In the Stars
The Dream
Remus is trying to get some sleep. Subconsciously, he knows something is wrong; he is restless and anxious for no apparent reason. He shuffles in his covers, pulling them over him, taking them off, diving fully underneath them, coming up and then submerging again. He tosses, and hits his head on the bedside table, dislodging the paper on it which fell to the floor.
He sits up, attempting to soothe the area with his hand, to disperse the pain and dilute it. A picture of a nervous-looking boy stares up at him from the newspaper, under the headline “Harry Potter: Disturbed and Dangerous”, an article which he had only skimmed over that morning and dismissed without a second thought. He knew Rita Skeeter, but moreover, he knew Harry Potter, and it only took him a few sentences to make up his mind on the reliability of the article.
Taking a sip of the stale water from his bedside table, he rearranges his covers, lays back down and flutters his eyelids slightly, feeling the gentle sea of sleep wash over him, pulling him away in the tide.
Remus is staring up at the sky, an intense blue velvet cloth strewn with stars. He knows he’s in his own body; there’s no full moon. In fact there is no moon at all. But this sky is withdrawing, pulling back, away from him, into the distance...
Now Remus is staring still, but not at the night sky. Remus is staring at the strangest, yet the most beautiful woman he has ever seen. She wears a white dress that flutters, like in an invisible wind. Her skin is pale, her face is heart-shaped and sculpted, and her eyes...a sky you could fall into and lose yourself in. Eyes that could give nothing away, but still show you the whole of infinity and existence. And her hair as well! Remus feels the breath catch in his chest. Her hair is only chin length, but he can see it going on and on, tumbling downwards like an eternal waterfall. It has no distinguishable colour either, but shines with a sensitive iridescence that changed at every slight angle Remus tilts his head at. It has no definable colour, but maybe it’s just every colour.
She seems to appear like a porcelain statue, fragile, delicate, but with a kind of hidden strength to her. But she could not be a statue; she was moving. Upon seeing him, her face breaks into a smile, a smile that invites him to come closer to her, as if she was teasing him. Remus takes a step towards her, and the smile grows, now infectious, spreading to his face as well. He takes another step, and she laughs. The laugh is not unkind, on the contrary, the notes seem to shimmer in the air like wind chimes, and Remus takes a third step.
But the girl is receeding...pulling away from him. He runs to her, his footsteps echoing a dull resonance off the walls of the white chamber. He wants her to be with him again. However when he meets her, the smile seems to be cracked; still there, just jarred. And she’s crying. Remus wants to comfort her, he feels an impulse to tell her that everything will be okay...but she seems untouchable, somehow. He stretches out to her again, not wanting to get too close in case he lost her again, and her smile heals. She no longer cries. He can tell she wants him.
And even with her mouth not moving, she seems to be calling his name, her voice echoing around the chamber.
“Remus, Remus”
“Remus”
Someone was shaking him, but he did not want to go, he couldn’t leave her...
“Remus, Remus”
“No”
“Remus”
The face which appears above him is all too familiar. His greeting smile to the man is only half-felt, but the visitor mistakes it for tiredness.
“Remus, get up, this is urgent.”
Remus replies with a series of drowsy mumblings, shuffling around in the covers, leaning over, pulling on a threadbare dressing gown and walk-worn slippers. Once he is in a presentable state, he focuses his eyes on the tangled mess that is his best friend, and the expression drawn across his face tells him that he needs to listen to what he has to say.
Sirius takes his hand, almost unawaredly, before telling him.
“Remus, he’s back. Voldemort’s back.”
* * *
The corridor Remus walks down smells antique, of faded paint and stale wood and he realises that this is the house his best friend grew up in...he’d never seen it before now. Laughter issues from the kitchen. The sound of it touches him, the fact that people can still stay cheerful underneath the dark cloud that was moving over their entire world., and he smiles as he pushes the door open and enters the brightly lit kitchen.
A small group of people are sitting round the large, oak-carved table in the middle of the room, with cups of tea. Sirius stands up and walks over to him, wrapping his arms around his back. But when Sirius backs away and goes to pour a fresh cup of tea before sitting down, something else catches his eye; a smile that is heartbreakingly familiar, but it takes him a moment to recognise her, with shocking pink hair and soft, greying eyes.
