December 24 ½: Nightmare Before Christmas
Sirius was reading a book that he found downstairs in the study. But the book was in French, so for an hour he was still on the first page. With a dictionary in hand, paper and pen in another and the book balancing on his knee, he didn't pay attention to the two books. The piece of paper and pen however were moving swiftly; translations at top but slowly turn into Sirius' own thoughts and troubles.
/I never expected this. First I was thrown into a new world and learn their way of things. When I finally get the hand of it, my world comes crashing down. James is like a brother to me, so whenever he feels hurt it seems like his pain transfers to me. Not fair not fair not fair not fair.../
Sirius tore the parchment in half and then in thirds and threw the pieces in the trash. "Life's not fair..." He wanted to run, to leave everything behind, to scream—but the last one was already being done by someone else.
Sirius scrambled from his bed knocking the books to the floor and ran out into the hallway. The screams died but were soon replaced by a soft whimper. He walked over to Remus' door and put an ear on the wood. This wasn't anything new; Remus always had nightmares.
Sirius retreated back into his room; Remus and himself had enough on their minds right now and Sirius wasn't sure if Remus would be as accepting as last night. Besides, Remus always calmed down eventually.
'Eventually' was an eternity for the cerulean-eyed boy. Remus always woke up before, so why not now?
Once again, Sirius raised himself out of bed and tiptoed to the wood door. Remus seemed to be talking like he was carrying on a conversation with someone. Sirius poised his hand on the brass doorknob.
/This is wrong. I should just leave him alone like all the times before. But maybe.../
He twisted the handle cautiously and pushed the door gradually so it wouldn't creak. As soon as he stepped in, he heard a muffled cry coming from the bed. As noiselessly as he could, he approached the werewolf's bed; Remus' voice becoming more clear with every step.
"Stop.... Don't hurt him—not again..." Sirius flung open the hangings. Remus' face was covered in cold sweat—possibly even tears intermingling. He was twisted in the bed sheets like a cocoon and was frantically moving around as if trying to run away from his tribulation.
Sirius caught a flailing hand and held it firmly. He embraced the trembling body tightly trying to comfort and soothe. Remus stopped crying out and moving, but shivers erupted through his body. Chestnut hair splayed across his savior's shoulders and intermixed with ebony. Remus held onto him with a bone-crushing grip as if he would let go he'd go back to the previous hell.
Sirius spoke very softly with compassionate words and tried to rub out the trembles in the other young man's slender back. Remus placed his face in the crook of Sirius' neck, tears shattering like glass on his skin. Eventually, Sirius could feel the shaky, uneven breaths turn steady and balanced and the death grip loosening.
Time carried on. One not willing to leave the other alone, and the other not willing to let go. Sleep was not necessary in the world of devotion and compassion.
Gold eyes bore into sapphire. Sirius felt like his soul was being penetrated—as if Remus could see all his concealed secrets and fears. He looked away becoming quite interested in his frayed Gryffindor nightshirt and pulled at the loose strings.
"What..." A honey-filled voice broke the quiet, "What was I doing?"
Sirius had a hard time finding his voice. When he did it was unstable and erratic. "Not anything out of the ordinary...Well, it was a little more extreme than normal..."
"Normal? I have a normal? Oh god." Remus clamped his eyes shut and turned over on his side. Sirius placed a hand on the small of his back.
"Everyone has nightmares. You just have them more often."
Remus looked squarely into Sirius' eyes. "Nightmares are frightening dreams accompanied by a sense of oppression or suffocation. Or an evil spirit formerly thought to oppress people during sleep. I do not have nightmares because nightmares aren't real, they never happened, never will. It's your subconscious telling you something. The last time I ever had a real nightmare, I was six. Ever since then all I can see is the past—that is my nightmare. They're truthful—they've happened—they are actual memories."
"So," Sirius tried to comprehend everything that was just spit out at him. "What you are saying, is that you just were /reliving/ a memory?"
"Exactly."
"And what memory was this?" Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say. Remus looked agitated and scooted away, almost falling off the edge of the bed. Sirius made to get up but a tender hand snatched his pulling Sirius back down.
"Don't go." Remus was holding a wooden black box. He held it up for Sirius to see, "You thought I was shunning you, didn't you?"
"No," Sirius lied. He grabbed the box and silently asked for permission to open it. Remus reached around and turned on a lamp.
"You asked what my memories were of. What's better than expressing memories than—"Remus tore off the top, "—pictures?" Sirius laughed.
"Of course." Sirius picked up the first one in the pile. He laughed, "That's fucking hilarious!" Remus blushed a deep pink.
"I didn't have a choice..."
"The hair or the clothes?"
"Shut up."
Sirius grabbed a handful more and whipped through until he would find one of particular interest. "Wow. She's hot!"
"That's my sister."
