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“Sometimes I’m terrified of my heart; of its constant hunger for whatever it is it wants. The way it stops and starts.”
-Edgar Allen Poe
Time was a fleeting concept in Azkaban. There were no clocks, no charms, no windows. The place was surrounded by shadows and frenetic waves pounding against solid concrete, brick, and stone. Storms raged outside, and every howl of the wind reminded Sirius of days past in the Shrieking Shack.
But that was a long time ago, he thought. He reasoned it had been a year based on the way the dementors made him feel in that span, but he could be wrong. Truly, he never felt right about anything, sometimes not even his own name. It was terrifying how easy he could forget things about himself if he just let them slip away; no one talked except Bellatrix, who shrieked every day until her voice gave out or a dementor wrapped a scaly hand around her wrist.
It was only when the rain became snow that he decided it had to at least be December. He scowled at himself. Brave, brash Sirius Black hadn’t even lasted a year in Azkaban before falling apart in his cell. The recognition that Christmas would be coming soon worsened his condition; he raged and barked, scratching at his cell door until his nails broke past the quick and bled. He had never spent a Christmas apart from his friends or his lover, and now he had to spend it without his godson and labeled as a mass murderer.
He transformed into his animagus form and whimpered. In his head, it sounded an awful lot like Remus.
...
Miles away from Azkaban in Grimmauld Place, Remus Lupin sobbed. He had fading scars on his arms and legs and bruises on his face that he hadn’t taken the time to fix yet. He breathed in and his heart constricted. Lying on Sirius’ bed, he could smell him like he’d never left. The only indication of his absence was the thin layer of dust over all the furniture that Kreacher refused to clean and that Lupin had no energy to remove.
He felt sick.
It was wrong, he reasoned, to mourn the lover he barely knew, the lover who had destroyed everything they built. Yet the holidays made him more sentimental than usual, and his trip to Grimmauld was as unplanned as it was distressing. It had taken him hours to even walk up the stairs. When he had finally managed that, shivering violently and clutching the railing for support, he had collapsed in front of Sirius’ room. There he remained for another hour, forehead resting on the wood.
...
Sirius unfolded himself from his pitiful pile of bones and fur and transformed back into his human form. The effect was immediate--it was colder, damper. Bad memories assaulted him with full force. Good memories were desecrated as they morphed into nightmarish parodies of the originals, twisting friends’ faces and painting them with blood.
“Get out of my head!” he screamed while he slapped his palms over his ears. Bellatrix Lestrange cackled from a cell block down. Others jeered and taunted. They had no tolerance for weakness here.
...
“Weak half-breed in my mistress’ house, what can Kreacher do…” The house elf’s muttering woke him from hazy slumber.
He hadn’t been quite asleep, but lost in a state of dreaming of holidays past. A few tears still slipped from his eyes and ran over his quivering lips. He touched them, only to swear and jolt himself upright. He had been thinking of Sirius again, of kisses under mistletoe, and it made him want to wring the man’s neck. But then he remembered all the times he had held onto Sirius’ neck while they kissed, or all the times Sirius’ lips ghosted over the hollow of his throat, and he froze.
Remus wished he could obliviate all those memories. Pretend Sirius Black, best friend, boyfriend, and godfather never existed and replace him with the despicable Death Eater he was now. The idea sent a wave of nausea through him so strong that he curled up on his side with fresh tears speckling the sheets.
He watched snow fall outside the small window and then closed his eyes. The blackness swallowed him before turning blinding white. He saw black hair whip through the frozen wind. Pale skin wrapped under a scarlet and gold scarf, bootprints in the snow, then a black dog barking happily and the scarf wrapped around its scruff. A girl with red hair, one with a mess of black, himself, and a mousy brown man threw snowballs at the dog until he tackled Remus and changed back, and they went rolling down a hill.
Remus landed with his back to a giant boulder and Lily had to take him inside and charm it better. Sirius made him hot chocolate.
...
Sirius slammed his back against the stone wall and felt it bite back through his entire spine. He bit his lip to keep from shouting, but a ragged sob tore through his lips, ripping apart his throat on its way out. He stumbled to his cell door once more and wrapped his dirty fingers around the bars.
“You’ll pay for this, Peter Pettigrew!” he swore. He spit at the nearest dementor, but scrambled backwards to the far corner when it glided over to stare at him. Bellatrix resumed her frightful laughter and he joined her, overwhelmed with the injustice of it all.
Starving and cold, he wrapped his skinny arms around himself and pulled his uniform tight. He had already scratched and stretched it to an extreme, so it was barely a reprieve from the chill. He found himself wishing for a mug of steaming cocoa like the ones he used to share with Remus. Those were the memories that would keep him sane through his many holidays in Azkaban, he was sure of it. And if not, he held onto the hope that he would always remember his lover’s face, even if he could no longer remember his name.
“I’m sorry, love,” he whispered to the filthy ground.
...
He’d fallen asleep again. Moonlight filtered through the window and he panicked until he ran through the moon cycle in his head and found the full to be a few days away. Wishful thinking overcame him and he imagined Sirius’ hand pressed into his own, reassuring him, reminding him of the time they still had left together.
Remus frowned. Together seemed such a ridiculous concept now. How long had Sirius been a traitor? How long had he planned to rip apart the life they had built? Guilt and anger washed over him until he wished for the full moon to come just to unburden him of all those human feelings.
Standing, he felt in his pocket until he felt the object for which he’d been searching. He tore it from its hiding place and tossed it onto the bed once he’d crossed the room, and refused to look at it again. But he was lonely and lost, so he did.
“I’m sorry, love,” he whispered to the box containing the engagement ring he’d planned to give Sirius this Christmas.
He left it sitting in the room and locked the door.