DISCLAIMER/AUTHOR'S NOTE: I don't own these characters, etc. I mean, c'mon. Also, the quote at the beginning is of course from The Prisoner of Azkaban.
Thank you, uhm, anonymous benefactor (?) who made me write this, my first ever fanfic, and then gave me many helpful suggestions. It is squarely your fault that I feel as ashamed as a prepubescent boy caught in the middle of frantically pleasuring himself.
"No, I swear, it was just idle rambling! Not fanfiction at all!"
-'-
A Single, Very Happy Memory
"How do you conjure it?"
"With an incantation, which will work only if you are concentrating, with all your might, on a single, very happy memory."
Perhaps it was excessive, though he didn't acknowledge the thought; just gave his wand another flick and squinted into the silver-white light that resulted. But the Dementors were as real a threat as ever, and despite his gently cynical criticism, Sirius never once implied that a few practice Patronuses were entirely unnecessary. Sirius would be the last person to do that.
On this particular evening he sprawled restlessly in yet another cramped, dark corner, a new one of which the Black household seemed to vomit up every day, and for long minutes remained silent as Remus conjured up yet another round, enthusiasm waning with each charm.
When Sirius finally spoke, it was startlingly sudden, cracking through the room more abruptly, even, than the Patronus itself. "What do you think of?"
Remus reoriented, bewildered by virtue of sheer suddeness. There was no accusation, implication, or even real curiosity in Sirius's voice. Just boredom. An idle question, Remus reassured himself. Just an idle question. He bought time, weakly.
"What a terribly personal question." He distracted himself with yet another Patronus, as exhausted as he already was.
"What a terribly qualified person I am to ask it," came the unhesitating reply, and Remus heard rather than saw the smile that accompanied it.
He grinned despite himself, though the expression rapidly faded as he dwelled on the question. What he thought of, what memory he had that was warm enough to fuel the powerful charm--what he thought of--
---
He couldn't remember why they had been out and about in Hogwarts past midnight--he remembered mostly conjuring a light with a hassled, near-silent Lumos, poring over the Marauder's Map with James and Peter and Sirius, all of them biting back laughter, James actively stifling his with the trail of his scarf, as they watched Filch's footsteps trail in bewilderment over the paper, scurrying from one hall to the other. As for Remus, he wasn't entirely sure how they'd managed to sprint the distance and scramble into the hollowed-out wall behind the fourth suit of armour in the hallway leading to the Divination tower, but they had, and they huddled cramped between the stones, James whispering a giggling comment that Peter's bulk was keeping them from breathing. Bursts of adrenaline-fueled laughter. The gentle light of the Lumos pulsing and casting shadows up into corners populated by cobwebs, until finally the harried, irritated footsteps of Filch trailed off down a hallway on the map.
They followed its progress breathlessly, and it was James who first shoved the trick wall aside, heaving himself out into the open hallway and theatrically gasping for air. Peter tumbled out soon afterwards, and Sirius, clutching the map, whispered a go-ahead--that the way to the Gryffindor tower was clear.
Remus started to scramble out to join them, the back of his neck sore and aching from having been huddled in the wall, before a hand on the hem of his robes yanked him back and he tumbled down into the hollow. Sirius had that singularly maniacal grin on his face, as endearing as it was unnerving. "Look," he hissed quietly, cocking an ear to the opening in the stones, listening to the retreating steps of James and Peter, oblivious to their abandonment. He jabbed a finger at the map.
A tiny dot labelled "Lily Evans" was floating down the hallway from the Gryffindor tower. "If I know her," he said, choking on a laugh, "her radar's gone off and she's trying to figure out who escaped the tower at this time of night and why."
Remus found Sirius's laughter catching despite that old, familiar worry welling up in his gut for the sake of a prankee's well-being. The dot was winding its way down a hallway, and the two dots scurrying towards the dormitories from the Divination hallway were headed in a disastrously direct course to meet it. "'Feel almost bad not being there to see it," said Sirius, grin stretching his words, "but it would have given it away. I wouldn't have been able to keep from laughing." He gestured Remus nearer, and, still breathing somewhat roughly, he edged his way over to sit next to him, leaning forward to pore over the map, Sirius's eyes alight with glee in the dim illumination of the wavering Lumos.
To this day he barely recalled the moment the three dots had collided--literally--in their progress around a corner. He could dimly and faintly remember Sirius's quiet crow of laughter at the muddle that ensued, and his repeated wish that he was there to hear the conversation, though he was sure he could get it from Peter later, if he tried. What he remembered was Sirius's shoulder shoved hard against his, slender hand reaching out with a wide-eyed laugh to grab at his own and point ecstatically at the Lily-dot pacing circles around James's. He remembered Sirius's breath stirring the hair dangling over his ears when he leaned back to admire his handiwork and observe that Peter was wise for hightailing it the rest of the way to the dormitories.
What he remembered was that hollow of stone, and their feet propped against the wall in the tiny space, the heat of their laugh-ragged breathing and the enclosed space seeping into the cold walls. It was one of the few times he had ever really laughed at one of Sirius's pranks--one of the only times he had ever cast his worry for the victim into the proverbial wind and indulged in the moment, though perhaps the moment he indulged in was not the same as Sirius's. And Sirius, oblivious, the contours of his face delineated in the pulsing light of the Lumos charm, singularly feral and silhouetted in one of those fleeting moments in which he assumed a worldly, strange, but undeniable beauty.
Timing his breathing to his, and his laughter.
Sneaking glances at his sharp, graceful profile, outlined in shadow.
His shoulder, a hard, uncomfortable angle that Remus endured, tolerated, silently admired.
His oblivion, his ignorance, and Remus's frank and unhindered affection.
He didn't pity James--the circumstances, perhaps, were not fantastic, but the two dots stood very close and very still for some moments before they separated.
He had found a moment with the person he loved.
So had Remus.
---
"What do I think of?" He repeated the question, absently turning the old, familiar memory over in his head, turning his wand over in his palm. Sirius said nothing.
"A good moment," he answered finally, lifting his eyes to Sirius. His profile was cast up against the dark stone of the wall, and if it was older, if the hair was longer, it was the same face and the same grinning expression he had stolen a few momentary looks at long years before, huddled laughing in the space between the walls. Still striking. Still oblivious.
"What a fantastically enlightening answer that was," Sirius laughed wryly.
He knew that the inquiry would stop there, and that Sirius was not satisfied and that his laughter was only a means of tacit apology. But as usual, he found it contagious, and he felt the corner of his lip twisting up into a grin as he flicked his wand, threw himself headlong into memory, and silently summoned another Patronus.