LIGHT OF THE NEW MOON

TITLE: Light of the New Moon
RATING: PG (conservatively so)
LENGTH: 500 words
PAIRINGS: Remus/Sirius
ERA: post-GoF ("lie low at Lupin's")
NOTES: For the Moony to my Padfoot, my dear nigelmurray. Also, first time writing in this era, woo!



LIGHT OF THE NEW MOON

“Tree got big.”

“That happens to trees over thirteen years, I hear.”

There is a comfortable silence, broken by the rustle of a man shifting over grass. Remus is sure that it’s Sirius moving, but is surprised to discover that he’s the one changing positions.

His shoulder now brushes Sirius’s thigh, and his hand has casually rests itself on Sirius’s hip. It’s fascinating how a body remembers what a mind tries so desperately to forget.

“Was there anyone else?”

Remus sighs heavily. He has heard this question countless times over the last two days. He supposes he could stop the repetition if he’d just answer it, but...

“It doesn’t matter, Sirius. If there was or wasn’t, there isn’t now.” There isn’t Sirius, either. Not yet. Remus can’t test the scab on that healed wound so soon. Forgiving the man was easy. Letting him into his home has been more difficult.

Loving him may be impossible.

Not impossible, the body chides, his hand now stroking the hip through thin layers of clothing.

“I’d forgotten how peaceful a new moon can be.” It is another small item on an endless list. “For so long it just meant a night of no light at all. Couldn’t even see the bars of my cell. I ached for the full moons. And I always felt guilty.”

Remus is silently flattered. The stars twinkle at him, flirting and suggesting things he hasn’t thought of in a lifetime, or so it feels.

“What happens next?”

It’s a damn good question. Remus wants to be flippant: We fight, we win, you clear your name, I learn to love you again.

“I don’t know,” is what he says, ever the realist. “I’m sure Dumbledore will let us know.”

“He wants Grimmauld Place.”

There is more silence, though this time it is heavy and loud.

“Is that a good idea?”

A barked laugh that clenches the heart. “Probably not. But I can’t do much else, can I?”

The old house will destroy Sirius slowly, Remus knows that as easily as he knows the feel of Padfoot pressed against his back in the morning (even though Sirius falls asleep in the guest bedroom).

“Don’t do it unless you have to.”

A pause, an acknowledgement of a preferred response. “I have to, Remus.”

He sits up at his name, his hand doing his thinking and sliding up to cover Sirius’s heart.

“I’m going with you then, Padfoot.” The word, the name, the endearment is close, intimate, brooks no argument. Sirius looks away from the heavens and into his eyes and nods once and...

Oh.

Truly, it’s not loving him that is impossible.

Remus turns, now shoulder to shoulder and admiring the southern sky.

“No one else. Ever.” It sounds more sad than it is.

The body is relieved. Hand grasps hand, tightly and surely.

“Good.”

Another rustle of man over grass, but now it is Sirius, and his head is against Remus’s shoulder, and now they are ready for what happens next.

End.