Title: Ringing in the Dark
Challenge: New Year Challenge on Lupin/Snape community on LJ
Rating: PG-13, for boys kissing each other while under the influence.
Pairing(s)/character(s): Remus/Severus
Summary: Remus celebrates the New Year in a traditional way.
Notes: Based on a British tradition for bringing good luck to a house for the New Year. Written in a whirlwind.

You fall asleep on the couch occasionally, but you never do fall off. The charms your father placed on the all the clocks in the house to ring loudly at the strike of midnight frightened you more than you thought it would. You stare at the ceiling for a moment, while laughing to yourself, not sure if you should surrender to a real sleep on your bed (you really do love your bed) or get back on the couch to suffer further neck cramps and a state of half asleep awareness. You never could sleep that well in a place other than your own bed. The sofa, while it was comfortable, was a poor replacement for your bed, but your bed and blankets and pillows are so far away and you're so tired. So... tired. You would stay on the floor if you weren't so set on feeling something soft under your head. You could just grab a pillow from the sofa and place it under your head, but your parents would make a fuss tomorrow morning if they encountered you there on the floor. They might think that something was wrong or that you were drunk or stoned and while you might want to be those things, you weren't and you certainly didn't want to give that impression to your parents. They still think well of you.

You stand, finally, and clutch your arm and sway in a balancing act. You try hard to not land on the floor again and it looks promising; the couch isn't far but you're tired and therefore unstable. You're a bit more flustered than you should be, but your mind is racing and your body is telling you that it's time to sleep more. Shut down, it says. Think about things, it says. Think about the chimes and the shouts you can hear from down the lane. Think about that rifle someone is sounding off. Think about more bells and more noise and those people celebrating with people they love. Then think about where your friends are and think about where he is and where you'd like him to be. But you know he's locked up in that school alone, probably miserable and thinking nothing but miserable thoughts. You haven't heard from him since you sent your last owl and that was shortly after Christmas. Your owl came back empty handed, and it's just as well... your family needed it back to send more holiday greetings to far off places. They need not know it went back to Hogwarts to that boy you think about a lot. Yes, your mind tells you to think all of that when your body just wants to shut down.

You sit, and fall back into the sofa. You're already falling asleep again. But it's not too for too long. There's a knock at your door. You jump, frightened for the second time this evening, and rush to the door to see who it is. The first thought that comes to your mind is that it's one of the neighbors, drunk and gone from their home to wish all neighboring houses a happy New Year. Already, you're upset with them and you don't want to encounter a drunk person because they're probably happy and giggling and loud and ready to wake up everyone in the house -- not only yourself. Whoever it is, you've got to open the door, wish them well, and send them on their way. There's no way they're coming in. There's no way they're ruining your sleep any more. You're losing precious minutes right now, as it is. They better have a good excuse from keeping you from your sleep. Damn it all, you should just ignore them and go upstairs to your bed and keep them waiting at your door until they realize that no one is going to answer after all. But you have to see who it is.

You look out the window, and there's a figure at the door. He's neither drunk nor disorderly. In fact, he's standing very still and stiff and he's holding something. But it's too dark at your doorstep. The figure is very dark, from the top of his black haired head to the bottom of his black shoes. You know this figure but you're too nervous to move let alone open the door and let this figure into your home. He must notice you, looking out the window, but he doesn't move. He doesn't falter. He doesn't knock again because he knows that someone has to be awake in this house and most likely it's you and it's you he's come to see. You want to confirm it's him. You move from the window to the door as quickly as you can and you fiddle with the lock and throw open the door and it's confirmed... it's him.

He says nothing. In fact, he barely looks at you. He steps in your house, over the threshold and into your den. You close the door behind him, not bothering to lock it, and hurry to follow him. He has his back turned towards you as he makes his way towards the stove. You don't blame him for immediately going there, though a greeting first would have been in order. This shouldn't surprise you, he's horribly anti-social. You sigh, and he makes his place in front of the stove. Maybe he's so frozen he can't speak. Maybe he's been waiting out there a long while, after all, how long have you been asleep? He goes closer to the stove and actually opens the door and throws what looks to be a piece of coal into the fire. The fire roars, but he only reacts by staring into it. He closes the door after a moment passes and soon, he's passing you by.

Although he's never been to your house, he knows where to find everything just perfectly. He takes another item from his bundle, a loaf of bread, and places it on the table. He takes a bottle from his bundle as well, and places it on the table next to the bread. You want to ask him what he's doing here. Is he just passing and need to warm himself by the fire? Did he come to see you and celebrate the New Year with you with some bread and some... you look at the bottle carefully. The bottle itself is unique, but the liquid inside looks a lot like fire whiskey. While you were studying the bottle of spirits, he has taken out two glasses. He places those on the table alongside the bottle and then proceeds to take off his scarf and coat and mittens... you laugh at his green mittens... you never thought of him as the mitten-type but you'll come to find a lot of things about him surprise you... like the fact that he is in your house next to you and unable to say a single word.

