been some sort of tiara once. “I took the liberty of taking care of it.”

There is a second of stunned silence, the tiara’s remains falling off the tip of Barty’s finger as he reaches behind him and pulls a silver dagger out instead. He turns his wrist, the torchlight glinting along the blade, flashing poison-green, and chucks it directly at Nagini.

The dagger flies through the air, its trajectory straight, and Remus knows he’s witnessing something important, something monumental, like a dice roll moments before a jackpot or bankruptcy, like a ship on top of a wave before it breaks; he holds his breath, the air in his lungs stilling before it rushes out of his lungs as the dagger hits the sphere. It bounces off and clatters to the ground, only inches away from the broken tiara. Nagini curls inside the sphere with gleaming eyes, her tongue slipping out her mouth, unharmed.

Voldemort yells, wand lashing out, and Barty flies back, arms flailing around, his shout not as surprised as it should be. Except it’s not Barty that skids across the ground several feet away; his hair has bled into black, his skin tanned and when he looks up, a wheezing sound escaping him, his features have angled into the face of Regulus Black. It takes Remus a second to recognise the sound as laughter, breathless as it is, out of sync with the sharp, emotionless face he last saw. Linsy told them but, even now, Remus doesn’t quite believe it, cannot reconcile the dawning of Regulus’s death with the man that just took a hit at Voldemort.

Across the courtyard, Sirius is indiscernible under the mask, the knot of his Adam’s apple bobbing the only sign he’s even noticed. His hands are buried deep in his pockets. Otis Shah, the leader of another werewolf pack Remus talked to what seems like years ago now, pushes to the front and keeps his steady eyes on Sirius.

“You.” Voldemort’s skin has gone paler than possible, eyes wide. Even Bellatrix is silent, left out from the stream of murmurs that rises up among the Death Eaters. “You’re dead.”

“I guess not.”

There is a short scream of pain when Voldemort points his wand at Narcissa. “Bring me that,” he orders, gesturing to the pouch fallen from Regulus’s hands. “Restrain him, Bellatrix.”

Bellatrix obeys while Narcissa steps forward, straight-backed, but picks up the pouch with unsure fingers. It seems that an aeon passes before her soft-footed steps bring her close enough to Voldemort to hand it over. As soon as she’s done so, she slinks back to Lucius’s side, her eyes passing between Regulus’s face and Sirius’s motionless form, the silver mask secured over his expression nearly the same shade as her cheeks.

The courtyard stands still as Voldemort pulls out several charred objects: a leather-bound book, a golden goblet, a ring. A moment of silence passes. Then a scream tears out of Voldemort, so violent it echoes in Remus’s bones, so cruel it turns into the only thing it could have: “Crucio.”

Regulus trashes into his standstill, body convulsing of its own accord with nowhere to run and Remus cannot stand the sight of him but it’s not a pain he’d wish on him or anyone. He is Sirius’s brother but he is more than that; he is someone who grew past him, bigger than him, who turned against Voldemort, the only thing Remus has ever wanted for Sirius to do. Remus cannot bear to look at Sirius’s reaction, if there is any at all.

Regulus stills, chest heaving. “I’ll keep the locket as a keepsake,” he says hoarsely, staring up at Voldemort with deep, Black-grey eyes. Inexplicably, Remus wishes it were someone else’s eyes proclaiming their defiance, someone else’s words drawing a line of sure-fire stance.

Someone clears their throat and everyone turns to look at the source of it. In one smooth movement, Sirius pulls off his mask and flings it onto the ground. It fractures, almost exactly down the line of the constellations, silvery bits smashing around. He has his wand pointed at Voldemort in the next split second, his face forged into single-minded determination, as familiar as coming up for air after diving down to the bottom, his simple movement an act of war for itself. “Avada Kedavra.”

Not pointed at Voldemort, Remus realises belatedly but at Nagini, still caught in the glowing sphere. He can’t imagine why killing Voldemort’s pet is so important to Sirius and Regulus but he’s willing to concede their already-questionable sanity must have chipped away by now.

A large chunk of stone flies up in front of Voldemort and Nagini and explodes into green fire, the sickly light washing over the astounded faces all around. Sirius Black, the most loyal of supporters, going against Voldemort himself. An alliance built for years, thrown away on a dime for the one person Sirius has always been most protective of: Regulus.

The explosion and the astonishment give him a few precious seconds but Sirius doesn’t use them to go to Regulus. Instead, he shouts, “Now!” and fires his next spell at Bellatrix and her manic-gleaming eyes. She was the only one who didn’t stop to gawk and whose wand summoned up the chunk of stone in front of Voldemort.

The clash of their spells, a knock of wordless curses, cutting and precise, lights up the night and through it, Remus sees Otis Shah punch the Death Eater holding Harry. His fingers break with the impact but the Death Eater pitches to the side and Otis doubles down, unflinching as his bones splinter. “Run, boy!” he yells at Harry, who lands, sprawled and scraped but ultimately unharmed, on the ground.

Sirius has taken on both Bellatrix and Voldemort in that time, not sparing a glance for Regulus trying to get out of the magic binding him or the werewolves jumping the other Death Eaters, but seems to be holding his own until his wand slashes through the air a split second before Bellatrix’s, confident in its motion, infallible in its target. Bellatrix is knocked back, gasping for air as she rolls across the ground, her wand falling away from her.

“Crucio!” The word out of Sirius’s mouth revibrates with a strength that makes Voldemort’s knees go out from under him, his mouth open in a sky-slashing scream but Sirius doesn’t keep it longer than a second. Instead, his eyes go to Nagini, then to Regulus. At the very end, they follow the small figure prickling through the battle.

Harry has picked himself up and is running across the cobbled courtyard but his short legs aren’t fast enough to get him away; Greyback, throwing off another werewolf, leaps through the air and is at his heels in a matter of moments, his sharp, yellow nails brushing over the top of Harry’s black hair, the sound of his footsteps reaching up to grab at Remus’s throat.

“Harry!” Lily’s hair is a beacon in a sea of black and brown but she might as well be across the world for Harry, separated by a mountain of danger and fire that he cannot brave alone, and he dashes away from them. “No!”

Harry ends up throwing himself into Sirius’s arms instead, from where Sirius has half-braced himself to catch him, just as Greyback lunges after him and, unable to stop his momentum, slams directly into the two of them. They go tumbling back, Sirius’s body like a shield around Harry’s as he takes the brunt of both Greyback’s force and impact with the stones. Remus’s breath catches in his throat, traitorously, stupidly, not only because it’s Harry, but because it’s Sirius’s arms that are secured around him.

The movement in the courtyard stills as the three of them end up sprawled across the ground, Greyback across Sirius’s legs, Harry’s dark head tucked against Sirius’s shoulder.

Otis crosses the few feet between them and pulls Greyback off Sirius with his good hand, aiming a kick at his stomach and another one at his ribs, leaving him gasping out. The last kick, centred directly at his face, breaks his nose and makes him go still.

Sirius’s lips are moving, the words they’re shaping inaudible, and Harry is nodding reluctantly as they slowly pick themselves up, Sirius getting his knees beneath himself. He draws himself up, his hair a halo of black and dust framing his face, arms firm around Harry, a silver ring glinting on his finger. His wand lies a few feet away, snapped in half. This is how tragedies go, Remus knows, an inevitable fall from grace, a turning point; the beginning of the fifth act, a certain bitterness in the fact that there isn’t any other way this could have ended.

