Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
-- Edgar Allen Poe, The Raven
PART II:
DECEMBERS
They lay in bed, silent now, for the first time in what seemed like years. Their skin was sticky with half-dried sweat, their eyes glassy and dark and wild, their heartbeats only just beginning to slow down.
Remus lay there, staring up at the white ceiling. Sirius rolled over to face his lover and put a hand on his bony hip.
Remus said. He looked down at the wrinkled, off-white bed linens with almost meditative concentration and hoped that Sirius would say nothing for a while.
When his lover remained silent, Remus looked up, surprised. Sirius was seldom ever quiet in his presence, save when he was asleep -- Which, as it happened, was exactly the case at this particular moment. Sirius had, indeed, fallen asleep, his dark hair spread out like the light of a dying star around his handsome face. The candle's flame flickered in the draft, the light casting ephemeral highlights on his hair. Remus was reminded of late nights spent in Gryffindor Common Room, years ago. He remembered looking up from his Potions textbook countless times in a night to admire the way Sirius' hair reflected the firelight. It seemed, sometimes, that Remus was always admiring Sirius.
In truth, though it had indeed been years since they'd sat in the Gryffindor Tower, it had not been that many years ago. They were both still young, so young, and lying here reminiscing made him feel very old. It was not uncommon for Remus to feel old, however, and it was a sensation he had grown accustomed to. He had realized very early on that he would spend most, if not all, of his life feeling old.
Instead of lingering any longer on these thoughts, he slid down the bed so that his face was even with Sirius', and pulled the blankets over them. Outside, the clouds were threatening snow, and the air in the room was quickly growing cold on his damp skin. He kissed Sirius' thin, soft lips and pulled the blankets close around him before tucking his arm neatly around Sirius' waist.
Here, he was safe, he was quite sure. Neither snow nor sky nor wind nor water could harm him here, in bed with the man he cared for more than his own life. He was certain, in the brief moments before he fell asleep, that no wrong could ever be done them.
Remus had always believed in the power of dreams, in the strength of one's most unconscious thoughts. When he was very small, he had even believed that dreams could be portentous, but by the time he had begun Divination in his third year at Hogwarts, he had left most of those notions far behind. But even when telling the future was out of the question, Remus still believed that his dreams reflected his waking life with striking accuracy.
So it was no surprise that midnight found him sitting up in bed beside his lover, agonizing over the details of his most recent half-remembered dream. He found, more now than ever, that his dreams were slipping away from him, and he feared losing them all together. Many nights found him in a similar position, silently reliving the fragments of dreams.
Once, his dreams had been exceptionally vivid, and he had delighted in spending hours telling his mother about them in precise detail. He could still remember those old stories almost perfectly, though he never shared them with anyone. He held onto them like heirlooms, like gold, to be treasured and kept secret.
This dream, in particular, had been dark. At some point, the candles in the dream had all gone out, and he had wandered around in the black behind his eyelids for what seemed like hours. Reflecting on it, Remus shuddered and crossed his arms over his chest. He hoped silently that his lover would not wake up for a long time.
Perhaps, he reflected, it was only nerves. They were in the midst of a dark time, there was no denying that, and so it shouldn't come as any surprise if he dreamed about dark things. But, still, it worried him. The blackness that had closed in around him in his dream seemed suffocating even now, and something deep inside him could feel the dark wrapping its cold fingers around his heart. He worried, felt restless, wanted to leap from the warmth of his bed and run, flee, hide for forty years. He wondered where his sense of security had gone.
Slowly, quietly, he got out of bed, careful not to wake Sirius. He walked across the cold hardwood floor and dressed silently. He opened the bedroom door into the pitch-black hallway and stepped out of the bedroom. He turned and, pressing one hand against the door frame, the other holding the rusty latch up, he slowly eased the bedroom door shut, leaning towards the closing gap between door and frame like a child eavesdropping. When the door was finally shut, he breathed a sigh of relief and walked into the kitchen. The stone floor of the kitchen was even colder than the bedroom floor, but the quiet of the flat was least oppressive here. The kitchen faced out onto the street and even this late at night, the occasional car still rumbled by. In the bedroom, the only sound that kept him company at night was that of his lover's peaceful breathing, which, at best, was a bitter consort.
He didn't dare put a kettle on, for fear of waking Sirius, nor did he want to light a lamp. Instead, he curled into one of the chairs around the kitchen table, pulled his feet up, off the frigid floor, and endeavored to wait for morning.
It was not much brighter than it had been hours earlier, but Remus knew it was morning by the influx of noise coming from the street below. With morning had come powdery, light snow, descending lazily from the ashen sky. He did not remember when it had started snowing, which seemed to suggest that he had fallen asleep at some point during the night. He couldn't remember falling asleep, but neither could he remember the greater part of the last six hours. All in all, he was glad he had slept. He was tired enough as it was, without losing sleep over half-forgotten dreams.
As he got up to put a kettle on, he stretched, attempting to work the kinks out of his neck. He told himself that he would have to stop falling asleep upright, or he would do permanent damage to his spine. It was then that he realized he didn't have his wand, and he wandered back to the bedroom to get it. He opened the door very carefully and crept, catlike, into the room. Sirius was still asleep, his back to Remus' side of the bed, his bare arms resting on top of the blankets. Remus put a sweater on and smoothed down the sheets on his side of the bed. Then he took up his wand from the bedside table and, giving Sirius one last glance, left the bedroom just as quietly as he had come. He found that he was unspeakably relieved that Sirius has not awoken.