He lets his outerwear fall onto a chair. The clothes that remain on him are entirely black. They aren't his school robes, which comforts you somehow. He's looking at you, but still doesn't say anything. The expression on his face doesn't even hint at wanting to say anything... as if being here with you was enough and maybe it should have been but you're dying for him to say something. You want him to say hello or bugger off --- just something and it didn't even have to be nice. He turns away from you again, this time to pour some fire whiskey into each of the glasses. He hands a glass to you and keeps one to himself. He raises it, in a toast, and expects for you to do the same. You hesitate, but you raise your glass to the same height and wait for him to make the next move. You wait and wait and he's looking at you again and you can't stay still you're so anxious to know why he's here. He nods, and places the glass to his lips. You do the same. You both finish the drink in one long gulp. Your lips tingle and it makes you involuntarily smile. He smiles upon seeing yours and grabbing the bottle again, offers you another drink. You don't want to refuse. Fire Whiskey has never tasted this good.

You repeat this three more times. The buzz doesn't come on slowly, like you think it should, but it hits you all of a sudden. And the moment it hits you, you're dizzy, but in a good, light way. You hold the glass in front of your face as if you're taking an drink from it, but your lips don't feel the cool glass. Your hand is being pushed down by your visitor and soon your lips are feeling his and it's warmer than fire whiskey could ever be. You feel his serious expression on his forehead press against your surprised expression and the kissing does not let up. His expression only gets more serious. His kissing only gets more serious and you just want to...

Your hand stumbles to find a place on the table for your empty glass and then you're being guided into the warm den (still being kissed), the fire fueled even more by the coal your visitor contributed. It's much, much warmer in here than when you last left it. That must have been some piece of coal. But you can't think much of the coal anymore. You both sit. You should have had some of that bread before you had all that fire whiskey, it wouldn't have hit you that hard.

But the sensations it gives you are wonderful. Or is it your visitor? You touch his hair while you're kissing and you can't think of anything better to touch. It's actually soft and you like to push it behind his ear. You see his ear and you want to kiss it and kiss his neck, his wonderfully long, slender neck. You touch his neck and you touch his shirt and his buttons and you dare not undo them, but you kiss them. Just a few of them, up towards his neck again. But he wants your lips, he wants your full attention, he wants to kiss them 'til they're sore. And you don't mind. He's got his left hand on your chest and it's just burning a whole right there. You put your own hand over his, and press it into your chest. This is my chest, you say to him, although you're not speaking it. This is my chest where I feel so much passion. He kisses your forehead, and leaves his lips pressed there. This is my head. This is my mind, you say to him. This is where I think of you. And were you to say these words, you'd sound like a fool. You'd feel like a fool, too. You'd feel clichéd and uninspired. So, you're glad he's not speaking because that means that you won't have to, either. But what would he have to say? What would he say if he were going to express himself at this very moment?

He pulls away from you.

He stands and leaves the room. You're left on the couch wondering what just happened and how you can ask him to never leave. He crosses the room again, back in his coat and scarf and mittens (you laugh again at the mittens) to the back door and turns to you.

"Happy New Year, Remus."

He sees himself out.

You're still on the couch. To say you're in a daze is an understatement. You sink back into the sofa. You can't believe he didn't leave you room to say something --- to say goodnight or good riddance or anything at all. You can't let him get away with that. You can't let him get away without kissing you goodnight. You can't let him get away with coming through your house like a fucking whirlwind. You stand and rush to the back door. He's no longer in sight. It couldn't have been that long you waited on that couch. There's no evidence he was even here, save that tingle you feel escaping your lips.

You leave the door open, still searching the yard and the distance for any sign of him. But it's dark and he's a shady creature and he could have disappeared any which way. You're about to close the door when an owl appears. You recognize this owl. It's his. The owl drops the note at your feet and quickly flies away, lest it be coerced into staying while you write a response. You pick the parchment off the ground.

It reads: "As always, I have no plans to bring in the New Year. Way to be miserable, Severus. Hope your holiday is a bit more enjoyable, after all, you won't be spending it at Hogwarts. Perhaps I'll dip into my stash of fire whiskey --- a particularly strong brand I purchased from a fellow Slytherin. It's never fun to drink alone, so maybe I'll save it for a better time, but then, when was I ever likely to spend a special occasion with someone else? Enough of this misery, I just wanted to send a short word to you as I've been putting off writing. I've been uninspired as of late. I raise my imaginary glass to you, Remus, and wish you a happy New Year. Enjoy your time away from this place while it lasts, you'll be back here soon enough. - Severus"

You read the note a thousand times over. Reading this note you would swear he was still at Hogwarts, wallowing in self-pity. Any warmth you had previously felt has now fled. You have this sinking feeling in your stomach but you don't want to admit to yourself... no don't even think it. You wait by the door a moment longer. You want to go back to sleep and back to that dream but your heart is racing so fast that you nearly feel it jump out of your chest.