A/N: Did this in response to a challenge over at: ?nc44 (Hope you don't mind me linking, if so, let me know and I won't!:P) The prompt was to write a drabble based around one of the opening lines she supplied. Therefore...

Disclaimer: The opening line of this is not mine, it belongs to CasiraFics. Harry Potter and all related material belong to J.K. Rowling, WB, and their respective companies. The words presented in this particular arrangement as well as basic plot are mine.

Summary: Sirius' POV. Now and then, we all need time to think. Sirius has more of it than he'd like. Contains SLASH, consider yourself warned.

...Review, go on, become an R/R mastah!...Most importantly, please enjoy!

An Unnecessary Reminder

In the nightmare, he's young again, and beautiful.

In the dream, it's a make-shift decoration of a thousand clichés; he is pale enough to be fair, dark enough to be mysterious; enough of a child to be recklessly happy, enough of a man to know when to be serious, and quiet.

In the dream it was always the same, but it hadn't yet once repeated itself.

He lived in the dream as often as he could, because after all, what was there for him, in being awake?

In the dream, he's young again, and feels his strength like heat against his muscles; he had taken this for granted, when it had been his in reality.

...And beautiful...he had never been this beautiful.

"I'm old leather compared to you, Moony," He says in his dream.

"Don't be foolish, Sirius; you're like light," Remus laughs and waves him off.

Sometimes it seems they're under the water, sipping air through invisible cords which tie them to the surface, so that, in this dream, they are almost normal, but different enough to prove disturbing, off centre enough to remind him not to be too happy here - this is only a passing dream, this is not your life.

The world of his dream shifts some nights to involve James and Peter, Lily and Snape; to be in Hogwarts with the scent of spent spells, or his old house with the tight coil of family tension, or their old apartment with the leaking showerhead.

But there is always Remus; unchanging, unmoving, an unnecessary reminder of what he had left behind. He had taken all of that for granted, too.

Sometimes he felt Remus' hand along his cheek, as real as any texture which his waking half encountered; smooth and soft, hard and weary.

Firm.

Alive.

Affectionate.

In some dreams they would end up in their bed, a mixture of the four poster's they'd occupied at Hogwarts, and the oak bed they'd bought for cheap - pale and used and theirs - after school.

Their dream-nights were full of clichés, kisses and cries, whispers and small laughter, because any larger, any louder, would break the spell.

The best spells, he always had thought, were the ones they hadn't meant to cast at all.

Remus would lean up to kiss his forehead, later, and leave his hands along the other's sides, and run his fingers back and forth, as though he were mapping a way to return.

"I need one, too," He whispered tonight, "I need to remember how we get back where we began, Sirius. I need to forget - and remember - so much,"

The sadness in his voice changed to affection as he was comforted.

The affection rose sharply to love, which drifted like a feather to sleep.

They both always slept in these dreams; it was how Sirius knew they were almost over.

The sheets, a soft silken cloth, were cool against his skin in the summer, cool against his lover's skin...but when the dream grew tired of playing, and began to slip away, the bed grew harder, courser, like hay and cement against his back.

It is a dream for all the pleasant things it holds, clichéd things, like hope and redemption. Oh, if he could be redeemed.

It is a nightmare for all the falsities it carries, like dead weights hidden in your chest. It is a nightmare because he feels it's true, until he wakes from it, to the cold damp of his cell, to the dop-dip noise of water dripping, to the scent of mad men.

He keeps his eyes shut for a minute longer; move along, for there is nothing to see here.

His is a nightmare, dressed as a dream, for it is full of lies and clichés; for it tells him that Remus is with him still.

When he sleeps again, the nightmare tells him he is young, and he is beautiful.

But worst of all, it tells him he is loved.

A/N2: Awwooga. That was angsty! Forgive me! I want to write another story to the summary I supplied for this one. It just seems to scream "FLESH ME OUT!" so perhaps I shall;P Anyway, what did you all think? There's a couple lines I might change. This story may shockingly see yet another draft of it. Hope you enjoyed, thanks for reading!