Memory Be Green

Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters and universe are property of JKR, Scholastic & other assorted publishers, and the WB.
Notes: Title comes from a line in 1.2 of Shakespeare's Hamlet.

THE HUFFLEPUFF

Green.

Just a moment ago, he had been nearly blinded by bright green light and now he finds himself sitting in a field of lush, green grass. It's soft and tall, and when he closes his eyes to inhale deeply he is reminded of the Quidditch Pitch. There isn't anything he loves better than kicking off that bed of grass at the sound of Hooch's whistle, rocketing in the air to chase after the Snitch.

Green is everywhere, as far as the eye can see.

Green isn't his colour, though.

His colours are yellow and black.

He is a Hufflepuff through and through, whether he remembers what a Hufflepuff is or not.

Standing, he wipes a few blades of grass from the front of his robes. Green stains stand out garishly against the yellow fabric.

He frowns.

************

THE GRYFFINDOR

"Hullo?"

It probably isn't of any use, he's been calling for hours and hours, but he does it anyway. He cups his hands at his mouth, calling out again and again.

If only he had his wand. A quick 'Sonorous' would carry his voice to the ends of the earth and he would be heard. Or to the ends of wherever he is. He doesn't have his wand, though, so he is just going to have to make do with cupping his hands to help carry sound. Even if he did have his wand, he suspects it won't work here, anyway.

*************

THE HUFFLEPUFF

His head turns sharply at the sound of someone else's voice.

Someone else is here? A rush of relief washes over him and he begins to run toward the sound, arms and legs pumping furiously. Whoever this other person is, maybe they can help. He needs help. He needs to go...he can't remember where it is, but it's terribly important that he returns there. Someone is waiting for him. Aren't they?

"Hullo?"

The voice is louder now, so he must be close. Adrenaline is pulsing through his veins as he rounds a bend, desperate to see another person. Anyone.

When the owner of the voice comes into view, he stops short, staring at the young man as that tell-tale prickle of déjà vu causes the tiny hairs on the nape of his neck to stand up.

Messy black hair, glasses, small but athletic frame.

His brow furrows in concentration.

I know him. Don't I?

It takes a moment for him to place the other man, a moment filled with immense effort. He only saw the young man a few minutes ago; he's certain of it. Only mere minutes have passed since they last spoke, yet he is having difficulty recalling the young man's name or how they know one another. Everything is so confusing all of a sudden and he doesn't like it. He's always been clever, the best at everything he tries. He's never forgot anything he's learnt before, until now. The name is escaping him and it's incredibly frustrating.

"Hullo?" The young man lowers the hands he'd had cupped around his mouth and the two stare at one another for a long while.

Somewhere, in the deep recesses of his mind, he hears a name. Harry.

"Harry?" he asks the young man questioningly, staring straight into puzzled hazel eyes.

This isn't right.

Harry's eyes are green. Aren't they?

The young man's eyes round with surprise. "No." He mouths the name soundlessly once, then says slowly, "Harry," as though he is testing it. After the name has rolled off his tongue, he shakes his head as though trying to clear it. A finger scratches at a sideburn before pushing small, square glasses back up the nose. "James," he says finally, pointing at himself. "I'm James."

*************

THE GRYFFINDOR

James does a double-take when the young man stops just in front of him. Tall, but not overly tall, with brown hair and grey eyes.

He reminds James of someone, someone he knows.

Someone he'd spent a great deal of time with. Someone he'd risked quite a bit for.

The name is on the tip of his tongue. It's almost there, almost worked out--

But then he asks James if he is Harry, and James doesn't know why, but he feels as though someone has doused him with cold water. Harry. The name stirs something within in, something that isn't a particularly pleasant sensation. The something is tinged with pain and full of nothingness, and James grows unexpectedly sad.

Even in sadness, part of him is very aware that he has company, something for which he has longed for what seems like an eternity now, so he forces himself to forget about this Harry and focus on himself.