A sob rips out of Lily. “Harry.”

Only a meter away from Remus, but still too far away, James’s face is drained, slashed open with grief and fear. “Please,” he murmurs, the sound dragging over Remus’s skin, skimming down his spine; suddenly, he is standing back in that Muggle town, years removed, his life going to pieces around him. “Sirius, please.”

“Sirius,” Voldemort says as he gets to his feet, batting away the offered help of a Death Eater and reaches out a hand, pale and unwavering. It’s obvious what he’s about to offer: a redemption for the havoc he wreaked, a way out of his predicament. “Bring me the boy.”

Sirius looks around, the grey of his eyes bottomless, incomprehensible with the way he’s caged his heart so fully. They flit over Otis, still standing over Greyback, stop momentarily on Regulus, now motionless on the ground but with his eyes wide open, and pass over Narcissa’s pale, pinched face; they settle on the phoenix feather stretched thin between the two halves of his wand. When he looks back at Voldemort he swallows and says, “No.”

The word hangs in the air, descending slowly upon the faces of Voldemort and the Death Eaters, but it settles somewhere deep in Remus’s chest, pressing up to the shape of, That was ours, that Remus made space for so carefully in the outskirts of his heart two years ago. Harry, with James’s face and Lily’s eyes and Remus’s heart, is theirs, down to the bone; but he is Sirius’s too, his choice and his redemption.

“Give me the boy,” Voldemort says, voice a bit lower, those ruby-red eyes narrowing.

Wordlessly, Sirius nudges Harry out of his arms and behind himself, arms forming a protective brace around him as Harry clings to his back. The Death Eaters have spread out, forming a wall of bodies between the two of them and the Order and Hogwarts’ residents. Between Harry and his parents.

Sirius keeps his eyes on Voldemort but his calm and even words are only for Harry as his hands tighten on Harry’s torso. “It’s alright, pup.” He glances at Otis. “Now would be a good time to make your exit.”

“And miss all the fun?” Aubrie says loudly, grinning as she looks at Bellatrix, who’s picking up her wand off the ground, with gleaming eyes. An incline of her head and the werewolves get behind Sirius and Harry, their backs to Voldemort. Only now it becomes apparent to Remus that, trough the entirety of the battle, no werewolf looked to Voldemort for instructions. An alliance I worked for months to obtain, Sirius’s voice echoes, pushing a sudden realisation that whatever this was for Sirius it certainly wasn’t an impulsive decision if he had offered the werewolves something even Dumbledore hadn’t. “I rather think not.”

“Better future, didn’t you promise?” Otis adds, moving in line with the other werewolves. Bone sticks out from his fingers, blood pooling around. Still, the brace of his mouth is nothing but firm.

Remus’s throat burns; brave as they might be, dedicated and fierce, they will be no match for the Death Eaters once they decide to use their wands. Sirius must know it, too – that they are willing to die for this. For Harry.

“It’s waiting for you,” he says.

“Only if it’s waiting for you, too,” Aubrie shoots back. She pulls Lily’s wand from her belt and arcs it high above the heads of Death Eaters, all the way to the barrier keeping Lily and the students at bay. Lily’s fingers grapple for it.

“You, Sirius?” Voldemort asks, the soft, silky sound dragging through the air. “Not Regulus, not Severus. You.”

Sirius inclines his head. “Snape did betray you,” he says, the cadence of his voice a slow, agonising dance of death, a promise of, I won’t get out of this alive but neither will you, “but I wasn't yours to begin with.”

“Traitor!” Bellatrix hisses but the sound carries, her face white with rage, her wand pointed directly at Sirius. “I’ll kill you.”

“You can do better than that, Bella. Didn’t Aunt Walburga ever teach you?”

“No, Bellatrix.” Voldemort levels his wand at Sirius, pale hand steady. “I will do it.”

“My lord, such betrayal requires pain, he played us for fools for years –”

“He has the boy,” Voldemort cuts in smoothly, face a grimace. “I do not wish to lose more time. These dramatics have gone on long enough. Besides,” he adds slowly, “the greatest pain for him will be knowing that he leaves all the others here at my mercy.”

Sirius swallows, his eyes blinking closed for a moment, but he lifts his chin and doesn’t budge. Perhaps that’s all Sirius has left to give of himself: a last sacrifice, a declaration of love and lies and apology, laid bare on the cobblestones of Hogwarts, poured through the cracks of the ground it’s built on, raw with how final it is, fragile with the way it was for nothing at all; the act of a dying man, a reminder that even now he would rather crawl home than walk among them. Still, Remus wants to tell him, still it mattered. It will matter.

“Please,” Lily whispers, her voice hoarse. “Please, don’t – take me instead, please –”

Sirius, in his last moments, turns his eyes to Regulus, who is shaking his head in desperation, the pained sounds crawling up from his throat ripping a black, bleeding line into the meaning of devastation. “Guess even the two of us playing together wasn’t enough, huh?” he says, soft between him and his brother, something untouchable spread out in front of them, pulsing. “Désolé, Reggie.”

“This is your last chance, Sirius,” Voldemort murmurs. “No matter your motivations, you have been a good subject. See reason now and all will be forgiven.”

“Easy now, Harry,” Sirius says and Remus’s heart might rip its way out of his chest with how painfully it’s tugging, knowing that Harry is Sirius’s last thought. Harry sobs and curls closer. “It’ll be alright, little one.”

“So be it.”

The motion of Voldemort’s wand, the incantation falling from his lips, the flash of blinding green light; all of it is familiar, achingly so, and it leaves a bitter taste in the back of Remus’s mouth.

“No!” Regulus moves, breaking through the strain of magic around him, and Remus sees it as if time has slowed down; the scrambling off the ground, the desperate, rushed strides towards his brother, his hand, closing around the dip of Sirius’s shoulder, Sirius’s own hand coming up to wrap around Regulus’s fingers. Two brothers, one a Gryffindor, the other a Slytherin, different in everything but that which matters, both so brave, both so clever. Neither moving to save the other from death and take it on himself, but remaining next to each other. To die side-by-side. Together.

The light hits them – Remus can’t tell who it hits, because they are one, these brilliant boys; they are the stars they are named after, they are Blacks, with magic in every nook and cranny of their being, they are brothers, in blood and in name, in everything that they hate – and someone shouts. The world erupts in motion, rallying, wild, fierce, but Remus stays still, unable to watch, unable to look away, and wonders if he is the only one that can feel the magic, old, old magic, sizzling through the air, the taste of it pungent, its sound buzzing in his ears.

But even the Blacks, with their stories written in the stars, are mortal and when Regulus and Sirius collapse, their hands still linked, Remus thinks that the worse sound he has ever heard have to be the screams that rip out of McGonagall, out of James and Lily and Marlene. It’s not until Voldemort moves forward that Remus realises: he was screaming too.

There is no time to let the action sink in, however. The werewolves have surged forward, a tide of beaten bodies and broken spines, fighting for a future that may never come, their edge of surprise lost – the first retaliating spells cut a quarter of them down. The students follow their lead, firing off spells at random but their magic is nowhere near enough to get any of them to Harry.

