Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter and its characters are not mine.
A/N: Written for Rare Pair Shorts Spring Trope Challenge (prompt: hurt/comfort). Also written for Liquid Luck Drabble Challenge prompt 41: "In time it could have been so much more", Culture Club - Time (Clock of the Heart).
Somnambulus
In the moonlit graveyard, all was silent. Above, the Hunter's Moon glowed like a silver coin for the dead. Below, gravestones protruded from the field of grass like the scales of some giant, ancient creatures, relics slumbering till the end of time. Beneath the earth, the dead held their tongue, and some no longer had a tongue to hold or to wag.
Kneeling before one of the graves, Sirius dug his fingers into the rain-soaked ground, feeling wet grass and weeds and mud beneath his hands. He began to dig, a shallow depression that gradually deepened into a hole. The pungent smell of soil and dead leaves drifted in the cool autumn air. Not a sound could be heard in the graveyard but for the occasional rustling of trees in the moonlight.
Something sharp jabbed into the flesh beneath his fingernail, but he would not be dissuaded from his work. His clothes were stained with mud, and dampness seeped through his trousers. He kept digging, for nothing else mattered. He dug through dirt and rot and insects and worms. He dug into the past, into his memory and the ruins of his mind, digging through twenty years of lost time for the one he loved.
He was a dog digging a grave, a dog digging his own grave. He would take back the one he had lost; he would bury himself with the one he loved. He would keep on digging until he reached the one who was his soulmate, until there was nothing left for him to dig.
"Sirius."
He gave a start. A voice came to him in the dark, a husky baritone voice that stirred up memories both bitter and sweet in the depths of his consciousness. Had he come to him at last? He held his breath and slowly turned his head. A certain someone was standing several paces away from him, a familiar figure he had dreamt of for many a night and many a moon—the messy black hair, the faint glint of a pair of glasses, the body he once held in his arms.
"James."
A name fell unbidden from Sirius' lips. The figure remained silent and still, his head bowed and his expression hidden from view. Possessed, Sirius was about to crawl towards the figure when the figure approached him—in the measured step of someone approaching a wounded animal. Sirius froze, and his heart sank. No, he thought with a pang. It was not James. It was a trick of the moon, of shadow, of blood, of the night.
When the figure knelt beside him, he saw the figure's face—a pensive face that was at once like James and not like James. A familiar face, an unfamiliar expression. He sensed the figure's searching gaze—pitch black eyes that were green under the sun. Lily's eyes, not James' hazel eyes.
James did not come to him—Harry did.
The veil had lifted from his mind, and Sirius shivered. He was cold, wet, tired, his body aching in ways it never had in the summer of his youth. As if sensing his distress, Harry wrapped his arms around Sirius and pulled him close. Enveloped in Harry's scent and body heat, Sirius felt a pang of guilt and a trickle of warmth.
Compelled by impulse and instinct, Sirius returned the embrace, his hands leaving muddy marks on Harry's back. A beat or two later, Harry breathed out slowly and rested his head against Sirius', his hands clutching Sirius' shirt as though never wanting to let go, as though afraid of letting go. Sirius ran his hand along Harry's back, over and over until the tension in Harry's shoulders melted away into the night. They were alone in the graveyard, shivering and huddling together for warmth.
Sirius stared at the white marble gravestone before him, and at the inscription he had memorised by heart. No, he thought to himself as he tightened his arms around Harry and turned away from the silent headstone. It was not the time—not yet.
"I'm sorry, Harry," Sirius said. "Let's go home."
Harry made a sound and pulled away from Sirius. A shudder ran through Harry's body, as if he had not noticed the chill in the air till now. For one tantalising moment, Sirius wanted to take Harry in his arms, to comfort him and be comforted by him, to seek warmth from him and give him the warmth he needed.
"Are you all right?" Sirius asked.
Lips parted, Harry looked as though he wanted to say something. In the end, he shook his head and held out his hand to Sirius. "Let's go home, Sirius," he said, his voice like whispers in the wind.
Sirius took Harry's cold, damp hand, and they helped each other to their feet. After casting a look at the disturbed grave, Harry took out his wand and cast his spell, filling the hole and erasing any traces of disturbance. When the spell had run its course, the grave had returned to its former, untended state, as though time had rewound itself.
As a flicker of loss came over him, Sirius gazed at Harry, whose downcast eyes were fixed upon the white gravestone, his expression strangely blank. For one delirious moment, Sirius had a vision of James standing before his own grave, his gaze fixed upon his own name on the headstone. Sirius sucked in a breath. The air smelled faintly of decay—and of James.
In the next beat, he turned to Sirius and smiled—a quiet, wistful smile. The moment had passed, and Sirius only saw Harry and no one else. "Let's go, Sirius," Harry said. "We could use a hot bath and a drink."
Without further ado Harry took Sirius' hand and led him away from the graves. In the moonlight, his silhouette reminded Sirius of the one he loved, but he would not be making the same mistake—not this time. Lacing his fingers with Harry's, Sirius walked away with Harry without turning around, away from the dead and into the night.
Finis.
A/N: Most of my fics, including the ones I didn't post on FFN, are available on AO3. My AO3 username is BelladonnaLee.