Once he was back in the kitchen, he Summoned a pair of teacups and saucers. He filled the teakettle with water and tapped one of the burners with his wand to set it alight before putting the kettle down on top of it. He took milk and butter from the ice box and sugar from the cupboard, and arranged them at the center of the table. As he was rooting around in the bread box, there was a tap at the frosty kitchen window.
He crossed to the window and let in a small barn owl. It shook snow from its feathers and hooted dolefully before dropping its copy of The Daily Prophet into Remus' hands and sticking out its leg. Just a moment, Remus told the owl, and went to collect its fee. As he deposited the coins in bag tied to the owl's leg, Remus thought that he could not blame it for being miserable. The air coming in from the open window alone left the kitchen bitterly cold. Once Remus had tied up the pouch on its leg, the owl hooted once more and departed. Remus shut the window quickly and did not watch the owl as it winged its way over the rooftops. Instead, he turned away from window and the cold air around it, retrieved a loaf of bread, and began to make breakfast.
Halfway through his second piece of toast, he heard Sirius moving around in the bathroom. He listened to the shower running and thought about a time when he might have gotten up and joined his lover there. That time hadn't been so very long ago. Instead, however, he took another sip of tea and continued reading News of the Nation.
The dregs in Remus' teacup had long since gone cold when Sirius came into the kitchen. Remus looked up from the want ads when he felt warm, damp hands on his shoulders and Sirius pressed a gentle kiss to the back of his head. Sirius said, and sat down across the table from him, the heat behind him gone as quickly as it had come.
Good morning, Remus replied, and put the paper down long enough to reheat the teakettle, which was sitting on a hot plate in the middle of the table. The water inside it began to boil and then the whistle sounded shrilly.
Sirius said and poured hot water his teacup.
You're welcome. Remus slid the A section of the Prophet across the table. I put the milk back in the ice box, if you want it.
Sirius got up to retrieve the milk. As he sat back down, he glanced at Remus, who didn't appear to notice, as he was making himself a fresh cup of tea. You got up early this morning, he said.
Not that early, Remus said.
Couldn't you sleep again? Sirius asked. He took a piece of toast and put it on his plate.
I slept all right, Remus lied. His eyes were fixed on the water in his cup, which was slowly turning a pretty amber color.
I didn't even hear you get up. He studied Remus' tired face as he spread jam across his toast.
Well, you're a heavy sleeper. There was a silence between them, and a truck clattered noisily down the street. I thought--
Let's go shopping today, Moony, Sirius said, stepping on Remus' words. Sorry, what?
Remus said. He was growing anxious for his tea to brew. Where did you want to go shopping?
Well, Diagon Alley, for one. Sirius took a bite of his toast.
Haven't we been there at least a dozen times since the start of the month? Remus asked, though he really wasn't complaining.
At least that, but I still haven't finished my shopping.
You're a dreadful shopper, Sirius. You're absolutely dreadful. I don't know how you convince me to come with you any longer.
It's my charm, Sirius said matter-of-factly. And the fact I'd be even worse if I didn't have you helping me.
Remus sighed. It was true enough. Sirius could wander through a shop and see a hundred different things without deciding on any of them. All right, fine. You win. Who do you have left to shop for?
James and Mundungus. I'd forgotten about Mun until yesterday, and as for James, I just can't decide. Sirius chewed on another bite of toast contemplatively.
I bought something for Mundungus weeks ago, Remus said. We can give it to him from both of us.
Sirius said through his mouthful of toast. A moment later, he swallowed. Just think of it, Moony. Nineteen days left til Christmas. It's hard to be worried when there're only nineteen days to Christmas. And it's snowing, besides.
I suppose so, Remus said slowly. He took his strainer out of his cup and added two heaping spoonfuls of sugar, stirring them in meditatively. He knew Sirius was worried. He was worried, himself. James and Lily were worried, Peter was worried. And of course Dumbledore was worried. The worry, Remus felt, was drawing ever closer around all of them, and, no matter what Sirius said, there was no denying it.
His whole body ached. After his bath, he'd healed his minor wounds and bandaged the more severe ones, and that had used up what energy he'd had left after dragging himself upstairs. It took more than he'd thought he had in him to pull on a bath robe and go downstairs to make tea. His arm shook as he tapped the teapot with his wand. He stood there, focusing himself to keep from falling down, until his tea had steeped. Once it had, he sat down in the window seat, leaning his sore back against the window frame, and drank his tea without any sugar. If he breathed evenly, the shaking seemed to let up a little, and so he simply tried to relax.
He was so very tired, so awfully and perpetually tired. He leaned his hot, damp forehead against a chilly windowpane and closed his eyes. The mug of tea burned hot like a coal on his thigh, but he couldn't bring himself to move it.
Just think of it, Moony, somebody said. Nineteen days left til Christmas. It's hard to be worried when there're only nineteen days to Christmas. And it's snowing, besides.
Remus opened his eyes and looked out the window. It was difficult to focus, at first, and look through the whorled glass instead of at it directly. For a moment, he thought he saw a dark shape reflected in the windowpane, but then he remembered that he was supposed to be looking for snow. Only hard remnants of old snow speckled the sickly grass of the back yard. The sky was clear blue and the wind was bending the weaker trees in the yard nearly in half. The glass fogged up from his breath.
It isn't snowing, he said shortly, and turned back to look at Sirius.
But Sirius wasn't there. Only a half-empty teacup sat on the table, which, when Remus touched it, was as cold as the air around it.
