Summary: Remus knows the past is useless, not worth his time, but that doesn't stop him from remembering, sometimes. Sirius/Remus.
Spoilers: PoA
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, any of its characters, including and especially Sirius and Remus, or any of its settings.
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OCTOBER
When Remus was younger, he picked apples in his backyard, sometimes climbing into the trees to pull off the ones not yet fallen to the ground. The rush of a sudden cold wind wouldn't stop him, just lead him to pull the sleeves of his jumper over his hands, to seal away the wind that blew through the holes. He has more holes now, and the wind that rushes through them is biting, devoid of comfort. The trees are not colorful, but only dead, creaking brown and the orange of pumpkins crushed against pavement.
Sometimes when he stands outside he wishes for the past even though he knows it's useless and not worth his time. He shivers and Sirius hands him a coat that is patched over many times but feels like home.
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JANUARY
The turn of the year and the harshest frost turn his fingers blue. He knows the danger that comes with seeking comfort, but his skin before the fire flames begins to color again.
Sirius behind him is another source of comfort, not as worthy of trust—or perhaps more so but it is not as easily given—but just as full of nostalgia and the need to bring the past back to life. He lays his hands on Remus's collarbones and bites at his neck, and from every spot his tongue touches, the cold melts away. Remus closes his eyes and leans into the warmth. It is a kind he remembers only vaguely, and Sirius brings back into focus and color what was for many years only black and white and gray. Remus breathes deep. Outside, the temperature drops again.
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APRIL
There is a book on Remus's bookshelf—the third one from the left on the top shelf—which he takes down to reread every spring. He pretends to be surprised when he comes to page 55 and sees the purple flower, faded now and almost colorless. Lily snapped it from the middle of a bunch on the first warm day of 1979, and left it on the axis of chapters 5 and 6, and Remus thinks about it like third instinct when the days begin to warm after many months of frost.
Air that is clean and fresh and brimming with new life rushes through the open window, and Sirius breathes in deep lungfuls of it. He gulps like he is a dying man given his last drink. Remus watches him, wishes he could feel that need for something again, after so many years of just making do. He wants the bright blue sky to be an omen of good things. He wants the color of the flower to return and the years to reverse.
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JULY
It will get hotter but this is bad enough: the way the mercury rises before Remus's eyes. Dog days of summer, Sirius says, and his words float upwards to hang suspended above them. Remus knows those are in August, but he doesn't say it aloud. The air is humid so that he cannot tell where his sweat ends and the water around him begins. Sirius rolls over on his stomach and Remus knows he hasn't shaved in three days. He runs his hands over the stubble. He's finding it hard to breathe.
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end