Fandom Harry Potter
Pairing Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Word count 1924
Rating/warnings PG
Disclaimer Guess what, I still don’t own it.
Summary With the New Year comes change, but of what kind?
Author’s notes As you may have noticed, I have a slight obsession with T.S. Eliot. The title of this fic is a reference to the poem “Whispers of Immortality”, the first two lines of which is: “Webster was much possessed by death / and saw the skull beneath the skin.”
Originally written for the Winter Wolfstar Wank at Tumblr. Unbetaed, but edited since the first posting.
It was nearing midnight, and as people stepped into the street to wait for the New Year, snow started falling softly over London. The revellers laughed and tried to catch snow-crystals on their tongues. No-one paid attention to the shadowy figure hurrying down the street.
Remus had meant to Apparate all the way, but he had appeared several blocks from Grimmauld Place. He blamed it on the approaching full moon. Now, he pulled his cloak tighter around himself and hurried from shadow to shadow, avoiding the street-lamps. The Muggles who were out were probably too drunk to register his strange attire, but he did not want them to notice him and make him late. He wanted to come home before midnight.
When he reached the doorstep of the old house, he paused to catch his breath. The cold air clawed at his throat and made him cough. It was a worrying sound, but it was not uncommon at this point of the moon-cycle. He covered his mouth with his hand and let the cough rack him. When it subsided, he took up his wand and tapped the door. While the locks clicked back one by one, Remus thought longingly of warmth of a kind that this house did not invite. But with an open fire, and a blanket, and the bottle of scotch in his bag, perhaps they might approach it...
The locks fell silent. Moving carefully, he pushed the door opened and stepped in. The door closed behind him. The hall was completely dark, the house silent but for the clicking of the locks which were sliding into place again. He had expected the Weasleys to be awake, but he could not hear anyone. He was just about to step in, when he realised that there was something there with him in the hall.
He could not see it very well, but he could smell it. Even if he knew what it was, he stayed still, feeling suddenly like prey. There was a minute movement up on the stairs. As it shifted its weight around, Remus caught the outline of gigantic dog.
‘Hello, Sirius,’ he whispered.
The dog was gone. In its place was a new shape, on two legs instead of four. Still, Remus could not see his face. The only thing visible was the drop-shaped ruby in his earring, which caught some light Remus had not been aware was there. It looked like a bloody tear, suspended over the stairs.
There was another movement, and Sirius wand lit. The glint in his earring was extinguished as the light fell on his grave face. For a horrifying moment, Remus thought he could glimpse the skull beneath the skin. It was just a trick of the light, a manifestation of his own exhaustion, helped on by Sirius’ spectral thinness, but still it shook him. He stepped closer, and now, he saw only Sirius’ face, unsmiling but demonstrably there.
‘Mad-Eye took over the watch early,’ he explained quietly as he climbed the stairs to where Sirius was standing.
‘That’s decent of him.’ His tone was pleasant, but Remus was still not certain what mood Sirius was in. He was so unpredictable nowadays. Even when he seemed content, there was no guarantee that he would stay that way. Small things, even things that Remus did not even notice, could suddenly set him off.
‘Where are the others? I thought they’d be up...’
Sirius shrugged.
‘They went to bed. They all seemed pretty exhausted, walking all the way to St Mungo’s and back. Besides,’ he said and grinned, ‘Southerners. They don’t really care about New Year.’ Remus chuckled.
‘“Southerners”? You’re from London, you git.’ Sirius laughed under his breath and looked down at him.
‘I’ve spent plenty of time in the North. It rubs off.’ Remus met his gaze and although he still smiled, glad that Sirius seemed in a good mood, he wondered whether the reference to “the North” meant Hogwarts or Azkaban.
Worrying that his thought might show in his face, he looked away and pulled the bottle of scotch out of his bag. Sirius gave a small whistle and held his hands out to receive it.
‘I thought... something to celebrate with.’ Sirius nodded and turned it around his hands to look at the label.
‘Let’s go downstairs...’ he said, but Remus cut him off.
‘Can we sit in the drawing room? We could light a fire.’ Sirius nodded.
‘Sure.’
‘I’ll get some glasses, you fix the fire.’ They nodded to each other and went opposite ways. In the kitchen, Kreacher was cleaning out the grate, muttering to himself. Remus went to the cabinet, trying not to make too much noise. He did not feel like drawing his attention, and now he was doubly glad that he had suggested the drawing room. The mere sight of Kreacher tended to ruin Sirius’ mood.
With two glasses in hand, he ascended the stairs again. The drawing room was on the first floor, and even if they had cleaned it thoroughly, a murky, unpleasant smell lingered. Nevertheless, Remus liked it, because there was a large and mostly mothless sofa, and a big fireplace. Sirius was sitting in front of it on the hearthrug, feeding the already roaring fire, which played over his face. The firelight made it look different than it had on the stairs in the dull light of the wand. It could not chase away the sunkenness or the sallow complexion, but still it made him look more alive.