“Fools,” Voldemort says and waves his wand as he steps past Sirius and Regulus’s limp bodies, towards Harry, who still stands, petrified, next to the safety Sirius tried to preserve for him. Nagini drops down from her sphere and curves her body after him. “Goes to show that even the greatest bloodlines can be tainted.”

Bellatrix points her wand at Sirius and says, “Crucio!” and Sirius’s body flails through the air, silent as only dead men can be. Her triumphant laugh echoes around the courtyard, drowns out all the other sounds in it, followed by a chorus of others’ as the werewolves continue to fall.

Only one doesn’t follow her lead and through the carnage, Remus catches sight of the blonde head bending down behind Bellatrix, the trembling hand that closes around the handle of the dagger that Regulus, minutes away from death, threw. Narcissa Black Malfoy draws herself up, eyes trained on Nagini, now freely slithering across the ground a pace behind Voldemort, toward Sirius and Regulus’s bodies, and moves. And then the end of the world comes bathed in green light.

It begins with Lily’s scream, unearthed from the deepest parts of her chest, thrown out into the world that seeks to take her son; it continues with Narcissa’s hand coming down in a quick, steady arc, with Nagini’s body convulsing and then stilling on the blood-splashed stones; it ends with Voldemort’s wand falling from his limp fingers, his body following a moment, a blink of a second, later. His vacant eyes, like the blood spilling from Nagini’s body, receive no mercy from the dark sky.

There is a moment of utter stillness, of complete silence and then Harry’s wails shoot over the entire battle, over the werewolves that push harder, over Lily and James that break free and dive for him. Remus finds himself among the ones that raise their wands against the furious onslaught of Death Eaters, the words, wasn’t enough, huh, beating out of his chest with the knowledge that it was; it was, Sirius, it was.

“What have you done?” Bellatrix half screams, half gasps out, turning on Narcissa, raising her wand towards her sister.

Narcissa has none of Bellatrix’s strong, ferocious features but she lifts her chin in the same haughty manner, the way Sirius and Regulus did, prepared to go down if that’s what it takes. “I have lost my sisters, my cousins and my husband to him,” she says, her jaw set, as she lets the dagger fall down and grabs her wand instead, pointing it directly at Bellatrix. “I will not lose my son, too.”

“Fool,” Bellatrix spits out, slashing her wand at Narcissa, who parries it with a quickness Remus wouldn’t have expected of her. It devolves into a fierce back-and-forth but Remus is forced to look away when a curse comes flashing his way.

He ducks out of the way and sends a retaliating one, pausing only for a moment to make sure it hits home. He turns and finds Otis half-heartedly ducking out of the way of white spells. While the Death Eater isn’t focused, Remus sends a Stunning Spell his way and doesn’t wait for him to hit the ground before he spins his wand on another one.

A part of Remus doesn’t want the battle to be over because when it is, there will be no way to keep the fresh memories at bay. He is nearly lost in it, in the dodge-and-shoot rhythm, when a familiar throaty shout reaches him.

“Lily!”

Heart thrumming up to his throat, Remus turns and sees, to his and James’s horror, Lily facing off against Bellatrix and deflecting a curse that would have likely finished off Narcissa, who is pressed against a column with no wand in hand. Her stance is sure, feet spread wide apart to keep her steady, and the sheer fury carved into her face gives even Remus pause. The best duellist of their generation, back on her feet, and ready to make a lasting impression.

The spells shoot out of their wands in rapid succession, far too dangerous to disturb from either side and it makes all the others pause and watch. More than once, they have to dodge out of the way of a redirected spell. Lily's sleeve darkens with her blood; Bellatrix's leg buckles every few, unsure steps.

“Is that all you have, Mudblood?” Bellatrix taunts, with none of her previous delight; her voice is full of rage and if she had had time to think about it, Remus is certain there would be grief there as well.

Lily jumps out of the way of a red streak, hair flying, and twists her arm through the air, making her wand only a blur of light wood. The purple spell hits, right over Bellatrix’s heart and she falls much like her master did: with none of the ceremony that seemed to have been reserved for her in life, the way all mortals fall.

“No,” Lily says, pushing her hair out of the way, face stripped of all anger and slowly washed by exhaustion. She crosses the space back to James, who is kneeling with Harry, and folds herself into his arms. Remus hears her murmur, “This is all I have.”

Half-lost, he steps forward to join them but a sharp cry makes him look up instead. Fawkes has appeared in the sky, gleaming gold and red, with Dumbledore holding onto his long tail. They land in the middle of the courtyard, Fawkes unharmed and Dumbledore with a charred beard but their presence seems to be enough to make the rest of the Death Eaters concede. Lucius Malfoy, kneeling by Narcissa’s side with his fingers over her cheek, is the first one to throw his wand to the ground.

The rest of the happenings seem like peculiar snapshots to Remus: the able picking up the injured, checking the dead, Dumbledore binding the Death Eaters, Fawkes bowing low over a few bodies, the werewolves slowly coming together. He can only watch, pain spiking up every time he breathes.

When everything settles like dust, McGonagall is the first one to move, limping and with dirt-smudged robes, almost toward Dumbledore until she steps past him – to Sirius and Regulus, Remus realises with a painful tug that begins in his lungs and ends somewhere around his liver. “Sirius,” she says as she drops down beside him, her hand gentle over his slack face, painted in dramatic, torchlight-falling lines: high cheekbones, arching brows, sharp jaw. Remus’s eyes burn. He thought, for a moment, that he might get to look into his eyes again and tell him – tell him something, anything, that would have crumbled away this bitter ache; now he can’t even scream. “Sirius, I’m sorry.”

The words seem too familiar for someone so far removed from Sirius, from the pain he caused and the bridges he burned. She had her fondness for them in their school years but to be so openly mourning the death of someone she must have thought was a Death Eater less than an hour ago seems – it seems –

There’s a familiar presence in his space, a gentle hand between his shoulder blades. He faces Lily, who has Harry in her arms and is looking up at him with glassy eyes. Her lips are twisted down and her eyelashes dotted with tears, the side of her face crusted with blood. Remus draws her against him, pressing his cheek to the top of her head, and hopes her warmth makes it down to all the parts of him that have frozen over.

“Hi,” he breathes when Harry reaches for him suddenly, small fingers grabbing over his shirt. He takes him from Lily and wraps his arms around him as Harry clings to him, just like he clung to Sirius. Blood soaks his fringe, pooling around the new wound across his forehead, and Remus uses his wand to Vanish it away for the time being, then draws him tighter against himself, thankful despite everything that it isn’t this small body that’s lying among the motionless ones strewn across the courtyard. “Hi, little one.”

There’s a sob behind him and he turns to see Marlene crouched down with her hands pressed across her mouth, shaking her head. Her eyes are focused on Sirius and McGonagall but she leans into Dorcas when she kneels beside her and hugs her to her chest. It’s not unlike how she was all those years ago on a cold December night, crumpled in on herself on the floor of his small apartment, begging them to tell her it’s not true. Remus’s heart wants to go out to her but it is shackled by its own pain.

James’s approach is slow, the antithesis of a man rushing to his friend’s side, desperate to find out if his heart still beats; his steps are heavy with the knowledge that no life is waiting to greet him. He folds his knees underneath himself and reaches for Sirius’s hand, his face contorted into anguish, brown skin sallow. Remus has seen the expression on his face too many times throughout war and aimed at the face beneath his even more than that. Only Sirius, Remus think with more painful humour than he feels, could have broken their hearts over and over, years after they were supposed to let him go.

