It Was a Rainy Day in September
Disclaimer: The world and characters of Harry Potter belong to J.K. Rowling, Schoolastic/Raincoast books and Warner Brothers Inc.
Warning: SLASH, AU non-magic fic,character death
It was a rainy day in September when I noticed him for the first time. We had entered the large room and sat according to our room assignments at the prestigious boarding school. We were divided into houses according to our interests and fields of study. I was in Slytherin, surrounded by social climbers and future politicians, as all Snapes were expected to be. He was in Gryffindor, home of the more free-spirited writers and artisans. On that night, I learned he preferred chicken to beef, liked chocolate ice cream, and he smacked his lips whenever he drank a sip of his juice. It was the next day that I learned his name was Remus Lupin. For the next few weeks, I felt content watching him from a distance as he went to classes, ate his meals and studied in the library.
It was a windy day in October when I became the target of his friends. The legendary rivalry between Slytherin and Gryffindor at the school had escalated. Pranks and jokes flew between the houses behind the teachers' backs. Sirius Black and James Potter were behind most of them. I fell victim to their handiwork several times, so I retaliated with a bit of laxative in their morning juice. The two cornered me in an empty classroom, threatened me and questioned my sexuality. I tensed up whenever I saw Potter and Black, and not because I feared getting beaten. They had asked questions that I had been too uncomfortable to ask myself.
It was a cloudy day in November when I finally admitted the truth to myself. I was the last one to enter the showers after one particularly brutal PE class with the Gryffindors. At first I didn't notice that my eyes were drawn to the naked forms surrounding me. The sight of another boy made me feel more aroused than any of the young women that I spied on at the lake near my house. It became clear to me that I was gay. I had hidden from this part of myself, trying to hide that I was not the perfect leader-of-tomorrow that everyone expected me to be. Even after my epiphany, it took time to accept myself for who I am. I continued to look discreetly at my year-mates in the showers, wondering what type of body Remus Lupin concealed beneath his clothing. He did not take PE with the rest of us.
It was a stormy day in December when an accident allowed us to become closer. The sudden snows had left the outside stairs slippery, and I fell as I tried to enter the main building. My ankle made a loud snap as I hit the ground. The groundskeeper, Hagrid, carried me to the infirmary and placed me on a bed before rushing back to clear the walks of snow. Remus was in the bed next to mine. The visiting doctor set my bones, but demanded I stay in the infirmary to monitor the pain. I spent hours just talking with Remus. I learned about his haemophilia and the treatments he had to take. He learned about my absent parents and their high expectations for me. I told him I was gay. He told me about his own coming out, and the hurt of being rejected by all but his closest friends. For the first time, I felt as though I could be my true self around someone else. He had experienced the same doubts and fears that I had. I left the infirmary the next day with more than a cast on my leg: I had found someone to understand me.
It was a frigid day in January when we began a relationship beyond simple friendship. Since my ankle prevented me from attending PE, I spent the class alone with Remus. There was always something to discuss with him. He taught me about art and music, showing me beauty that I didn't know existed. I taught him to appreciate the strategy and satire of politics. Remus gave me the courage to do new things. I began to write political essays. Only Remus was allowed to read them. In turn, he showed me his paintings, which moved me to tears. We spent hours sharing a table in the art wing writing and painting together. As he reached for a tube of burnt sienna acrylic, I leaned over him and gave him the briefest of kisses which he returned with more tenderness than I had experienced in my life so far.
It was blustery day in February when I finally gave myself completely to him. We spent our evenings finding ways to enjoy each other's company. I told him that I loved him and he admitted that he loved me back. We found a secluded room behind some older lecture halls near the staff quarters where we could meet without his friends harassing us. It was much more private than the art room. Remus introduced me to the real pleasure. Each time we met the kisses and touches grew increasingly passionate, reaching an intensity I never knew before. I began to crave the feel of his hands against my skin, the sound of his moans of pleasure and his unique musky scent that permeated the air when we were together. When he prepared me, I felt cared for. When he entered me, I felt complete. When we climaxed, I felt invincible. Beyond the sex, he gave me something even more valuable. He made me feel loved.
