OK, I don't know why this got messed up, but I caught the jumble on LiveJournal and forgot to check on here. So, here's the PROPERLY ordered version of A Walk in the Park…
Disclaimer: JKR's, not mine
Warning: Allusions to slash (SB/RL)
The weather is unusually warm for this time of year. Typically in January smothering, swollen clouds would smother the land and assault the barren land with freezing droplets; too wet to be snow, too cold to be enjoyable. Today, however, the sky is almost clear, with only snowy puffs of white floating languidly across the horizon interrupting the soft blue stretching from edge to edge. They remind Remus of the candyfloss Sirius guzzled at the fairground when they were eighteen. He knows this is not an original simile, but smiles anyway as he remembers Sirius' rapturous expression as he teased each wisp of spun sugar from the sickly cloud and into his mouth. By the end of the long and unattractive process Sirius' fingers and mouth were pink and sticky and he insisted on caressing Remus with both of them, covering his boyfriend in sticky sweet kisses, much to Remus' annoyance. But Sirius knew exactly how to get Remus to forgive him his rapturous expression turned to downright ecstasy as he was allowed to lick Remus clean.
Remus breathes deeply and fancies he can still smell the sugar and sweat on the sweet air. The sun sits low, as though relaxing in the peaceful hammock of azure sky, its golden rays pale yet shimmering, soaking the landscape in diluted honey. Yellow fingers of light caress Remus' exposed neck until jealous gusts of the winter air chase their warmth away. Despite the cold the day is beautiful, the sunshine coaxing a scattering of timid flowers into raising their virgin white heads, and the occasional bird experiments with a few nervous scales as Remus passes them on his way to the park. He smiles in appreciation of their accompaniment; perhaps it is fitting that today should be beautiful, after all, today Remus Lupin is going to visit his love.
Remus reaches the entrance and pulls on one of the wrought iron gates, careful not to crush the offering held in his gloved hand. The flowers always give Remus some difficulty; a bouquet for Sirius never seemed to be quite the right gift. They seemed too clichéd, too thoughtless, and altogether too feminine for Sirius. However, Remus had reasoned, he could hardly be expected to fork out for a motorcycle every time he came up here could he? Besides, where would Sirius put them all? In the end Remus had come to the conclusion that if flowers were allowed to lie around haphazardly on the ground looking pretty for no-one more important than the vast blue void above them then he was certainly allowed to buy a reassuringly expensive bouquet for the man he loved. Even if Sirius couldn't appreciate them. So Remus holds the large bunch of pale lilies in front of him, the sunlight filling up their delicate flutes with rippling champangne, as he boldly walks up the path.
Remus looks up the gravel path that winds up the hill, wrapping the winter green in a folded grey ribbon. There, just over the summit, is where Sirius waits for him. In the eternal summer of his memory Remus sees an excited twelve year old leap over the rise and roll wildly down the slope to end in a stained and torn yet exhilarated pile at the bottom. Years later they returned for some entirely different rolling on the slope, a little more secret, a little more seductive, but no less wild. That was years ago now, when summers lasted forever, when this hill was all grass and when danger was just getting caught with your pants down.
Remus smiles and continues up the path. It saddens Remus to think that one day, when they are both gone, that this hill will no longer belong to Sirius Black and Remus Lupin, but to other couples. Strangers with unfamiliar experiences diluting the sanctity of their hill with their inferior fumbles. For Remus knows, as anyone in love does, that his is the only true love, only he knows what it is to feel total devotion to one person, one other who makes him complete. Everyone else's affairs are fleeting and insignificant, a mirage in the shape of love, the reflection of a reflection of the one true love that exists between Sirius Black and Remus Lupin.
Fancying he can hear Sirius' cries from the close horizon of the hillock Remus begins to pick up pace. Sirius is waiting, as always, and was never the most patient person.
"Come on Remus! I've got something cool to show you!" Twelve year old Sirius scurries up the hill, grabbing and ripping out thick clumps of grass in his frantic scramble. Remus hurries along to follow the fading memory.
"Really Mr Lupin, we should equip you with a watch. I know you're scared of getting caught but you don't need to wait ten minutes at every corner to make sure it's safe!" The sneering boy standing on top of the mound with his hands placed petulantly on his hips looks a couple of years older, but has lost none of the excitement of his pre-teenage counterpart.
Remus was running now, feet scattering gravel as he dashed up the path, obeying the phantoms of the past. He laughed along with his own ghosts, their shadowy figures trailing along behind him, stretching out in hazy file through the past, each Remus giggling his own apology to the black-haired boy who stood at the top of the hill, ready to welcome his friend, partner, and finally lover into his arms. With a final joyous leap Remus jumped over the ridge.
"Thank Merlin, Moony, I was beginning to think you'd stood me up." Black hair was flicked out of the reclining man's eyes as he greeted the newcomer.
"Hello Sirius." Remus smiles sadly.
The incarnation of twenty year old Sirius disappears with the wind as Remus addresses the slab in front of him. Sirius is not lying on the ground, nor even in the ground where he should rightfully be; bodies that pass through the veil cannot be recovered. Remus sits on the damp grass in front of the gravestone, not even registering the cold that spreads through legs still tingling through recent effort. He places the flowers on the earth in front of the shining block that juts from the earth like a rotting tooth. The name carved into the black marble simply reads 'Snuffles'; to the rest of the world Sirius Black is still the highly dangerous escaped convict whose whereabouts are shrouded in mystery.
"I'm sorry it's been a while since my last visit," Remus begins aloud, without a trace of self-consciousness. "But it's very difficult to come here unnoticed during the school term."
Remus looks around at his familiar surroundings. The graveyard hidden in the Hogwarts grounds had always been there, a discrete cluster of monuments perched on a hill in a secret garden, protected a mysterious wall. It was only after the first war that the many fresh gravestones spilled down the side of 'their' hill and the garden became a place for solemn contemplation than careless antics. Now it was the final resting place of Snuffles, the walls enclosing his memory as efficiently as the walls of Remus' brain.
Remus notices a dark patch of fur hiding behind one corner of the gravestone and laughs as he picks up a small toy dog. "At least Harry can come regularly." He says to the air in front of the marble, where a shaggy haired man with a bark laugh would sit. "He's doing very well, you know. He's mastered the conjuring spell now. I know it took him longer than you and James – although Hermione beat you by the way, she accomplished it before Christmas, thought you'd like to know – but Harry tells me he successfully tricked Malfoy Jr. into putting on conjured robes. Of course they disappeared a few hours later giving a class of Gryffindors and Slytherins an eyeful. Harry seemed very pleased, you were a terrible influence on him. But you'll be pleased to know that I didn't inform him about your similar suffering at the hands of one Lucius Malfoy."
Remus' chuckle catches on the breeze and whispers through the trees as his conversation continues even as the sun sinks below the horizon. As the new moon rises silver strands filter into the small graveyard and just for a moment it looks as though the empty garden is filled with activity. Shadows move and disappear, flickering in and out of focus like a stop motion camera feeding on the glow of moonlight, as insubstantial as mist. The silhouetted figures dance in pairs, tracing whispered paths through memory and out of reality. And in the centre of the garden, all life now silent in the peaceful embrace of dusk, two figures laugh under the stars.
Makes more sense now, no?
Sham