“James.” McGonagall looks up at James with big eyes, her forehead creased up. Her hand shoots out and wraps around his wrist, quick enough it makes even James look at her in surprise. If it hadn’t been such a strange day all together, Remus might have thought McGonagall to have truly lost her mind. “Tell me I’m not imagining it,” she says, voice hoarse, as she brings James’s hand to Sirius’s neck and presses his fingers there.

James lets out a low, breathless sound and bows down to press the side of his face to Sirius’s chest. “It can’t be,” he whispers.

“What is it?” Marlene asks, drawing herself up, swaying on the balls of her feet. “James, what is it?”

McGonagall lets go of James and Sirius to push herself toward Regulus and feel against his neck, too. She stays silent for a few moments, chest heaving with quick, shallow breaths. Then she faces back to them, her lips curved up into a near-smile. Her laugh comes out sudden and small, disbelieving and out of place among the downtrodden winners, but it makes something in Remus’s chest bloom up.

“They’re breathing.”

___

A/N: To the tumblr anon who asked me if they could write "so and so finds out about Sirius": please don't let the fact that this part of the story is done discourage you from writing the rest of your ideas. I'd still very much love to read them.

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ellana-ravenwood · 7 years

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I bacha(ta) I can dance better than you ! - Jason Todd x Hispanic!reader

Not even sorry for the bad pun in the title. Ok so I really REALLY HOPE I didn’t mess up this story, because I’d be super mad at myself if I mis-represent said hispanic!reader ! I hope it’s fine, I tried really. ANYWAY IMMA SHUT UP NOW HOPE YOU’LL LIKE IT !! Also, I’m French, and never even learned Spanish in class (I was taught German), so I hope the Spanish things I’ll put in are right :

PS : Reader is from Honduras because another anon’ kindly ask me to write a hispanic!reader from there :-). However I didn’t delve in the Hondura culture THAT much, just a few hint, because I still wanna keep it “broad” enough if that makes sense. PPS : Someone pointed out Jason actually know how to speak Spanish in the comics and...well, this is an imagine. It’s obviously not canon. I might write another story where he surprises his hispanic s/o because he indeed already speak Spanish fluently though :D. Endless possibilities really.

You can find my masterlist here : @ella-ravenwood-archives

__________________________________________________

Jason didn’t even remember, what brought him in the Spanish quarter of Gotham that day, but he blessed whatever guided his feet there every single hours that went by because...Well, he met you.

He was lost in thoughts when he stumbled on a huge gathering of people right there, in the middle of the street. A song was resonating in the entire block (this song : click here to listen to it), and the noises all around him brought him back to reality.

People were cheering, dancing, singing...but it’s you who caught his attention.

Pushing through the crowd to see what everything was about, he saw you. And you were absolutely owning the place.

You were dancing with a man, in rhythm with the music, and Jason was completely subjugated by you and your movements.

There was absolutely no doubt you were the center of this little party, right in the middle of the street...Cars were even waiting patiently, their drivers not daring to honk or anything, just looking at everyone dancing and enjoying life.

If he wasn’t so suddenly hypnotized by you, Jason would have realized you weren’t at all the center of the attention. Hell, no one was. It was just a giant gathering of people being happy. A spontaneous event that someone listening to a song too loudly sprout.

Literally, the owner of a local small convenience store’s favorite song was passing on the radio, and he got so excited he pushed the sound all the way up...And then someone, no one knew who, started dancing, another one joined in...until the entire block turned into a giant dancing floor.

Some danced way better than you, but Jason didn’t even notice them. His attention was fully fixed on you, on every move you made, every step you took, your smile, your (H/C) dancing in the wind...He would never admit it, but he fell in love with you right on the spot.

As suddenly as this dancing party started, it stopped, as the song was getting to an end, and everyone, after a lot of hugs, laughter, cheering and applause, slowly returned to their every day life.

Jason found himself, too stunned to move, on the sidewalk, looking at you getting away...He wanted to run after you, but something was holding him on the spot. He just couldn’t move at all. And his heart started to beat like crazy as he realized he was letting you get away without even trying to talk to you !

Fortunately that day, Destiny was finally kind to him.

-(Y/N) ! HEY (Y/N) WAIT UP !

As you were about to turn the corner of the street and disappear forever, you turned around. (Y/N). So that was your name. So beautiful...it rolled on his tongue perfectly. And oh when you smiled at the guy next to him who was calling you, he felt like he was melting into a puddle.

You crossed the street to join the man who called you. It was the man with whom you were dancing a bit earlier. As you reach for him, he takes your hands and Jason’s heart dropped.

-Ooooh hermosa, were you gonna leave without saying goodbye ?

-I wouldn’t dare Ale', it’s just that I really got to get to work, you made me late Mr. Alejandro Barientos !

-Oh hey, I bet your boss will understand the need to dance no ?

-You know my boss mi amigo, she’s pretty harsh.

-Oh hey, don’t talk about your mama like that. She does everything so you can have a good life.

-I know Ale’, I know. Anyway I really gotta run before her “everything” forces me to work extra hours because I was late ! See ya later Mr. Barientos !

He kisses you on the cheek and you do the same, and in an instant, you’re gone again. Jason cannot stop himself from looking at you as you leave, his heart tightening at each step you take, as you go away...He wants to run after you but, what good could it do ? That Alejandro was obviously your boyfriend, why else would he dance with you like that, and kiss you and...Something catches Jay’s eyes.

It’s “Ale’”. And he's kissing a man. Not on the cheek.

Time seems to suddenly slow down, as Jason’s head moves in between the man he thought was your boyfriend and you. He has to make a decision in this split second, as you’re about to disappear forever around the corner...

Jason Todd doesn’t hesitate, he starts to run after you as fast as he can.

************

About six years ago, the man known as “Red Hood” in the dark alleyways of Gotham, never regretted his decision to run after you that day. And genuinely often thanked every day whatever higher power was out there and guided him to this small hispanic neighborhood, guided him to you.

He ran after you, you turned around, and was taken a bit aback when he asked for your number, breathless after his sprint to catch up with you.

But when he started to get all awkward and embarrassed, rubbing his neck nervously as he realized you must think he was crazy, your heart melted for him. It was so charming. Especially since you were pretty sure that guy, usually, wasn’t shy and awkward at all.

All muscles and leather, square jaw and beautiful black hair with a peculiar single white streak in it...He was so much taller than you at that. You would never admit it, but you fell under his spell quite easily.

You quickly realized that his tough and dangerous look and behavior (when in public) was just a facade. Because he was nothing but sweet and cute with you. Your own personal teddy bear (as again, he was quite taller and larger than you).

In a matter of a few weeks you started dating each others. In a few months it was getting serious and now, six years later, you were about to move in together in what was now Jason’s favorite place in Gotham : the Spanish quarter. And you couldn’t be more happy.

You had to admit, at first, you were afraid of people’s reaction. A woman from one of the poorest and most dangerous neighborhood, a non-white woman, dating Bruce Wayne’s son ? It got on the front page of every newspaper in the city. But not like you thought it would.