"Ewe, ewe, ewe! I am so sorry, mate." Sirius pitched the picture like it burned him and replaced it with another one. "Awwwwww. Is this you? Or are you going to tell me that it's not and make me assume that it's the same guy in the hallway?"
"It's me."
"I thought so." Sirius looked at the picture more doggedly. "You were really cute. What happened to ickle Remy-poo?"
Remus scowled, "Don't you dare start calling me that. It's bad enough with a mother doing it."
Sirius chuckled and continued skimming through the rest of his handful of photographs, stopping to say a comment or two about each. He stopped at one that caught his attention more than any other, a family photo. He flipped the image around so Remus could see. "You," he pointed at a baby. "Mother and father," He pointed to the middle-aged couple. "Sister." He poked at the curly-headed girl. "Now, who is this?" He jabbed his finger at the last person, a young teen similar to what Remus looked like at the age.
"He's a friend."
"Is this not a family picture?"
"Yes. But friends can be family, no? Like you and James—true brothers, not by blood but by heart and soul."
"True. I've never had a good bloodline so I took the next best thing: James, Peter, and you. Not to mention James' family." He put down the photo, but in the new light he noticed something peculiar. "This 'friend' is the same boy in the hallway."
Remus didn't respond; he was staring at another picture from deep within the black box with mournful eyes. Sirius leaned over to see it, but Remus briskly tossed it aside and put on a phony smile.
"Goes by so quickly. I miss being young with nothing to worry about except your parents getting fussy when you come into the house covered in mud." Remus' eyes seemed to go a shade darker.
"Those were the days. My parents were at least half-way decent back then...Of course it all changed when I got into Gryffindor and quit obeying them." Sirius glanced over at Remus and saw that he was sound asleep. Sirius pulled the covers around him, turned off the light and kissed him goodnight.
Sirius picked up all the disordered pictures and put them back into their container. He found the one Remus tossed and made sure it was on top. He stood up and took the photos and the black box back into his room.
Locking the door behind him, he turned on all the lights in the room and sat down heavily on the blue-velvet bedclothes. He placed the box in front of him and took out the first picture.
It was boy about seven years old with a baby boy sucking his thumb in his arms. The baby had a spurt of brown hair the same color as the older boy. Certain similarities proved that they were related. They looked very happy and content right where they were.
Sirius could only figure out a few things about the mysterious boy. He was about seven years older than Remus, Remus obviously looked up to him and cared for him, and something happened to him, possibly betrayal or death.
Sirius wanted the truth but knew when Remus wanted to keep a secret, he would.
Sirius was reading a book that he found downstairs in the study. But the book was in French, so for an hour he was still on the first page. With a dictionary in hand, paper and pen in another and the book balancing on his knee, he didn't pay attention to the two books. The piece of paper and pen however were moving swiftly; translations at top but slowly turn into Sirius' own thoughts and troubles.
/I never expected this. First I was thrown into a new world and learn their way of things. When I finally get the hand of it, my world comes crashing down. James is like a brother to me, so whenever he feels hurt it seems like his pain transfers to me. Not fair not fair not fair not fair.../
Sirius tore the parchment in half and then in thirds and threw the pieces in the trash. "Life's not fair..." He wanted to run, to leave everything behind, to scream—but the last one was already being done by someone else.
Sirius scrambled from his bed knocking the books to the floor and ran out into the hallway. The screams died but were soon replaced by a soft whimper. He walked over to Remus' door and put an ear on the wood. This wasn't anything new; Remus always had nightmares.
Sirius retreated back into his room; Remus and himself had enough on their minds right now and Sirius wasn't sure if Remus would be as accepting as last night. Besides, Remus always calmed down eventually.
'Eventually' was an eternity for the cerulean-eyed boy. Remus always woke up before, so why not now?
Once again, Sirius raised himself out of bed and tiptoed to the wood door. Remus seemed to be talking like he was carrying on a conversation with someone. Sirius poised his hand on the brass doorknob.
/This is wrong. I should just leave him alone like all the times before. But maybe.../
He twisted the handle cautiously and pushed the door gradually so it wouldn't creak. As soon as he stepped in, he heard a muffled cry coming from the bed. As noiselessly as he could, he approached the werewolf's bed; Remus' voice becoming more clear with every step.
"Stop.... Don't hurt him—not again..." Sirius flung open the hangings. Remus' face was covered in cold sweat—possibly even tears intermingling. He was twisted in the bed sheets like a cocoon and was frantically moving around as if trying to run away from his tribulation.
Sirius caught a flailing hand and held it firmly. He embraced the trembling body tightly trying to comfort and soothe. Remus stopped crying out and moving, but shivers erupted through his body. Chestnut hair splayed across his savior's shoulders and intermixed with ebony. Remus held onto him with a bone-crushing grip as if he would let go he'd go back to the previous hell.