He knows where he has seen her before.
Her smile tells him; he has found her.
He sits up, attempting to soothe the area with his hand, to disperse the pain and dilute it. A picture of a nervous-looking boy stares up at him from the newspaper, under the headline “Harry Potter: Disturbed and Dangerous”, an article which he had only skimmed over that morning and dismissed without a second thought. He knew Rita Skeeter, but moreover, he knew Harry Potter, and it only took him a few sentences to make up his mind on the reliability of the article.
Taking a sip of the stale water from his bedside table, he rearranges his covers, lays back down and flutters his eyelids slightly, feeling the gentle sea of sleep wash over him, pulling him away in the tide.
Remus is staring up at the sky, an intense blue velvet cloth strewn with stars. He knows he’s in his own body; there’s no full moon. In fact there is no moon at all. But this sky is withdrawing, pulling back, away from him, into the distance...
Now Remus is staring still, but not at the night sky. Remus is staring at the strangest, yet the most beautiful woman he has ever seen. She wears a white dress that flutters, like in an invisible wind. Her skin is pale, her face is heart-shaped and sculpted, and her eyes...a sky you could fall into and lose yourself in. Eyes that could give nothing away, but still show you the whole of infinity and existence. And her hair as well! Remus feels the breath catch in his chest. Her hair is only chin length, but he can see it going on and on, tumbling downwards like an eternal waterfall. It has no distinguishable colour either, but shines with a sensitive iridescence that changed at every slight angle Remus tilts his head at. It has no definable colour, but maybe it’s just every colour.
She seems to appear like a porcelain statue, fragile, delicate, but with a kind of hidden strength to her. But she could not be a statue; she was moving. Upon seeing him, her face breaks into a smile, a smile that invites him to come closer to her, as if she was teasing him. Remus takes a step towards her, and the smile grows, now infectious, spreading to his face as well. He takes another step, and she laughs. The laugh is not unkind, on the contrary, the notes seem to shimmer in the air like wind chimes, and Remus takes a third step.
But the girl is receeding...pulling away from him. He runs to her, his footsteps echoing a dull resonance off the walls of the white chamber. He wants her to be with him again. However when he meets her, the smile seems to be cracked; still there, just jarred. And she’s crying. Remus wants to comfort her, he feels an impulse to tell her that everything will be okay...but she seems untouchable, somehow. He stretches out to her again, not wanting to get too close in case he lost her again, and her smile heals. She no longer cries. He can tell she wants him.
And even with her mouth not moving, she seems to be calling his name, her voice echoing around the chamber.
“Remus, Remus”
“Remus”
Someone was shaking him, but he did not want to go, he couldn’t leave her...
“Remus, Remus”
“No”
“Remus”
The face which appears above him is all too familiar. His greeting smile to the man is only half-felt, but the visitor mistakes it for tiredness.
“Remus, get up, this is urgent.”
Remus replies with a series of drowsy mumblings, shuffling around in the covers, leaning over, pulling on a threadbare dressing gown and walk-worn slippers. Once he is in a presentable state, he focuses his eyes on the tangled mess that is his best friend, and the expression drawn across his face tells him that he needs to listen to what he has to say.
Sirius takes his hand, almost unawaredly, before telling him.
“Remus, he’s back. Voldemort’s back.”
* * *
The corridor Remus walks down smells antique, of faded paint and stale wood and he realises that this is the house his best friend grew up in...he’d never seen it before now. Laughter issues from the kitchen. The sound of it touches him, the fact that people can still stay cheerful underneath the dark cloud that was moving over their entire world., and he smiles as he pushes the door open and enters the brightly lit kitchen.
A small group of people are sitting round the large, oak-carved table in the middle of the room, with cups of tea. Sirius stands up and walks over to him, wrapping his arms around his back. But when Sirius backs away and goes to pour a fresh cup of tea before sitting down, something else catches his eye; a smile that is heartbreakingly familiar, but it takes him a moment to recognise her, with shocking pink hair and soft, greying eyes.
He knows where he has seen her before.
Her smile tells him; he has found her.
♠ ♠ ♠
Word count #914