Author: Twinkledru J.
(webmistress@imnotbitter.net)
Rating: PG
Summary: It's been a few years, and Remus listens for the snow.
Notes: Set in Harry's fifth year.
Pairing: Remus/Sirius.
Archive: Anywhere, just let me know.
Feedback: Please, but offlist except for Feedback Fridays.
Disclaimer: We all know they're Not Mine. The title is from the poem of the same name, by Richard Lovelace.
To Lucasta, Going to the Wars
by Twinkledru J.
"You believed it."
Remus looks up in the dark quiet of the compartment. Sirius sits on the floor next to him, ready to become Padfoot again if someone passes by. No one will, of course, because no one in their right minds would be wandering around the Hogwarts Express this time of night, with the world being what it is. Black's voice is soft, rough, rusty; he hasn't used it much in the past thirteen years.
"Didn't you?" Sirius adds.
"Believed what?" Remus asks needlessly. Black looks up at him.
"Remus, idiocy is very unbecoming on you. Don't play dumb. I don't mind, you know."
"Sirius, lying is very unbecoming on you, although I'll admit you do it better than I play dumb," Remus says lightly, leaning his head against the window. The train heads unstoppably for Hogsmeade, and Harry is asleep on the seat across from them, snoring just the slightest bit. They've taken him from the school for this Christmas; he decided to forego the Yule Ball this year, asked if he could stay with them for the holiday.
The boy is a surprisingly heavy sleeper. He doesn't stir when the train jolts or bumps, and doesn't bat an eyelash at their voices.
"But you believed it." Sirius is insistent, as he always could be. He could let some things slide, but others he would grab onto, shake until they died like a rabbit in a wolf's maw, shake until they died or he could find something else to hold his interest.
"And you *do* mind," Lupin replies, staring out the window and trying to keep his fingers from running through Sirius's hair. He remembers Hogsmeade weekends their seventh year, when they'd sit like this, James and Lily snuggled against each other in the opposite seats, Peter in the seat beside him, and Sirius on the floor. One of his long legs would be stretched out, possibly even kicked up on James and Lily's seat, and the other would be drawn up to his chest, and
his head would be resting against Remus's thigh.
"A bit, yeah," says Sirius, and looks away from Remus.
"There wasn't really much evidence -- "
"So I heard," Sirius interrupts sarcastically. "You don't have to defend yourself, Remus. The entire wizarding world thinks I did it, it's not unreasonable that you would have, too."
Remus knows that it is snowing outside; it showed no signs of slowing when Harry boarded the train at the well-lit Hogwarts station. The snowflakes were millions of falling stars in the warm glow of the lamps. Remus had been the only person to meet the boy, a handlamp of his own giving off a soft white light. Harry had given a little cry of happiness when "Snuffles" jumped at him. Their footsteps crunched the powder in the palpable silence of the platform, and the castle
could just barely be seen (any other building would surely have been lost in the gathering storm), a warm and steadily twinkling promise.
It must still be snowing -- Sirius complained just this morning that another storm was coming, that he could smell it on the wind. But Remus can only assume that the flakes are still drifting down as the train roars on. Occasionally, he may catch sight of one, but their compartment is well-lit, and it's impossible to make out anything outside.
"You thought I was a traitor yourself," Lupin finally says quietly. "You thought, unless I'm mistaken, that I was the one who had sold the Potters out, and I was the one who had betrayed you."
Sirius looks up at him then, his dark eyes too intense for Lupin to try to read them.
"I did," he answers quietly, and looks down at his hands, and finally lays his head against Remus's thigh again.
"I don't mind, you know," Remus sighs.
"Lying is even more unbecoming on you than idiocy, Remus," Sirius says, almost cheerfully.
Remus finds that he is stroking Sirius's dark hair again. He does not remove his hand. Instead, he merely closes his eyes, and tries to hear the snow above the sound of the train.
He does not sleep, but he is not completely awake, for he is not really aware when Sirius's hair becomes shorter, coarser, thicker under his hand. Remus is startled when a cold nose nudges against his palm. A heavy paw is on his leg, and rounded claws are a few points of pressure against his flesh. Remus isn't afraid that Sirius will break the skin, though; Black has often managed great control where Remus was concerned.
"Harry?" Remus asks, and the boy stirs slightly. Sirius turns away from Lupin and shoves his nose in Harry's face. The boy yelps, and sits up, rubbing his eyes and fixing his glasses.
"There really was no need for that, Snuffles," Remus says. "We're at Hogsmeade, Harry." Sirius said nothing, although his warmer dog's eyes seemed amused. Harry glares darkly at his godfather, and stands up. The three of them leave the train to a silent platform, and just as Remus suspected, the snow is still falling.