You thought people were going to judge you for your origins, for your skin color, for the fact that you were far from rich and was dating the son of the wealthiest man in the city. You were waiting for the unavoidable comments about you being a gold digger, or an emigrant that was just here to steal good and honest americans their jobs (you heard so many such comments in your life, about you and other people from South America and such) etc etc...but it turned out it was the opposite.

Every single newspaper and media outlet praised your relationship, saying it symbolized the first step to a new and unified Gotham. You and Jason were from two totally different world, and it was proof things were changing, which was great news for the infamous Gotham City ! You were stunned at first, but ultimately embrace it.

Yes, you could totally get behind the fact that you were becoming a power couple that was spreading more equality, equity, diversity etc etc. If your story could give hope and motivation to others, it was just great.

Soon, you and Jason became the symbol of Gotham that anything was possible, a as surprising as you thought it was, you inspired many to be like you ! Not the “dating a rich kid” thing, but the “I don’t give a shit about what you think, and I’m proud of what I am” thing !

Jason was thinking about all of that, about how lucky he was to have you...Hell, when he told you, after a year of relationship, that he was Red Hood, you just laughed and said :

-Really ? Caperucita Roja ? Couldn’t you think of a better name mi amor ?

Caperucita Roja ? It took him a little while to understand why you were laughing, as he was assuming “Caperucita Roja” meant “Red Hood” in Spanish...Turned out, it meant “Little Red Riding Hood” and you had just mistranslated “Red Hood” in your language, thinking he was talking about the fairytale character. It was something he loved, when you misunderstood something in English. Because it was just the cutest thing to see your confused face at something he just said, or to hear your laughter as what he said meant something different in your language. He also loved when you’d repeat a word you didn’t understand, with that cute accent of yours, waiting for him to explain...

All of that to say that the fact that he was a rather violent night vigilante didn’t bother you at all. You just told him that you loved him, and you’d accept anything about him...Except cheating.

Oh that was the one thing you couldn’t forgive. You warned him that if he ever cheated on you, you’d cut his cojones without a second thought. It made him laugh, but at the same time, made him realize you could be scary when you wanted.

Yes. Jason was completely absorbed by his thoughts about you and jumped, startled, when you laid a plate full of something that looked absolutely delicious in front of him. You didn’t notice he was lost in his own mind and told him :

-I made us some “carne asada”. It’s a typical Honduran’s dish. It’s not as good as my mama’s, but I think I did a decent job.

-Carne...asada ?

-Heyyy ! Great pronunciation mi amor !

-I’m trying. Hum...se...se ve...se ve deliciosa.

-Delicioso my love.

-Oh right, delicioso. Your language is difficult.

-It is yours that is difficult. I don’t understand so many of your grammar rules and such ! It confuse me sometimes !

-Confuses.

-See !

He smiles tenderly at you as you take a seat in front of him. Curious, he asks :

-So, what is...carne asada ?

-Marinated beef, it marinated in lemon, black pepper, vinegar, sugar and cumin seed...Other stuffs too but those are secret ingredients ! And some toasted tortillas to go with it.

Jason nods and cuts a piece of his meat, bringing it to his mouth. His pupils dilate, and he looks at you in amazement :

-Esquisito !

You can’t help the smile creeping on your face, and you reach to stroke his cheek lovingly. He grabs your hand and kisses your brown skin even more lovingly, making your heart beat wildly.

-You are too nice mi amor.

Your accent, as usual, makes him melt and, bringing another fork full of food to his mouth, he adds :

-I mean it. I really do. Your mama’s carne asada must be amazing if it’s better than yours.

-Oh Jason, you know my mama’s food is the best !

He winks at you, and you just smile, unable to hold inside the happiness you feel right now, with him...His constant attempt at trying to speak Spanish, at trying to get involve in your culture (as he knows it’s important to you), just makes your heart melt.

Little did you know that he was about to completely destroy your heart with joy soon enough...

************

The first thing that made him fall in love with you, was your dance moves. The way you swayed sexily with your dance partner, the smile on your face as you were enjoying yourself...So naturally, he asked for you to teach him.

You decided you’d teach him “bachata”, as it was easier to learn than salsa or other latin america dances. You saw the guy dance a few times before, drunk out of his mind, when you would decide to go out and have some fun and...he definitely had rhythm. But maybe starting with a dance like salsa was a bit too much. No. Bachata was perfect.

The first time you tried to teach him, you both ended up in his bed. He just couldn’t help it, having you so close to him was too much.

The second and third time, he hasn’t been able to control himself either, and to be honest, you didn’t mind at all.

The fourth time, he finally got over it, and focused intently on each steps you were showing him...but your teaching session was interrupted by snickering behind you.

You were at Wayne’s Manor, and of course, OF COURSE his brothers had to walk in on you guys. You didn’t mind much, you loved his brothers.

Dick always made you laugh, Tim always had super cool trivia about everything that you loved (you just love to learn about new things), and though Damian acted like a brat at first, he quickly warmed up to you.

When he tried to convince you that he’d be better for you than his brother, you couldn’t help but melt a bit for the boy, he was just so cute.

You turned him down nicely, saying that he was a bit too young for you, barely ten years old, and that it was too late, you were in love with his idiotic brother...at first Damian was disappointed, but he quickly got over it and just accepted you as his new sister.

it sometimes annoyed Jason highly, how you always kinda defended the boy when they got into arguments, because he was “just too cute and needed love too”..because he knew Damian did it on purpose, just to spite him.

Yes. You loved his brothers. But sometimes, they could act like such kids ! (Well, to be honest two of them were actual kids...but the oldest one, Dick, was also the worst one, the most immature one and he was a grown ass man !). Like right now, mocking their brothers as you were teaching him how to dance.

You swore at them in Spanish, mildly annoyed, and they shut up, surprised by your reaction. When you explained that dancing was important, and that you took at heart to teach their brother to properly dance, they stopped any mockery, and never ever laughed again. On the contrary, they even asked for lessons...Jason threatened them, saying it was a big no no, and the subject was closed forever (though to you they said they just weren’t interested anymore, and not that their brother threatened them...you wouldn’t have liked that and they didn’t want to upset you).

The fifth time you gave Jason a bachata lesson, it’s his father who walked in on you, and he excused himself, thinking he walked in on you making out...You laughed out loud at his reaction, and Jason called him back to explain what was happening. Bruce was impressed, he never thought that anyone could teach his son to dance at other times than when he was drunk.

After this yet again interrupted lessons, you gave him many more, but one day, he completely surprised you...

************

Jason knew he wanted to marry you the day he met you. At the time of course, it was crazy, you were a total stranger dancing in the street, he couldn’t decently ask you to marry him on the spot !

But as the years went by, as your relationship grew serious...the thought never left him. And now, six years later, he knew it was finally time. You moved in together and things were going as great as ever...And so he started to create his great masterplan !

He wanted to recreate how he met you. The sudden public gathering, the people dancing, cheering, laughing...the music bringing everyone together.

And so one day, he took you to the place you met to “meet with his family for some lunch”..Sure enough his family was there, but they were all smiling like idiots, and when the same song that was playing the day you both met started playing, under the gaze of a very confused you, a crowd started to gather around you and Jason, started to clap their hands, to dance and sing...And your boyfriend took you in his arms.

Until then, his bachata moves weren’t perfect, sometimes he was a bit too stiffs for the dance and all...but right there, at that moment, every move he made was on point.

