Good Morning, Hogwarts
Rating: R
Summary: A peaceful morning holds all the quiet oblivion of the grave.
Notes:

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There is a bed in our tower, shoved into one corner behind a stack of crates. I don’t know where it came from; it was there when we got here. It resembles the beds we had in Gryffindor Tower, only it is larger and there are no linens or draperies on it. The blue and white striped ticking of the feather mattress is stained disturbingly, and torn in places, revealing the snowy down that seems to be, at least to one so sentimental as myself, like feathers from an angel’s wings.

We don’t sleep exactly, but it is here that I wake, when it occurs to me to wake, certainly not on as regular a basis as every morning, with my beloved curled inside me, or stretched out covering me like the long-absent blankets. He is restless in death, but mornings like this hold all the quiet perfection of the grave, all the soft, silent oblivion we never knew. Often we simply stay locked in this deafeningly silent embrace.

The sun is always just breaking the horizon, staining the sky gold. He once compared my eyes to that colour, the colour of the dawn after a long, dark, cold night, and I always compared his grey eyes to the moonlight -so beautiful it hurts.

As I watch the sun creep slowly into view, my love begins to stir, stretching slowly as though to relieve cramped muscles, but he is in no need of such exercise. He simply likes to feel his phantom flesh slide through mine, and I must confess, I adore the feeling just as much. We move together, slow and soft, on the edge of consciousness, tongues and fingers occasionally gliding just under one another’s skin, tasting each other.

It’s a bit like being enveloped in whipped-cream.

I am always surprised that we ever stop these heavenly activities in favour of something so trivial as haunting some old castle certainly not lacking in other spectres to take up the task, but we always do so. Sirius can never stay still for as long as I would have him with me. Something upsets him, and he cannot allow himself to relax. I try to draw it out of him, to ease his mind and his wanderings, but he refuses to discuss what bothers him.

The Headmistress -to think she was a student of mine in life!- tells me to leave it be, that I will regret it if I try to soothe his troubled soul, but I can see he needs his peace. Whatever is bothering my beloved must rankle as much as the utter fury that swells in my heart at the thought of our dual murder.

I cannot be fully at ease until the truth about that night is revealed.

I have asked him, time and again, what troubles him so, but he refuses to speak of anything but his love for me, and the trivialities of the day, so we go about our business this morning as we do every morning, and all we notice of this world is one another.