Fandom: Harry Potter
Spoilers: Up to OotP
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Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters or settings in this story.
It's moments like these that make life worth living. Despite all the pain life can bring; a curse, betrayal, years of imprisonment, being here with you makes it all worthwhile.
It's still dark and the room is filled with the sound of your quiet breathing. Rain paters outside in a hypnotic cadence as we lie together on this cramped cot. My old bedroom is sealed off, has been since I ran away from this house twenty years ago. But I don't mind. I'd much rather be here with you in what my mother once used as her changing room. A tiny room filled with mouldering ballgowns and the smell of French perfume. One small window near the ceiling is broken, letting in the occasional splatter of rain. This was the only room left when you arrived and I was embarassed to offer it to you. But you took it with a smile and thanks, just like you always do. It is cold and clammy, but you and I are safe under one of Molly's handknitted quilts.
You're still asleep, wrapped around my body. One leg over both of mine, an arm across my chest, and your head nestled in my neck. Your warm breath smells like chocolate, even this early in the morning. You've probably got cocoa running through your bloodstream. I feel your heart beat against mine, slow and lazy. Opening my eyes, I see your hair right before me. Too gray. Awake, you look old. But right now you look like a child again, innocent as you dream. A silver haired child.
You smile softly and shift closer to me. Are you dreaming of me? I hope so. I was dreaming of you a few minutes ago. It was a nice dream, but I prefer the reality.
Lightening flashes and a clap of thunder shakes the house. Far away, one of the children yells. Not Harry, but possibly Ron. You don't move. Moony, love, this is further evidence that you could sleep through a stampeding herd of hippogriffs. I curl into you, trying to calm my drumming heart. I swear I'm not afraid of thunderstorms. I don't care what any of you said back in school. Sirius Black is not a thunder-fearing wussy. It's just a little, well, startling when a great boom shakes the house.
I close my eyes and am soon somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. My left arm is numb lying under your body, but I don't move it. Instead I turn onto my side and wrap my arms around you, drifting to sleep against your wonderful, warm Remus-weight.
Another clap of thunder sends me tumbling out of bed. Sprawled on a blue satin dress, I look up to see your bleary face gazing at me with concern, though a glint of mischief is visible in your eyes. I crawl back into bed muttering how I'm not afraid of the bloody thunder. You nod and look sympathetic, but I can still see the laughter in your beautiful eyes.
This time you're the one holding me. You stroke my hair as I lay my head on your chest and continue arguing. But you've still got that magic touch after all these years and my protests fade as I fall asleep in your arms.
Mornings with you, those few hours before the rest of the world is awake and real life knocks at the door. These mornings are what my life is really about.