"James," he says, pointing to himself. "I'm James."

"It's a pleasure, James," the young man says with the slightest of smiles, a kindness radiating from his pale grey eyes. He reaches out and clasps James' hand, pumping it twice in a firm handshake.

The touch and the look in those eyes are a jolt to the senses and James remembers.

"Remus," James gasps, pulling his hand out of Remus' and covering them with his own. "Where in the sodding hell have you been, you great--"

"Remus?" The young man gentle withdraws his hands from James'. "I'm sorry; you have me mistaken for someone else. I'm..." His voice falters and his gaze drops to the tips of his boots.

James's face burns. He could have sworn-- But no. Upon closer look, this man can't possibly be Remus. He's wearing some strange school uniform that James has never seen, a uniform that aren't the colours he remembers Remus wearing. James remembers Remus in red and gold; these colours are yellow and black. This man doesn't look haggard and sick like Moony usually does. They share the same hair and eye colour, and a similar pleasant disposition, but that is where the coincidences stop. This man is taller, with a fit build, and he holds himself in an entirely different fashion than Remus does.

"You're who?" James asks, breaking the silence. He leans over slightly and tips his head down so he can stare up at the bloke. He stares, taking in his features, and James cannot look away from the eyes. This time it isn't the colour that draws him in. This man's eyes are almond-shaped and James blinks, then chokes. For a second, James could have sworn the eyes weren't grey but green.

Where had he seen almond-shaped green eyes before?

"Cedric," the bloke says quietly. A beat, then his frame straightens and his eyes flash. "Cedric," he repeats.

James takes a step back and squares his shoulders, locking gazes with Cedric. His eyes are grey, not green. Not green. "Hullo, Cedric," James says, forcing a broad smile.

Thoughts of Remus and mysterious green eyes get shoved to the back of his mind, where they should stay. Remus and green eyes aren't anything he's seen here so far, and he has a niggling feeling in the pit of his stomach that he won't be seeing them anytime soon, either.

*************

THE HUFFLEPUFF

Time stands still here, Cedric thinks. Time stands still and yet it ticks, it measures. It measures...what? Life?

Cedric isn't sure.

He cannot really remember life Before. Life Before Here. Oh, Cedric knows that he hasn't always been here, that he was part of something somewhere else. The green light he can remember reminds him of that. The green light is all he can remember of Before.

He tells James this, and he is both surprised and unsurprised when James admits the very same thing to him.

Green light, then green spanning as far as the eye can see. No one else is there. It's just James and Cedric and the sweet-sour scent of sunlight-dried grass.

It isn't so bad.

Cedric cannot really remember life Before, but he has a feeling that he had always tried to do his best as well as see the best in each person and situation, no matter what. He has that feeling, and so he honours that about his life Before. He sees the best in James, and he thinks that James sees the same in him. While James hasn't spoken of this Remus since the first few moments of their meeting, Cedric is certain he reminds James of his mate somehow. It's nice to remind someone of something they care for, especially when it is clear the someone won't be getting the opportunity to see the something again.

Everything feels so final here. Cedric senses it in his bones.

It's the only unpleasant thing he feels.

*************

THE GRYFFINDOR

Every once in a while when Cedric laughs, James gets a flash - only a flash - of smiles and secrets and mischief. He thinks on it, hoping against hope that he can bring it into focus, figure it out. It never happens. The flash, James knows somehow, is from long ago, from Before. Before is no longer and he shouldn't dwell on it. There is only this. There is only Now.

Now is full of sunlight and fresh grass and Cedric.

James cannot possibly begin to guess why Cedric, of all people, happened upon him, but he is grateful for him. They are just alike enough in some ways and just different enough in others to keep things interesting, and James likes interesting. Sometimes the things he says irritate Cedric, causing Cedric's eyes to narrow, but Cedric doesn't say anything. Instead of pursuing an argument with James, he sets his mouth in a thin line and settles back in the blanket of grass, watching the clouds. James likes when he does this. It's familiar in a way and yet...not. Someone else - Remus - would do the very same thing - plop down in grass and ignore James for a time. The only difference between Remus and Cedric here is that Remus would bury his nose in a boo, though James knows he was not actually reading. Just like he knows that Cedric isn't really watching the clouds. He's simply staring at them, and there is a difference between watching and staring.

