Title: Snow Ghosts // Rescued Document
Rating: PG (talk of death, I believe one curse)
Genre: Angst
Characters: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin (brief mentions of: Lily Potter, Bellatrix Black, Harry Potter, Albus Dumbledore)
Summary: Written for the Slash Challenge at Livejournal for Nitroxa. Wheeeee. Joy in unhappy angst for all. Titled because my computer crashed and the document was rescued, so I kept it as 'Rescued Document'… I gave it a nifty 'poetic' name too, just for the heckuvvit. Character deaths. I think.
Additional Copyrights: None

The tree lights had been lit. They became bursts of orange and red and white, and green, setting aglow the feathery pine branches they lay so quietly on. About them glistened various other decorations, glittering silver and gold, cobalt blue, warm green and red and sharp white.

Outside, through the twilight windows, the snowflakes fell in twisting patterns, all about the figure of one man, slender and delicate.

He stood outside the window, and the lights of the house laid their colour gently upon his winter cloak and pallid skin. The snow landed upon his skin, so cold it burned; burned like the unshed tears in the curve of his eyes, and the pain slowly eating away at his heart.

He could see people in the snowfall, people that weren't really there, but were; dancing figures that were there and gone in the blink of a tear-washed eye. Sometimes he saw Harry's face; sometimes the sweep of Bellatrix Black's cloak. And once he swore he also heard laughter - the sweet, musical laughter of Lily Potter.

He was seeing ghosts. Everyone who had gone through a war saw ghosts.

But the number of wars Remus Lupin had been through was two. And his agony, so rich and deep, cleaved and hacked and tore at the heart until it was pulled from between broken ribs with bloodied fingers.

His hands were filled with splinters, gathered from the handle of the shovel with which he had buried his friends; his mind was alight with malevolent nightmares, with high-pitched laughter and shadowy figures that did not bear faces. And his mouth knew not how to smile anymore, and laughter was now a foreign thing to him.

He did not love himself anymore; for there was nothing left in him to love.

A sound; the crunch of packed snow beneath a boot. Then hands, belonging to the man behind him, taking his arms in a firm grip. Warm breath ghosted across his neck. "Let him go," a deep voice murmured, yet again, for the hundredth time.

Remus shrugged Sirius's hands off, "Let me be, Padfoot," he stated.

Sirius rested his forehead between the other man's shoulder blades, letting out a faint sigh that Remus felt through his clothing rather than heard.

"Come inside," Sirius said.

Remus said nothing.

"He's dead, Remus."

No answer.

Sirius stroked the other man's shoulder; pressed his lips to his bare neck. "You hurt me," he admitted, and Remus hated himself for making the proud man say those words, "I love you, you know it. Let me help. It'll be easier that way, won't it?"

"Leave me," Remus whispered, as Sirius's lips moved skillfully along skin. He had a feeling, however, that his friend did not hear him - or rather, refused to listen at all.

Sirius Black was always a very stubborn man. But Remus was worse.

"Come inside," Sirius insisted again, "You'll catch a cold."

"No."

"I know what you see, Remus. You can see dead people, out there, in the snow. I used to look at them all the time as a kid. I bet you can see Harry, and even believe for a moment that he's still alive." He paused. "And I bet you can sometimes even see Bellatrix out there."

Remus jerked away, but Sirius's grip was strong.

"She's dead, Remus," Sirius snapped, "Dumbledore gave her what she deserved."

"Let go," the werewolf commanded.

"No."

"I said let go."

"And I said no. Face it. They're all dead, Remus. They've gone away. They've been murdered and killed, crushed and smashed, poisoned, tortured, it's all happened and we can't change it. Bellatrix is dead and gone," Sirius gave Remus a little shake to get his attention; the werewolf had defiantly shut his eyes in an attempt to stop listening, "and you should be happy that cousin of mine didn't take you with her."

"She should have!" Remus snapped, agonized, struggling, trying to pull away.

Sirius tightened his grip.

"I want to protect you, Moony," he whispered, lowering his voice; the change caused the other man to pause, to listen. Their ragged breaths hung in frosty clouds of mist in the chilled air. "I want to spend Christmas with you, like we'd always spend it. I want to see you smile again. I don't want to see you sitting in the dark, and I don't want you wishing for a death you don't deserve.

"You're dying, Remus, and fuck, it hurts me. I have to watch while you're becoming thin, and weak; I know you cannot dine on dreams alone." His voice became softer. "Please, Moony. Don't torture me like this."

Remus pulled away, and finally Sirius let him. They stood looking out over the driveway, though they could not see it; all they saw were ghosts, twisting, twirling, dancing a crude mockery of their former selves.

"I loved Harry too." Sirius whispered in the silence.

Remus turned to glance at his friend; tears welled in his eyes and finally trailed slowly down his gaunt cheeks. Something in Remus collapsed; it seemed that finally his emotional defenses had weakened and fallen and tumbled like castle walls into the snow, and it was all he could do not to cry out in pain.

"Let the dead lie." Sirius breathed.

And Remus rushed into Sirius's arms, and the snow ghosts stopped dancing, and they lay their snowflake limbs down, and they slept.