Sirius spoke very softly with compassionate words and tried to rub out the trembles in the other young man's slender back. Remus placed his face in the crook of Sirius' neck, tears shattering like glass on his skin. Eventually, Sirius could feel the shaky, uneven breaths turn steady and balanced and the death grip loosening.
Time carried on. One not willing to leave the other alone, and the other not willing to let go. Sleep was not necessary in the world of devotion and compassion.
Gold eyes bore into sapphire. Sirius felt like his soul was being penetrated—as if Remus could see all his concealed secrets and fears. He looked away becoming quite interested in his frayed Gryffindor nightshirt and pulled at the loose strings.
"What..." A honey-filled voice broke the quiet, "What was I doing?"
Sirius had a hard time finding his voice. When he did it was unstable and erratic. "Not anything out of the ordinary...Well, it was a little more extreme than normal..."
"Normal? I have a normal? Oh god." Remus clamped his eyes shut and turned over on his side. Sirius placed a hand on the small of his back.
"Everyone has nightmares. You just have them more often."
Remus looked squarely into Sirius' eyes. "Nightmares are frightening dreams accompanied by a sense of oppression or suffocation. Or an evil spirit formerly thought to oppress people during sleep. I do not have nightmares because nightmares aren't real, they never happened, never will. It's your subconscious telling you something. The last time I ever had a real nightmare, I was six. Ever since then all I can see is the past—that is my nightmare. They're truthful—they've happened—they are actual memories."
"So," Sirius tried to comprehend everything that was just spit out at him. "What you are saying, is that you just were /reliving/ a memory?"
"Exactly."
"And what memory was this?" Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say. Remus looked agitated and scooted away, almost falling off the edge of the bed. Sirius made to get up but a tender hand snatched his pulling Sirius back down.
"Don't go." Remus was holding a wooden black box. He held it up for Sirius to see, "You thought I was shunning you, didn't you?"
"No," Sirius lied. He grabbed the box and silently asked for permission to open it. Remus reached around and turned on a lamp.
"You asked what my memories were of. What's better than expressing memories than—"Remus tore off the top, "—pictures?" Sirius laughed.
"Of course." Sirius picked up the first one in the pile. He laughed, "That's fucking hilarious!" Remus blushed a deep pink.
"I didn't have a choice..."
"The hair or the clothes?"
"Shut up."
Sirius grabbed a handful more and whipped through until he would find one of particular interest. "Wow. She's hot!"
"That's my sister."
"Ewe, ewe, ewe! I am so sorry, mate." Sirius pitched the picture like it burned him and replaced it with another one. "Awwwwww. Is this you? Or are you going to tell me that it's not and make me assume that it's the same guy in the hallway?"
"It's me."
"I thought so." Sirius looked at the picture more doggedly. "You were really cute. What happened to ickle Remy-poo?"
Remus scowled, "Don't you dare start calling me that. It's bad enough with a mother doing it."
Sirius chuckled and continued skimming through the rest of his handful of photographs, stopping to say a comment or two about each. He stopped at one that caught his attention more than any other, a family photo. He flipped the image around so Remus could see. "You," he pointed at a baby. "Mother and father," He pointed to the middle-aged couple. "Sister." He poked at the curly-headed girl. "Now, who is this?" He jabbed his finger at the last person, a young teen similar to what Remus looked like at the age.
"He's a friend."
"Is this not a family picture?"
"Yes. But friends can be family, no? Like you and James—true brothers, not by blood but by heart and soul."
"True. I've never had a good bloodline so I took the next best thing: James, Peter, and you. Not to mention James' family." He put down the photo, but in the new light he noticed something peculiar. "This 'friend' is the same boy in the hallway."
Remus didn't respond; he was staring at another picture from deep within the black box with mournful eyes. Sirius leaned over to see it, but Remus briskly tossed it aside and put on a phony smile.
"Goes by so quickly. I miss being young with nothing to worry about except your parents getting fussy when you come into the house covered in mud." Remus' eyes seemed to go a shade darker.
"Those were the days. My parents were at least half-way decent back then...Of course it all changed when I got into Gryffindor and quit obeying them." Sirius glanced over at Remus and saw that he was sound asleep. Sirius pulled the covers around him, turned off the light and kissed him goodnight.
Sirius picked up all the disordered pictures and put them back into their container. He found the one Remus tossed and made sure it was on top. He stood up and took the photos and the black box back into his room.
Locking the door behind him, he turned on all the lights in the room and sat down heavily on the blue-velvet bedclothes. He placed the box in front of him and took out the first picture.
It was boy about seven years old with a baby boy sucking his thumb in his arms. The baby had a spurt of brown hair the same color as the older boy. Certain similarities proved that they were related. They looked very happy and content right where they were.
Sirius could only figure out a few things about the mysterious boy. He was about seven years older than Remus, Remus obviously looked up to him and cared for him, and something happened to him, possibly betrayal or death.
Sirius wanted the truth but knew when Remus wanted to keep a secret, he would.