Moth in the Moonlight

The moth perched on the window sill, fluttering its dust-colored wings in the moonlight. A gentle breeze rustled the frail curtains and it inched away.

Remus hardly paid mind to it. His eyes were pinned to the stars: hard and clear in the deep darkness of the sky. He shifted slightly and closed his eyes.

Snippets of memory flashed before him:

The falling

The screaming

Remus running at Harry, clutching him closer and telling him not to scream: that Sirius was dead and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. Now, Remus realized, those words were mostly directed at himself than at Harry. Remus opened his eyes, focusing again on the night. Pain clutched at his heart, a ripping sort of agony. It was worse than what the full moon brought. The thought of a heavy, pregnant chrome moon carried along even more memories.

These were of his childhood. He recalled changing in the night, under the watch of that cursed moon, and yet he had his friends by his side. Most of all: he had Sirius. Sirius had staid vigilant, by his side. As inseparable from him as the constellation he was named for from the Universe. Through childhood foolishness and Sirius's permanent goofy grin, Remus had found himself poisoned with love. It seeped into his veins. Each sight of Sirius strengthened the venom. All Remus had wanted, and still wants, was to grasp onto Sirius, lose himself in those eyes, and stay there for eternity.

Sirius, too, had been poisoned with the powerful intoxication. In that fifth year of theirs, Sirius had approached Remus. He was like a dark shadow against the white, powdery snow that fell outside. Nary few words were mumbled through still mouths, and then Sirius had pressed his dry lips to Remus's. The wishes and desires had been fulfilled and they enjoyed every second, savoring it like a tasty dessert.

Years tore and gnawed at them, but their hands remained clasped to one another. That is, until Azkaban stole away Sirius from Remus. He felt shattered. Remus's constellation had been snuffed out. It was as if his sky had lost all color and light, but Remus was strong headed and clever, so he was told, and he had to continue on. His dreams were drenched with Sirius's smoldering eyes and soft lips.

Remus sat up in his bed, wiping at his eyes. The memories of the past brought comfort to him, somehow. He stood up and walked towards the window. The moth lazily fluttered away as Remus tugged open the curtains. The muggle town nearby spread a watery yellow light on the ground. Daylight was beginning to seep into the sky. Remus yawned and leaned against the window.

Sirius was dead.

He couldn't change a thing.

Hot tears began to roll down Remus's cheeks.

Remus shut his eyes tight, hunching his shoulders.

How could Sirius be dead?

What had hit Harry hard and fast earlier now came for Remus. He understood Harry's utter disbelief. The passion he had for his Godfather was nearly equal to the romantic love Remus had. Sirius had been loved and wanted.

And yet, the dark haired man with mischief and childish ways had flickered out of like a mayfly. He had fallen through that musty curtain and out of both Remus's reach and Harry's.

Remus clutched at his chest. A physical pain had begun to twist inside him as he wept.

"Sirius…" he whispered and gripped the window sill. The moth batted its wings and tossed itself out of the window, to be borne upon a breeze.

Remus eventually ceased shedding tears and wiped away the crisp trail they had left behind on his cheeks. The sun was beginning to break the horizon, a new day was beginning.

All Remus could do now was go on.

Not move on.

No

He'd carry Sirius in his heart like a battle scar, holding those memories dear and precious to him forever; until his death. For within Remus, Sirius would never truly die. His physical form may have discontinued in existence, but as a glowing orb of love and life inside Remus's mind he would remain. The memories should stay acute, Remus vowed.

He stiffened his gait and pulled on his robes, readying his wands. That's enough weeping for now, I say, he decided and exited his room for something warm to drink.

I do not own Harry Potter, that world belongs to the wonderful JK Rowling