We laugh, we cry, we are born, we die,
Who will riddle me the how and the why?
—Alfred, Lord Tennyson
January 27th, 1975.
"Moony, I think I'm growing fat."
"Of course, Sirius."
Sirius turned around, incredulous. "Did you even hear what I said?"
"Mm-hmm, definitely." Remus didn't even look up from his book. He was sprawled out on his bed, thoroughly engrossed, and had clearly not heard what Sirius had said.
"Idiot," Sirius muttered, and went to see what could be so interesting. Hr groaned when he saw the pages, filled with neat paragraphs of text. "Poetry, Moony? Really?"
Though he really wasn't a poetry person – except when Moony forced it on him, because then he had to be a poetry person, whether he liked it or not – he sat down on the bed and leant over, resting his chin on Remus' shoulder. James hated it when he did that, whining about Sirius having a 'bloody sharp chin'. It was an excellent way of annoying him. Remus, unfortunately, didn't so much as flinch.
He began reading aloud, trying to make sense of whatever this poem was. "The bulrush nods unto its brother, the wheat—" He paused, trying to read the word. "The wheateaters—"
"Merlin, Padfoot, stop!" Remus shook his head, finally acknowledging Sirius' presence. "You are butchering Tennyson," he declared.
"Well, you're the one who's ignoring me and reading it quietly by yourself!" Sirius tried to ignore the fact that he sounded slightly defensive. "For all I knew, you could be reading some love letter."
Remus sighed. "Curiosity killed the cat, Pads. Or the dog, in this situation." After a moment's pause, he added, "As it is, I don't get love letters."
"That's besides the point."
Remus sighed again, but Sirius could see he was smiling. "Never mind then. Since you're already here, might as well read aloud, since Merlin knows you probably get it wrong in your head." Before Sirius could explain that he didn't want to hear whatever poetry this was – Tennyson? – read to him, Moony had already started.
"Why deep is not high, and high is not deep?
Whether we wake, or whether we sleep?
Whether we sleep, or whether we die?
How you are you? Why I am I?
Who will riddle me the how and the why?"
Sirius blinked, then turned his head slightly. Moony was still staring at the page, chewing thoughtfully on his thumb-nail. "How you are you? Why I am I? What's that supposed to mean?" Against his will, he was slightly intrigued. Very slightly.
Remus stopped chewing, but didn't move. "Probably," he said slowly, "Exactly what you think it does. Come on." He shrugged, but Sirius didn't budge. "Get off, you git. Go back to preening or whatever you were doing and let me read."
Maybe I want to read that bloody Tennyson now, Sirius thought, but didn't say it out loud. "Fine, if you're so eager to get rid of me!" He sighed theatrically and stood up. Remus shook his head and laughed, and then, within seconds, was engrossed once more.
That night, the moon was half-full. Peter was asleep, curled into a tiny, blanket-covered lump. James was snoring, dead to the world. Remus was also asleep, huddled against the far wall. Sirius stared at the ceiling.
How you are you? Why I am I? There was something, something in that line. What was it? Sirius groaned and sat up. This was why he hated poetry; it was so bloody cryptic! Giving in, he reached over and picked up the book that was lying at the edge of Remus' bed. He had been reading it before he fell asleep.
The cover was a worn, dusty green, with The Early Words of Alfred, Lord Tennyson inscribed on it in fading silver. Sirius flipped through it, searching for the poem. The pages were worn too, their edges soft and slightly browned, the corners dulled. Finally, he noticed a neatly-folded scrap of parchment sticking out of the book. He turned to that page, and there was the poem.
There were no answers.
Sirius stared at the page, feeling oddly disappointed. What had he expected? Moony's handwriting, explaining everything in that odd cursive of his, telling him why the words were running through his head? Showing him exactly what they meant? Whatever it was, it certainly wasn't this—more lines and lines of cryptic, confusing words, with two lines neatly underlined in pencil. That was all Moony had left on the page—marking out what were probably the most confusing words of all.
I know there is somewhat; but what and why?
I cannot tell if that somewhat be I.
A/N: Reviews much appreciated. Yes, this will be Sirius/Remus later on (that much should be obvious from the summary) and every chapter will have a poem. Hopefully the rest won't be this short, or this rushed! Suggestions for poems also much appreciated.