The floorboards creaked underfoot, and Sirius looked over his shoulder, brushing his hair out of his face. Remus smiled at him and sat down on the rug too, putting down the glasses. Sirius returned the smile, tightlipped but sincere and poured the scotch, which was already opened (something which made him wonder if he had already tasted it). Sirius’ long hair slipped back into his face. Without thinking about it, Remus reached out and stroked it back properly. He did not look up, but nevertheless he smiled, pleased at the attention. It was the kind of thing Remus would have scolded him for back when they were young. The fact that Sirius liked being admired had annoyed him. Now, that flicker of vanity assured him. He wanted Sirius to feel handsome and carefree, like he had been, and seeing him act like that, even for a moment, made him glad.
His hand was still against Sirius’ hair when the sound of church-bells were heard. Sirius turned to look at him.
‘Happy new year,’ he said and handed him his glass.
‘Happy new year.’ They clinked the glasses together and drank. Sirius emptied his in one and grimaced. Remus was more moderate, but winced too.
‘This is awful scotch,’ he said and laughed a little. Sirius laughed too.
‘Yes, it is,’ he agreed. ‘But that’s alright.’ He filled his own glass again, but instead of tasting it again he put it aside and shuffled closer to Remus. It took a while before they settled, sitting almost intertwined. Not until they had stopped moving did Sirius lean in and kiss him. Remus let his eyes drift shut and kissed him back. He drew a hand up his arm, over his shoulder, along his neck. It paused to trace the shape of his ear and touch the ruby earring, before cupping his cheek. Sirius drew back and hummed appreciatively. They he took hold of his hair and kissed him again. When they broke apart, Sirius propped his head against his shoulder, and Remus leaned his cheek against his forehead.
‘1996,’ Remus said. ‘I doesn’t feel like it’s New Year’s Day, already.’ Sirius snorted, sounding as if he was almost asleep.
‘You know, I don’t like New Year’s Day.’
‘Why not?’ Remus asked and sipped his scotch experimentally.
‘New Year’s Eve is alright, but you build up all these expectations, that things might change, or that you might. Then on New Year’s Day, you realise it’s all...’ He ran his hand through the air, waving his fingers, as if to illustrate something scattering in the wind.
‘Is it?’ Remus asked, refraining saying something about that that was usually because of the hangover.
‘Every day’s the same,’ Sirius said, moving closer still. ‘The first day of the new year isn’t any different.’
‘That wasn’t what you said before. You seemed to think it was worth to celebrate,’ Remus reminded him, but he did not answer. ‘Sirius?’ He shifted so that he had to take his head from his shoulder. As he had suspected, the grin he had worn only minutes ago was gone. It was not even his usual provocative sullenness, but something else. ‘It’ll be different,’ he said and pressed his shoulder.
‘How do you know?’ Sirius answered, a spike of annoyance in his voice.
‘Because it has to,’ Remus said. He sounded more sure than he was, but it was worth it. ‘Things are going to come to a head soon. And when Voldemort reveals himself...’
The sound of fireworks drifted in through the window. Sirius turned towards it, a dog catching a scent. Then he turned back and sighed.
‘It wouldn’t make any difference if I asked, would it?’ Remus sighed.
‘No.’
‘I haven’t been outside this house since September,’ he said, through gritted teeth. ‘If I could just...’
‘No,’ Remus said again, more urgently now. Sirius looked at him, looking ready to shout, but then his face relaxed. ‘They could be out there,’ he said, dropping his voice. ‘You wouldn’t be safe.’
‘Who is safe?’ he asked. ‘You’re not, with those werewolves.’
‘No, but it’s a prize I’m willing to pay. It’s worth it.’ Sirius hung his head.
‘You’re leaving soon, aren’t you?’ Remus swallowed. This was not how he had expected this night to be.
‘I have to. It’s work that needs doing.’
‘And Harry and the Weasleys are going...’
Remus sighed. He did not know what to say. There were no words to make this better, because whatever he said, the fact remained that soon, Sirius would be left here, a hippogriff and a mad house-elf as his only companions. He watched him sitting there, head bowed in resignation.
‘I’ll come back. And when your name is cleared, it won’t be like this. But for now...’ Sirius reached over and took his hand with both of his.
‘I know,’ he whispered. Remus could tell that he had not changed his mind. He was consciously pushing it aside for his sake, because he could sense his helplessness. Without making him relinquish his grip, Remus turned his hand in his and pressed his fingers.
‘It will be different,’ he assured him. Sirius raised his head, illuminated by the firelight that fell over Remus’ shoulder. For the briefest of moments, he once again caught sight, not of a face, but of a skull. His shock must have been visible, because Sirius, restored to his usual appearance, frowned at him.
‘What is it?’ he asked. ‘Are you alright?’
‘Yes,’ Remus said and shook himself. ‘Yes. It’s nothing. Just tired.’ He pulled his hand free and lay down on the hearthrug with his head in Sirius’ lap. He felt how he shifted as he leaned forward, and then how his lips pressed against his forehead. His eyes drifted shut as Sirius stroked his hair. Even through his eyelids, he could see the glow of the fire. It was nothing, he told himself. I’m just tired and tense. I’m just imagining things...
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