never trust a big butt and a smile (obeetaybee) wrote,
never trust a big butt and a smile
obeetaybee

FIC: The Ghost of You. (Part One of Three)

Title:  Haunting You

Characters: Remus/Sirius/Tonks

Rating: This part - PG

Disclaimer: They're not mine. I'm just here to play with them. Like Ken and well, Ken.
Wordcount: 1,121 thereabouts.
Notes:  Part One of Three. 

 

 

Part One - The Ghost of You

 

Late nights are the worst; when even his dreams are telling a truth he wishes were a lie.  He lies awake and for a moment, a heartbeat, the noise in his head is at peace and he’s sure you’re there lying beside him.

 

But it is not you.  It’s never you.  Before he can turn his head, the soft sounds of a sigh and incoherently mumbled words break his heart.

 

This woman, this girl who loves him, still sleeps with the abandon of a child, blankets thrown aside and limbs akimbo at angles that would cripple him if attempted.  Pale rays from the half moon shine through the crack in the curtains and her pale skin shimmers blue.  She mumbles again in her sleep and touches his chest lightly before settling back into her pillow.  The gesture tightens his throat, and he remembers how he used to do the same thing to you. 

 

Reminiscing about me again, Moony?

 

Remembering you has never been the problem, Sirius.  It’s the forgetting you make impossible. 

 

Was the chuckle he heard real or imagined?  He sits up slowly, taking care not to disturb his companion.  Shivering as his bare feet touch the cold wooden floor, he stands and stretches his back.  Old and misused joints pop loudly in the silence of the flat.  He spares a look back as she shifts in her sleep again but does not awaken.  He pulls on his clothes, knowing it will be impossible to sleep again tonight. 

 

Once he allows you into his head, you loathe leaving until you’re good and ready.

 

Before heading back to his own flat, he bends down and places a soft kiss on her forehead.  She awakes long enough to touch his face and kiss his lips before rolling over and pulling his pillow close to her.  His nocturnal wanderings are nothing new to her, she knows you haunt him still and resignedly allows you to take him away from her.

 

She would never imagine competing with you for his attentions because how can she lose? 

 

You are dead after all.

 

He knows this isn’t fair to her, this constant comparison to you he has done since the day she first professed her love for him.  As much as you rib him, as much as you nag him about her, he will not let her go because she is here and you are not.

 

Remus steps onto the pavement; his footfalls muffled by the fog settling in over the city like a wet and misty blanket.  He pulls his collar tighter around his neck and doggedly makes his way back to his flat, your voice in his ear the entire time.

 

My cousin, my baby cousin Moony?  Such a dirty, dirty old man you are!

 

“She loves me,” he whispers to himself as he unlocks the door to his flat.  “And she’s warm.”

 

The sound of your snort rings loudly through his subconscious.

 

With a flick and a wave of his wand, the kettle on the stove is boiling and a fire is burning in the grate next to his threadbare, but favorite chair.  It’s the chair you found for him along the curb ages ago, and you spent all you had to refurbish it in time for your first Christmas together.   The chair tells you more about how he still feels about you then any other object in the room.  So many times he’s moved, so many years you were in Azkaban and he still has it after all of these years. 

 

Just like he’d still have me.

 

“What?” Moony asks as he pours the boiling water into the only mug he owns.  Once he has the cup of tea steeping, he waves his wand towards the single bed pushed against the far wall and a battered trunk slides across the floor until it rests alongside the chair.  He summons the tray with his tea to the alongside table and sinks into the warm chair and closes his eyes for a moment.

 

It’s quiet.  Remus opens one eye and glances around the room and you realize he’s looking for you.  With a pang of disappointment he wonders if you won’t come tonight after all. He closes his eyes again.

 

Talk to me, Moony.

 

“About what?” he sighs.

 

Anything.  Harry.  The war.  The past.

 

Remus picks up his tea and blows across the top of his cup.  He watches the small waves his breath makes before he speaks.  “You should talk to Harry yourself.”

 

I can’t.  You know I can’t.  I’m not a ghost; I’m a figment of your imagination.

 

“Are you?”  Remus says before sipping his tea.  “Then why does it smell of wet dog in here?”

 

Tell me about how we met.

 

“You remember how we met.  Your cousin tripped me on the Hogwarts Express and you stood behind her and snickered.”

 

How I to know the Sorting Hat was to place me in Gryffindor?  I was to be in Slytherin, with the others.  I was never supposed to be your dorm mate, or your friend.

 

It was Remus’ turn to snort.  “Friends.  Is that what we were?”

 

Then.  Of course.  Show me, Moony.  Please.  I’m beginning to forget.

 

Remus never could refuse or forget you.

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