Summary: He never thought the war would bring him here. Sirius/Remus. First war era.
Notes: for barefootboys prompt #2 (autumn 07), To Autumn by John Keats
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, any of its characters, including and especially Sirius and Remus, or any of its settings.
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He never thought the war would bring him here. Back against the splinter rough wood of an ancient gray barn and Remus biting crescents in the stretch of skin past his collarbone. He doesn't know where to put his hands.
Later, they walk through orchards, and Sirius tangles his fingers up with Remus's. He tries to smile. Remus is still blushing, awkward and too-thin gangly, pushing the leaves out of the way with his toes.
"This is the most beautiful place I've seen since the attack," Remus says.
It is the first time he has mentioned it. The first time either has mentioned it.
(The attack, smoke, magic in blacks and greens and reds, choking dust, sinking feeling in his stomach, no.)
Sirius was afraid to bring it up. He squeezes Remus's fingers almost harshly, and blinks his eyes closed a second too long.
"It's the most beautiful place I've ever seen," he answers. Tries to expand the world. And hopes that Remus is forgetting, like he was meant to forget.
Five months ago, in heights of spring, Sirius raised his eyes over a textbook and caught Remus's gaze and something clanged open in his heart. He smiled and looked away and that night like a confession, Remus told, more the window than Sirius, but told, how he felt, too. The same. A little dizzy and a little scared, never been in love before, didn't know what it felt like, if this was something that could lead—
Autumn clouds scud above them, a few soft songs of birds, a brace of wind that tussles Remus's hair. He is so scared. Sirius can see it, like he sees the strong lines of his face or the battle scar over the bridge of his nose. Sirius has his scars now, too. He cannot hide them, cannot forget them. In the mornings he counts them and counts the days he has had them and hopes to count the days he will have them.
"I'm afraid to die," Remus says.
Sirius squeezes Remus's fingers harshly.
He can do nothing else. How can he comfort against the fear that holds them all? It is not enough to say, these leaves, this sky, this breeze—this moment, me. It is not enough to ask to live in the present; it is beautiful; but temporary.