It was a cool day in March when Remus received a letter. The pristine white envelope had his name neatly typed across the front. It looked so innocent. Remus opened it and unfolded the missive. He was silent as he exited the room. I found him in our trysting place four hours later. He cried as he read me the news. The treatment that was supposed to save his life had become deadly. He was infected with HIV. Because Remus insisted, I shared the infirmary with Black as we were both tested. Although I knew there was someone before me, I felt insecure when I learned it was Black. I was so afraid. What if they still loved each other? What if Remus loved him more than me? He was so much better looking than myself, and got to spend more time with him because of our house assignments. We quarreled we were alone in the infirmary, but stopped when Remus was near. Both our tests were negative. Remus continued his studies, but had to take half the pills in the dispensary in order to combat the virus. We tried to keep it quiet.
It was a warm day in April when rumours started. We could no longer hide the virus from others. Remus was shunned. Except for his friends Potter and Black, no one would sit near him or touch him. Students refused to eat at the same table with him. They would not touch equipment in the laboratory that he had handled. They crossed the hallways to give him a wide berth. When we met, I would try to comfort him while he cried in my arms. The loneliness was taking its toll. He continued to paint, letting his brush express his emotions. He filled canvas after canvas with angry brush strokes, adding images of shadows and solitary figures. Although he spoke to me about his fears, he let his painting express his pain .
It was a foggy day May when Remus became ill. After being caught in the rain, his weakened immune system could not fight off the infection. He developed a type of pneumonia that indicated his condition had worsened. The virus prevented his body from fighting. I watched as an ambulance pulled into the driveway to transfer him to the hospital. Since his family lived near to the school, Potter, Black, and I were able to visit on weekends. He bravely kept up his studies, but his body betrayed him. He became weaker with every passing week and could only paint for short periods of time when his doctor would let him.
It was a bright day in June when Remus returned for graduation. The weeks in the hospital had sapped his strength. He could no longer walk and could only stand long enough to move from the car to his wheelchair. He had lost a lot of weight so his face was very gaunt. His eyes still sparkled with life, but had seemed to age in the short time he had been gone. Potter, Black and Pettigrew clamped on to him and were determined to have him celebrate with them. I was more reserved. It was difficult for me to see him like this. In the hospital, there was a feeling of suspended reality. It's easy to convince yourself that a loved one's appearance is due to the lights or the whiteness of the sheets. On the grounds of the school, I couldn't use that excuse. The ceremony was long. Remus listened to the speeches and accepted his diploma. Before he returned to the hospital, he caught my attention and whispered to me that we had made it. I hugged him, because my tears would not let me speak.
It was a humid day in July when Remus told me his decision. He had returned to the hospital, but the pneumonia returned with a vengeance. His body could only fight it for so long. The medicines they put him on were making him sick, and he was in terrible pain. It hurt me to see him struggle so much. The the medicine that helped him boost his immunity made him ill. The drugs used to treat the side effects left him unable to recognize his surroundings. Remus had talked to his family and they had agreed with him. He did not want to spend the rest of his life in a drug-induced stupor. He wanted to end aggressive treatment and live what was left of his life on his own terms. An ambulance transferred him to a hospice. His fight was nearing the end.
It was a hot day in August when I paid him a visit in the hospice. His room was pleasant, painted several soothing shades of green. The window opened to a view of the nearby lake and woods. Remus had not regained much strength, but could appreciate his surroundings much more than he was able to at the hospital. He had set up his easel again. He told me that he worked on his painting whenever he had the strength. He wanted to leave something that would give hope to other people who come here. Although I had difficulty seeing Remus in such a weakened state, returned daily, and saw the progression of his work until it was complete. We hung the painting in his room above the bed. The shadows on the canvas and the solitary figures were gone. In their place was a self portrait surrounded by the images of his friends and family. I was depicted holding him in an embrace. I looked at this image and blinked back the tears. Remus took me in his arms and held me. We sat for a while, our actions mirroring the image on the wall.
It was a sunny day in September when he fell asleep and did not wake again. For several days I returned to him, holding his hand in mine while speaking to him. I reminded him of all the time we had spent together. I thanked him for completing me and helping me becoming a better man. On his final day, his family and friends gathered in the room. One by one, they spoke to him. Most of them told him that they loved him and would miss him. Black kissed his hand and said he would never forget him. When I approached him, I gave his hand a squeeze, told him that I loved him and gave him permission to leave, all the while staring at the painting over the bed that he had created. The clouds started to gather as his breathing slowed. The first drops of rain fell as Remus exhaled his last breath. It was a rainy day in September when he died.
Many thanks to Hello Moto for encouraging me to attempt something new, and for the terrific beta work.