On step on the left with his left foot. His right foot going to his left twice in a row. His hips were swaying in perfect timing with the music. And for the first time since you firs tried to teach him bachata, he was leading you and not vice versa. You were completely amazed.

-Wow, where did you learn to dance like that mi amor ?

-...I asked extra lessons to Alejandro.

-You...really ?

-I wanted to surprise you.

You stared at him for a few minutes, still dancing, his arms around you feeling like they were meant to be there...before a wide smile spreads across your face.

-Oh Jason, you gotta be the best man I ever met. Te amo.

He smiles back and bring you even closer to him, not faltering in his dance steps.

-I love you too. Eres mi vida.

You miss a step and walk on his feet at his words. Of course, he already told you a few times he loved you but...”Eres mi vida” ? “You are my life” ? That was one hell of a declaration. Made even more special by the fact that he said it in your first language.

You keep dancing, until finally the song comes to and end, and you pull away from each others reluctantly. But he doesn’t let go of your hands, and the circle that formed around you two do not break.

You look around you curiously...until Jason goes on his knee. Wow. WOW !

- Quieres...quieres casarte...conmigo ?

He struggles to say, and your heart miss multiple beats. In a small voice, under the expectant gaze of all your friends and family, you say :

-Wh...What ?

-Hum...Did I say it wrong ?

In the crowd, someone yells : “NOPE !”, and Jason shifts on his knee, uncomfortable. Were you going to refuse his proposition ?

-Just to make it clear...this isn’t a joke right ?

You ask, and he smiles widely at you.

-No. Not a joke. (Y/N), I’ve never been that serious in my life...Will you marry me ?

This time, you don’t need him to ask another time, and you jump in his arms, kissing him passionately as he cannot hold the happiness from swarming him.

-Sì, cielo, sì !

“Yes my angel”. Your answer fills Jason with a joy he never thought he could ever feel again after the Joker killed him and he was brought back to life...

Loud cheers are all around you. You can even hear Jason’s father yelling loudly : “THAT’S MY BOY ! HE’S GONNA GET MARRIED !”...But everyone slowly fades away as you pull away from Jay, and, your forehead on his (he holds you in his arms, your feet not touching the ground...damn strong man), whisper another :

-Te amo.

Before pecking his lips softly, and tightening your grips around him.

The next day, every newspaper’s headline were : “Jason Wayne Todd to marry (Y/N) (Y/L/N) this summer”, with a picture of you and him dancing.

Randomly dancing in the street because “your thing” since that day.

Fin.

I’m super stressed about this. Like I hope I didn’t offend anyone in any way ? But I did want to write about more “kind” of readers and...Well I tried. If you don’t like it, don’t hesitate to tell me and I won’t do it again. And maybe it’s too fucking long...EEEEEEEEH.

#Jason Todd x reader #Jason Todd imagine #Jason Todd reader insert #Red Hood x reader #Red Hood imagine #Red Hood reader insert #Jason Todd x hispanic!reader #hispanic reader #hispanic reader insert #Red Hood #Robin #BEST ROBIN #fight me on that #Red Hood fanfic #Jason Todd fanfic

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usstatesofsong · 7 years

Text

Countdown to #Eurovision - Yearly Reviews - 1987

We’re a little under two months away from the next edition of the Eurovision Song Contest, and while we’re counting down the days toward ESC 2017, we’re going to revisit Eurovision song contests from the past and rank our favorites in each contest. (At least, through 1989... all the songs are out now!)

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Breaking the barrier, for a moment, between the Eurovision bubble and non-virtual reality. During the 1980s, and more recently, Belgium has been one of my favorite Eurovision countries, mostly because they don’t follow the middle path of typical pop music entries. They follow trends, or they go a bit avant-garde; they send flops, or they send gold. Their sole win in ESC history came in 1986, and thus, the European world tuned into Brussels in 1987 to watch the second-most 80’s-tastic contest the decade had to offer. The challenge was knowing who would “host” since Belgium alternates between the Walloon (French) and Flemish broadcasters for song entries. RTBF (the broadcaster of the winning artist, Sandra Kim), hosted the grand event, while BRT got to choose the singer.

First off, take a look at that logo. After viewing it a few times I finally realized it spells “87.” I’d love to meet the person who designed that logo… they chose the most 80’s-tastic colors. Even the hostess was in special 80’s form, and Brussels has my douze points for the most 80’s-tastic stage of the decade. It just kind of disappears into a dark abyss, which makes for some interesting antics during the performances. Speaking of the hostess, she was a statuesque woman by name of Viktor Lazlo. Sounds like a man’s name? That’s because her real name is Sonia. She’s my second-most favorite host of the decade, for many reasons! But I digress… the contest itself is memorable for bringing forth the real look of the decade, and not shying away from some 80’s-tastic tunes, as well. Some of my favorite entries of all time come from this contest - for better, or for worse. And all 22 (usual) countries participated! No excuses, no holiday boycotting, no mistakenly reentered songs - we have a full contest to swim through.

Another Eurovision blogger that I admire really detests the ‘87 contest, for reasons that I don’t completely agree with, but am willing to accept. There are some doozies, after all, that will make you question your true sexuality. Also, “Deeeeeee melodie!”

Alright, I’ve buffered this blog with all that I can muster. Let’s get to it, shall we?

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1. NORWAY - Kate Gulbrandsen - Mitt liv (9th, 65 pts)

Well, she’s definitely on a mission! And not with just the hair… or the clothes… or the boots. You know what I’d really like to see? Someone taking on that combination in 2017. They’d earn a gold medal for braveness, because I think that style was dead by 1988. The song has a power to it, a developing force, trudging through tough times and overcoming the challenges of the world. It wouldn’t be out of place as the theme song of a movie. Although the song is titled “my life,” I imagine the way she describes her life in Norwegian is supposed to be relative. There’s just a bit of an empty feeling to this song, and the stage. All in all, not a bad start to the contest.

2. ISRAEL - Datner & Kushnir - Shir Habatlanim (8th, 73 pts.)

Lulz. So many lulz. What else do I need to say here? Lulz!!!! Israel, you loving bunch. Europe loves you right back. The fame of this song, and the legacy it holds because the Israeli Prime Minister of Culture or something like that wanted to resign if this song was sent… really?? Get the stick out of your butt. If anything, people love Israel more for songs like this. So, if you compare the ESC version of the song to the national final, this really comes alive and can be… somewhat understood as a legitimate entry. The orchestration sounds great in that big stage, and the little dances are so damn entertaining. There’s a 1950s vibe to the composition, but the singing is so unlike anything. It’s pure theatrics. Props to RTBF for cutting to the next shot as Avi’s in mid-air jump! WE NEVER KNOW IF HE COMES BACK DOWN!!! :D :D Such happy! Also, featuring the first song/performance to feature a handstand. And sunglasses (maybe). And hand-shimmies. And an abandoning of the microphone only to turn right back around on the last bar and jump and shout “Hah!” The Dutch broadcaster described it as “Blue Brothers”... and that sounds about right.

3. AUSTRIA - Gary Lux - Nur noch Gefühl (20th, 8 pts.)

I don’t remember this song making much of an impression on me during my first listen of the program. Years later, there’s more of an understanding of the sentiment and the feeling associated with the composition. Gary was a seasoned veteran of Eurovision by this point, so the performance was flawless… until the almost-end, when his voice cracked. Sigh… I wonder if that moment haunted him for many years after, because we wouldn’t see him again for nearly five years. Or maybe someone finally told him he needed to give it up, as it were. Who knows. All I know is that the song itself is lovely. It fits the mold of the decade of music I love nicely (as does his jacket - I hope it stayed there.) And while it probably was never going to win the contest, I have to wonder if it could have got more points.

