AN- Okay, you all probably hate me by now because I said I was going to do this MONTHS ago, but I didn't. Yet here we are with a ficlet in the 'It Don't Mean a Thing' universe. It's angsty and short…but it's harmless and thus can go on ff.n unlike some of my other recent stuff.
Disclaimer: Not mine
Spoilers: previous fic, OotP
Word Count: 586
Swing music had been a thing of the past, a thing for happier times. The beloved record players had been stored in the attic after Sirius had been put in Azkaban along with all the swing and jazz records. Remus never thought he'd have a reason to see them again, that he'd never want to.
But the Sirius was free. And he was innocent. That summer, he retrieved the dusty treasures and filled his life with sound again. The next summer, Sirius came to stay with him. That summer he found happiness again and let sunshine, life, and dancing back into his home.
Another year passed and he found himself in a dank, dark house filled with sadness. But he had the music and he had Sirius. So life wasn't nearly so dark as it would seem. Swing music had always had that effect of making him smile, but without Sirius, he just didn't have the heart to listen to it.
But then they had danced a very different dance when the door was closed. Remus had to agree that it was more fun than the Lindy Hop too.
Yet now…the record player sat silent on the table in his living room. The records were neatly stacked beside it. The dust hadn't been allowed to settle. They were a memory of perfection, of a perfect love that he wanted so desperately to be real again. It was all he had left to remind him.
Days, weeks, and months passed slowly as he lived in silence. 'Music,' he thought, 'shouldn't fill a space with no joy to accompany it.'
And so the record player stayed silent.
It was a day like so many others when it finally happened. It wasn't expected, it wasn't even hoped for. Not anymore at least.
The door blew open, but Remus didn't really care. He didn't even notice as the gust-of-wind-that-wasn't lifted up his stack of records, removed one and sat the rest back down. He didn't notice the neglected black disc sliding out of its cover and hovering over the player. Nor did he notice as it settled down on the tray and began to spin entirely of its own accord.
No, Remus Lupin was too busy staring forlornly at his hands as his tea grew cold.
But when the music started, his head snapped up and his eyes widened in shock
It don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing…
Whoever said that spirits couldn't make their presence known was a bloody idiot.
He slowly stood up, his joints creaking with disuse. As he walked closer, he could just see how the air beside the record player was shimmering softly, as though there was something there. His steps quickened. When he reached the corner table, he slowly stretched out his hand, expecting the patch of air to dissipate the moment he touched it.
It didn't. Rather, the air seemed to wrap around his hand touching him gently, bringing warmth back to his fingers for the first time in months. He stepped closer and the particles surrounded him, gently touching, drifting softly over his skin.
Then he felt it. Love. Sadness. Joy. Loneliness. All the emotions surrounded him as the air did, the music playing softly behind him. He felt Sirius, or his essence. He smiled. A real smile.
It don't mean a thing, if it ain't got that swing…
And it occurred to him that even swing didn't mean a thing. It couldn't because Sirius had meant everything.
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