A/N: I've got rid of most of this story, because everything after chapter three was REAL shit. You can re-read everything so far if you like, it's probably better than before - and NEW chapters, rife with actual good content, shall be coming soon! Hurrah!
Onto my cringy old A/Ns!
The recurring song throughout this fic is planned to be Suzanne by Leonard Cohen, so I'd recommend you listen to that if you haven't already.
Disclaimer: Other than Helena Miller and her family, none of these characters, places, etc. belong to me. All rights go to J.K Rowling, and Leonard Cohen for Suzanne.
Most stories will begin with a scene being set, and ours is no exception.
Picture it: it's the tail end of August, and snow is flurrying around a Manchester council estate. On the doorstep of a cramped terrace, smoke is trailing into the air.
The smoke comes from a cigarette in Helena Miller's hand, and beside her, Remus Lupin is flicking Helena's lighter, the flame glowing and dying every half second. The light catches the corner of her eye, and when she looks up, she can see it reflecting in Remus' brown eyes, illuminating the amber flecks around his pupils.
'Funny, en't it?'
Remus' thumb stops it's seemingly relentless pressing of the lighter, and he wrenches his eyes to the girl sitting beside him.
'Wrench', as if it was difficult. It wasn't; far from it.
'What's funny?' he musters up. The absence of the small orange light is apparent, so the pair focus on the end of Helena's cigarette in order to conduct the conversation. It works. They relax.
'Snow. In August. It's like, a thousand and six degrees.'
It's below ten, cold for the end of summer, even in the north of England: Helena is wearing one of Remus' jumpers and her older brother's donkey jacket, and still shivering slightly. Despite this, Remus doesn't contradict her: she could say anything in the world and he would agree with her, no doubts behind him.
'It's - I don't know. Just strange, en't it? It's been warm all summer, and now… snow. Cold. Summer's over.'
Is this what it's been reduced to? Remus thinks. They'd exhausted every conversational topic over the last month or so, and now they were stuck on discussing the weather.
Nevertheless, he caves. It's Helena Miller. If she wants to talk about the weather, you talk about the weather, no two ways about it.
'Yeah. It is weird. Bit sad, too.'
Helena nods and takes another puff of her cigarette. The usual smirk on her lips is absent, Remus notices, and in the haze of tobacco smoke and snowflakes, he can't help but think the pout makes her look like a woman from a Leonard Cohen song. She could be Suzanne, and he could stare at her, and cling to every sound and movement she made, and he could love her in all her stone-cold insanity and unpredictability.
Or perhaps, he could simply sit on this step with her for the rest of time, long after the snow stops and her cigarette burns out. Both options seemed equally as appealing.
A daisy wedged between two pavement slabs is drooping, and Remus pulls it out easily. After a moment of hesitation, his hand reaches up and tucks it into Helena's hair.
She grins half-heartedly, brushing at his hand. 'What the fuck are you doing now, Remus Lupin?' she breathes, touching now at the flower in her hair.
Making you Suzanne.
'Daisies are a summery thing, no? You can look like Su - look like you're in summer, all year round. Or until it dies. Whichever comes first.'
Her smile is real this time, and her motionless state is vanished. She hops up, and all thoughts of a lethargic, tragic heroine are gone from his mind: she's the energetic, bubbly Helena Miller - God only knows what's going on below the surface, but for now, that's her.
In spite of the daisy in her hair being in a state of half-death, she looks the very definition of life at this moment. Remus can't help but stare for a moment.
Luckily, her eyes are closed as she holds out her arms and throws her head back to take in the combination of weak sun and melting snow, letting it land on her jacket, and her forehead, and her tongue as she lets out a loud laugh, for no reason other than the act of living. By the time they open again, Remus is up and flicking her lighter, just the same as two minutes ago.
They fall into step beside each other, unsure of where they're going, but sure that they're going to make the most of their final week of freedom, just as they have for the last month.
Remus hums 'Suzanne' under his breath, and Helena beams at him: that's her favourite song.