4. ICELAND - Halla Margret - Hægt og hljótt (16th, 28 pts.)

It’s the end of a long night in downtown and it’s time to head on home… the bar is closing, the last drink has been drunk, and once again you’re alone. Nobody except the piano man, slowly and lightly playing away. That’s what this song makes me think about, and songs that make me think rank highly in my final points chart. This is one of my annual favorites, as it again could not have happened in any other decade than the 80’s, and because Halla is one hella good lookin’ nordic woman. Actually, it’s more that “anus in the, anus in the air” lyric that the English language cannot put to death. This is such an odd composition, as it never was going to go places with the juries. But it’s sweetness, kindness, lightness and brightness shine through. The most you could say about it is “boring,” but eff you. :P

5. BELGIUM - Liliane Saint-Pierre - Soldiers of Love (11th, 56 pts)

Wait a second, did you see the way Liliane looked in that postcard?? And also, how about the host country’s conductor not being Jo Carlier, but rather the other broadcaster’s conductor… conducting for the other broadcaster’s host entry... Okay, whatever. I’m fully aware of the confusion Belgium causes (I made a map about it in college). We desperately needed some kind of upbeat pop or rock number in this contest, and the host country delivered nicely. There’s a bit of an older vibe that I get from Liliane, but her dress is beyond epic, and so are the militaristic dance moves. I have to wonder if those gun-shaped guitars would be allowed on an airplane flight in today’s world. Definitely in the upper half of entries from 1987.

6. SWEDEN - Lotta Engberg - Boogaloo (12th, 50 pts.)

And now for something completely different! I have to give credit to Sweden for ditching the schlager route, as was common practice for the Scandinavian countries, and risking … tropical calypso? The bright colors of the outfits and the happy, upbeat, sunshiney atmosphere the song creates really helps you forget, if just momentarily, how dark and expansive that stage is. I’m not sure this is something I would want to listen to outside of the contest itself, but I appreciate the song for what it is, and Sweden has certainly sent worse. At the end, the “guitarist” throws his guitar in the air, and I’d have to wonder what kind of world we would be living in now if he failed to catch it and the guitar broke.

7. ITALY - Raf & Umberto Tozzi - Genti di mare (3rd, 103 pts.)

Welcome back (again), Italy, the perennial skippers of Eurovision, as it suits them. They would remain for quite a few years, possibly because this was one of their more successful streaks in the contest itself. To celebrate their return, the Italians sent arguably their two biggest male stars, which would never happen these days! This one had a big impact on me the first time I listened to the contest, having ranked it at my top until I had heard “Mr. Eurovision” sing later on - we will get to that. There’s a uniqueness to this composition, the beginning lyrics almost sounding like waves washing on the shores, for the “genti di mare,” and as it builds into a proper song (I wouldn’t quite call it a ballad), the anthemic quality of it all is awesome. Umberto is definitively one of the strongest singers of the contest, and carries this song into ‘contender’ territory for the title.

8. PORTUGAL - Nevada - Neste barco à vela (18th, 15 pts.)

I really like the beginning of this one, with the way the violins and guitars (?) play, but I’m sorry, it’s ruined the moment he starts singing. It’s just… I’ve never felt as though a baritone voice can carry a song to victory in Eurovision. Also, nice librarians that you hired as backup singers there. I suppose this is okay, but I’ve been spoilt with such thematic songs up to this point that fit the mold of the decade, and this song does not. But hey, they beat Spain in ‘87! Small victories.

9. SPAIN - Patricia Kraus - No estás solo (19th, 10 pts)

Oh. Goodness. Certainly, she’s had a bit of coffee before walking out to that stage! One wonders what it’s like to be squeezed to death at the waist while literally shouting some of the lyrics. Or that she smeared some lipstick on her cheeks and decided to leave it there. Terry Wogan calls her “challenging,” and that’s an adequate summation. Admittedly, this is another one where I’d say it starts out good, but Patricia ruins it with the way she sings. I get the feeling like this is supposed to be a song of declaration, a pronouncement, and she tries to oversell it, thus ruining herself in the process. Also, “Oh yay!” appears about twenty times too many during the song. Finally, she destroys any opportunity of redemption on that last note. It’s too bad; I think this really could have been a good song!

10. TURKEY - Seyyal Taner & Lokomotif - Şarkım Sevgi Üstüne (22nd, 0 pts.)

This one, on the other hand, makes Spain look like a masterpiece. I could go on for hours about this. When I watched a recap of worst performances during the most recent Norwegian hosting of ESC, this was the first highlight, as it were, and I became infatuated with the songs featured in that recap. It’s baaaaad, folks. But it ventures into the “so bad it’s good” territory, thankfully. What particularly is bad is hard to say, since everything about it is so over-the-top - from the constant movement, to the white clothes, to the male singer’s solo fail, to the “Deeeeeeeeee melodi” theme, or perhaps even those clunky cowbell keyboard sounds. This has not aged well, and I think this song’s existence was 20 years too early. The fandom has certainly come around to this one, but this must have been looked down on back in the day, since it received nul points. Turkey always gets treated like poop, but thankfully everyone enjoys their poop these days. Mercy me.

11. GREECE - Bang - Stop (10th, 64 pts)

And now, the Greek George Michael. They certainly knew what they were doing, those Greeks… anyways, this has an old-fashioned charm to it that most sounds like Wham!’s single, “Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go” but perhaps without the soaring vocals. However, Thanos’ vocals didn’t really need to be soaring for this number, and I like the bopping energy of this one. Greece wasn’t usually known for sending dance numbers, so this was a breath of fresh air. What I really want to know, though - which of those backup singers is Mariana! I can’t tell!

12. NETHERLANDS - Marcha - Rechtop in de wind (t-5th, 83 pts)

It kinda sounds like two songs combined into one! Marcha couldn’t decide whether she wanted to sing a ballad or a pop hit at Eurovision, so she took both. It’s not all that bad; she looks knock-dead gorgeous (I mean, not just by 80’s standards), and this has a very contemporary feel to it. The only problem, I would say, is that I have very little else to say about it. For being such a contemporary song with a strong beat and jamming melody, there’s nothing to latch onto. She comes on the stage and she does her thing; she owns it. The juries love that stuff, yo, thus why the Dutch scored a rare Top 5 with it.

13. LUXEMBOURG - Plastic Bertrand - Amour, amour (21st, 4 pts)

It’s all good and well in these types of reviews until you’re introduced to something from the left-most edge of the left field. What do you think audiences back then thought about this song? Because I can tell you plenty about what people think about it thirty years later. M. Bertrand is an… unique, engaging fellow. And if there was any one person who worked the stage that night in Brussels, it was him. He’s wearing a godddamn pink suitjacket, for heaven’s sakes! But guys, sexuality aside, unless you absolutely love new wave music, you’re probably not going to like this one. My fondness of this song stems from the style of music combined with the over-the-top appeal, but even then, I can’t award it too highly. And they destroyed some of the original quality when it transferred over to the orchestra. All that aside, though, this is a Eurovision classic; a must-watch.

