Nocturnal
by vkay
It was during the summer holidays that Harry began to take up an irregular sleep pattern.
Initially it wasn't deliberate.
Those late night conversations were most enjoyable, until he'd notice that Professor Lupin's eyes were closed more often than open, and Harry'd say goodnight before going to his room warm and content, and he'd begin reading his book from where he left off last night until the words swam and his head got heavy and he finally drifted to sleep.
It became routine, and Harry would look forward to the night because they were peaceful.
It was after his seventeenth birthday, when he got his best birthday present ever – one very alive Sirius Black, that his nocturnal habits became intentional.
How can he explain the fact that he didn't even know he was in love until he was overwhelmed with jealousy when he found out that Remus and his godfather were lovers? How he'd be happy, and yet so devastated at the same time? So hopeful yet resigned. He had a family, and while they occupied the house at day, he lived at night.
The guilt would gnaw at him those instances when he could not help feeling that perhaps if Sirius remained …
No.
At night the shrill of silence would be his only companion in his wild thoughts of whispered comforts, hands on hair, lips on skin, until thoughts meshed with dreams and he'd wake up feeling more horrible than before. And he'd begin reading his book from where he'd left off the day before until the words swam and he'd wipe his face on his sleeve of his pyjamas and realise that after all this time, he had only read one paragraph.
End