They walk silently through the village. Harry is still tired, although he looks around with some interest. Remus carries the boy's bag, and Sirius carries the Firebolt carefully in his mouth.
Snowflakes gather in their hair, and the hems of their robes catch more.
Sirius trots ahead or falls behind from time to time, and Remus does not explain to Harry that he's keeping watch, because a skinny man and the skinnier Boy Who Lived are easy targets. But no one is out this night, in the dark snowstorm. It might almost be safe for Sirius, under his cloak, of course, to assume his human form again, but neither of them considers it. There are certain risks that cannot be taken.
"Are we staying in the Shrieking Shack?" Harry asks curiously.
Lupin smiles. "No. Sirius's family had a small house about halfway between the station and the Shack. The two of us lived there for several years; we moved back there over the summer."
"Oh." Harry does not ask questions about their relationship; he has never been told, precisely, that Sirius and Remus are lovers, but he must have guessed by now.
The door sticks in the summers, but in the winters, it only gives a thoughtful grumble. "Did you want something to eat, Harry?" Remus asks.
The boy shakes his head, rubs his eyes. "No thanks. Ate dinner at the school. 'M just tired, mostly. D'you mind if I get to bed?"
"Of course not. Sirius can show you your room -- third door on the left upstairs. Mind, the one on the right's there, despite what it looks like. You might want to go into that one when you're a little more awake." The walls, floor and ceiling of the one on the right are invisible from the inside. Sirius's grandfather studied the patterns and movements of crowds, and his grandmother was a renowned astrologer. The room is pleasant enough for stargazing, but it's a bit of a nasty shock for someone who's not used to it to walk in and be standing on, for all appearances, nothing. It takes even longer to believe that the people in the village can't actually see you as they walk by.
(Remus himself needed several months of experimenting to reassure himself on this last point before he and Sirius "christened" the See-Through Room.)
"Thanks, I can find it. 'Night."
"Good night, Harry."
"'Night, Harry." says Sirius, poking his head out of the kitchen, a sandwich in his hand. "Just shout if you need anythin'."
Harry smiles as he climbs the stairs. "I will."
Sirius, Remus realizes, didn't wear shoes when they went out tonight. It makes sense, of course; there wasn't really any reason for it, he'd be a dog when they were outside, but it's odd. Not something that would have crossed Remus's mind at all; even when he knows he's going to change, he wears everything. He notices this, staring at Sirius's feet as Black flops down on the couch, demolishing his sandwich in a few ravening bites.
"Hungry?" Lupin asks idly, chin in his palm as he watches Sirius.
"A bit, yeah," Sirius answers just as idly. "Accio!" He gives a casual wave of his wand, and Lupin ducks to avoid the sandwich ingredients that come flying out of the kitchen and over to Sirius. "Want one?"
Remus shakes his head. "I'm not hungry." He closes his eyes, and thinks he might be able to hear the snow. This concept, this goal of listening for the blizzard, holds him completely, and he listens, breathes and listens, and can hear Sirius breathe, but listens even past that.
"Hey," comes breath hot on his ear, and Sirius's cheek warm next to his, and Remus jumps. Sirius laughs a little, and kisses the corner of Remus's mouth. "Hey, it's just me," he says. "Just me."
Remus smiles, chuckles. "Must've dozed off," he says. "I should get to bed."
"Yeah," says Sirius. "Yeah."
Sirius helps him to his feet, even though he doesn't need it, and mumbles "Nox." The lights extinguish as they pass through the rooms. Neither of them says anything, but Remus does not head for the bedroom that's been his for the past few months. Sirius must notice this, but says nothing of it.
"Don't expect me to wear anythin' extra just 'cos you're sleepin' with me again," Sirius grumbles.
Almost nothing. Remus looks at Sirius, and gives him a smile they haven't shared in years. It is the same smile, but it is softer now, and older, and worn. "I didn't," he says. "Wasn't planning on it myself."
"Rather cold for that, innit?" Sirius asks casually, pulling off his cloak -- he's the only one of the three of them whose robe is dry, probably -- and unbuttoning his shirt. When he reaches the button on his jeans, he looks for just a moment at Remus, who's busy pulling off his own cloak (less fortunate than Sirius's).
"I'm sure we'll be all right," says Remus.
Remus falls asleep not to the sound of snow, but Sirius's breath, warm on the back of his neck. Sirius's arms remember well their old places around Remus, though they have not been there for years. Some things are hard to forget.
They'll be all right.
END