14. UNITED KINGDOM - Rikki - Only the Light (13th, 47 pts.)

This was the poop-bird of Britain’s hot streak; perhaps a strong representation that you can’t always win just because you sing in English. And it started from (almost) the first note, with Rikki’s vocals as he shouts “Woahhhh!!!” above everything else going on. I’d almost think that the composition itself backfired upon the band, because there’s so much energy in the performance and in the dance moves, and when Rikki isn’t trying to smooth-move sooth you there’s an element of strength to the song.

15. FRANCE - Christine Minier - Les mots d'amour n'ont pas de dimanche (14th, 44 pts.)

The words of love are not some Sunday? Well, okay. Sure. Okay, past that point. This just comes off as a really average-sounding pageant song. Like the kind of thing you’d sing in Miss Universe. I give credit to actually using the orchestra for the song, which most of the other acts didn’t do that night. But that’s as far as I can go with this - she’s not even that vocally strong of a singer. Next.

16. GERMANY - Wind - Lass die Sonne in dein Herz (2nd, 141 pts.)

A couple things here - how sad for this group to have come 2nd place twice!?! Just so that Johnny Logan could win twice… Also, freakin’ half of Milli Vanilli! Why is he there?? Like, this must be pre-MV fame, and he was a “fake” singer, so … what is he doing there? Was he just like, the poster-boy for German pop music? What would have Wind done if they had won? Would we still have had Milli Vanilli, or would he have become an honorary member of Wind and gone on to great Eurovision success? Was it about the image? A Caribbean look, which admittedly is what this song tries to provide? I do have to say I like this more than their 1985 attempt, because the vocals are spot-on! But it also has a somewhat empty feeling to it, just like the UK did. I can award some points to Germany for this breath of fresh air, but it’s not the true winner of the evening.

17. CYPRUS - Alexia - Aspro mavro (7th, 80 pts)

Say it isn’t so! Cyprus went the schlager route in 1987, as if it wasn’t bad enough that some Scandinavian countries couldn’t get their heads out of the sand to send something outside the genre around this time. Appropriately she’s wearing black and white, and she’s go the sweet little side-step dances to go with it. Delaying for time and for critique, because this is not really my cup of tea and I find Alexia’s voice a bit grating at times; a bit nasal. Like, the song does get stuck in my head ever so slightly, but my reimagining of her voice in my head is less than complimentary. We’ll see where this lands at the end.

18. FINLAND - Vicky Rosti & Boulevard - Sata salamaa (15th, 32 pts.)

I think the only real crime to this is that it finished with less points than France. But if you’re going to do anything with schlager, this is one route you can go where you don’t immediately lose all credibility with me. It also helps if you’re a redhead (I have a thing for redheads…) Vicky combines the glam rock from that decade with a pop-infused schlager tune, and while it’s not my favorite thing of the night, I don’t forget the song so quickly, either. And that’s a good thing for this contest, all things considered! I also like the way she rolls her ‘r’s. I wish I could do that...

19. DENMARK - Anne-Cathrine Herdorf & Bandjo - En lille melodi (t-5th, 83 pts.)

This is basically the ‘87 version of Spain ‘84, or Germany-87-lite. It’s called “A little melody” because there’s only a little bit of melody to this, otherwise it again sounds so empty and lost during the chorus parts. It picks up a little bit on the start of the second chorus, but that’s literally just me trying to latch onto something. But, of course, this is something that the juries would fall for back in those days. Sigh...

20. IRELAND - Johnny Logan - Hold Me Now (1st, 172 pts)

Really the only deserved winner of the evening. Everything just comes together really well, from the orchestrated composition (I swear Ireland is the only nation that uses the french horn appropriately), to the lyrics, to the vocals, and to the contemporary feeling of the single. This comes alive so much more than the demo version, which tries too desperately to fit in the era of 80’s ballads. And Johnny always knows how to finish on a fantastic note. I can’t really criticize this if I tried. So, three cheers for the orange, green, and white. With St. Patrick’s Day upcoming, I award you with the only true score deserved for this piece of Eurovision history - nobody else has ever won twice.

21. YUGOSLAVIA - Novi Fosili - Ja sam za ples (4th, 92 pts)

It’s weird how most of the schlager of ‘87 got all sandwiched towards the end of the presentation! But this is another one I can tolerate, as it is more of a throwback to the 50’s and 60’s era of pop dance, rather than just big-band poppity trash waste. And the lead singer really sells it, too, with her constant moving and … umm, hiccups? I don’t know how else to describe those sounds. This group is so Slavic, and yet, it all comes together. It’s a precursor to 1989, that’s for sure, and the country earned another Top 5 finish for the boys and girls back home.

22. SWITZERLAND - Carol Rich - Moitié, moitié (17th, 26 pts)

Gosh, she’s a little fireball of energy, isn’t she? Apparently the Swiss didn’t even need a conductor, as hostess Lazlo awkwardly cuts to Rich running from off-stage right to demand a tap of the foot or two. I’d love to know what the thought-process was for the outfitting of her (American stars on top, Australian stars on bottom?) and the group, with headbands and guitar accessories, who are alarmingly reminding me of Sweden’s profession to mediocrity from the year before. In all honesty this is too streamline for my tastes, and apparently I wasn’t alone in that deduction as the juries didn’t buy into it either.

As I said previously, Logan won for the second time. And it was against a field of random hullabaloo, just like in 1980. I’m reminded how this song elevates in comparison to “What’s Another Year,” and in comparison to everything else sent that year. Yeah, I suppose this wasn’t the grandest of editions musically, but there’s still a lot here that I adore, and I think when there’s a grander variety of music, the joyful feelings illuminate the memory and make the contest so much more interesting. I award the actual winner the 12 points, and I drop a big fat zero on the senorita who got lost in her own world. Greece was the only country to award her points, after all - otherwise she would have finished with nul points, just like the musical travesty that was Turkey! Anywho, there was a serious upgrade in sophistication, technology, and harmony in 1987; what would we get out of the Irish in ‘88?

My votes:

12 – Ireland 10 – Iceland 8 – Italy 7 – Austria 6 – Israel 5 – Yugoslavia (Croatia) 4 – Germany 3 – Belgium 2 – Finland 1 – Luxembourg

The “Big Fat 0” award: Spain Honorable Mention: Sweden, Greece Worst Dressed: Switzerland

And here is the overall count of points since beginning these reviews with the ‘80 contest. It’s a best-of-best race, as Germany is now within one point. Israel and Ireland gain some ground, and it will be pretty interesting who we finish out with on top by the end of the decade. How would your rankings look?

1st - 45 – Belgium (1986) 2nd - 44 – Germany (1982, 1983) 3rd - 36 – Israel 4th - 35 – Ireland (1980, 1987) 5th - 31 – Austria 27 – Turkey 24 – Norway (1985) 21 – Portugal 20 – Italy (1984) 20 – Luxembourg 20 – Sweden 18 – Finland 18 – Greece (1981) 17 – France 16 – Spain 14 – United Kingdom 12 – Netherlands 11 – Denmark 11 - Iceland 9 – Croatia 9 – Cyprus 6 – Switzerland

-50SS

#eurovision #esc 1987 #eurovision 1987 #eurovision song contest #hold me now #ireland eurovision #1987

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