James knows that better than anyone. At least, he thinks he does. Maybe he had a lot of practice at staring Before.

Green eyes swirl to surface of his thoughts as he looks down at Cedric, his pale skin somehow even paler and glowing against the startlingly brilliant green of the grass.

*************

THE HUFFLEPUFF

When James stares down at him like that, Cedric isn't sure what to feel first. There is a split-second of confusion and a face that is the same as James and yet not enters his thoughts, a Not-James-face with green eyes that hold an oddly haunted yet determined look. There is warmth; James is a mate whose company Cedric enjoys very much, and he can't help but to grin slightly in his presence. There are… there are thoughts. Impulses. These impulses aren't something Cedric remembers having Before, but he can't remember much of Before so perhaps he had them then. These impulses are strong and...primal. Yes, primal.

James' messy fringe always falls in his eyes when he leans over Cedric to take the piss out of him, and the way he looks triggers these primal impulses of Cedric's.

It's so odd. Cedric isn't used to not knowing what or how or when to do something, so not knowing how he should ever react to James when James leans over him to be a knob usually makes him feel out of sorts.

Not this time, though.

He won't let himself get out of sorts today. He is clever and inventive, and he will get the better of these impulses, of James.

*************

THE GRYFFINDOR

There is a sudden sparkle in those grey eyes, and James laughs.

"What?" he asks, tickling Cedric's ear with a blade of grass. Cedric twitches and wiggles away, and Now isn't so bad.

James tries to tickle him again, but Cedric reaches a hand up lightning-quick, wrapping his fingers around James' wrist and applying pressure. "What," he asks slowly, "is the question?"

A thumb runs lightly along the underside of his wrist and the question, whatever it was, flies right out of James' head. "I--"

"Don't know?" Cedric finishes his answer for him, pulling James quickly and smoothly down atop him.

Initially James is startled by the feel of solid warmth beneath him, but then it is suddenly all so familiar. Familiar and right and like Before with brown hair, grey eyes, and haggard, brilliant Remus.

James shakes his head. "I know everything," he replies, a smug, predatory smile curving his mouth.


*************

TOGETHER

Oh, but you don't, Cedric thinks. James doesn't know where to touch to produce certain sounds, just as Cedric doesn't know the same things. Together, though, they will learn. They will learn and Cedric will best these impulses now raging inside him.

"We'll see," Cedric promises as James tilts his head to one side. Cedric's brows lift and his eyes focus on the line of James' throat, so strong and clean. It's as if James is offering it to him for the taking, and Cedric pauses. James must sense his momentary trepidation; his eyes widen and gleam, and Cedric refuses to lose hold of his gaze.

The warmth and smell of James' skin invades his senses as he slowly moves forward, as if drawn in. Cedric gives up trying to keep his eyes locked with James' and dips in the rest of the way, his mouth finding the sweet, soft spot where neck and jaw meet. James tastes better than any sweets Cedric has ever had; his skin is all silk and salt and man, and Cedric cannot help but to nip at it. He nips and then soothes the sting with his tongue, and he can feel James' breathing quicken as his tongue works over the neck.

Cedric pulls back to rest his head against the grass, his own breath causing his chest to rise and fall rapidly, and he stares up at James, waiting. He will not make the next move. James has to initiate it. Although the twitch in his trousers is protest enough at the very thought of waiting, Cedric waits. James, always so collected and assured, needs to be the one to want things so badly that he can't hold back.

Cedric doesn't have to wait long, although he is sure he could wait for days if needs be. He remembers that he was very patient Before.

James mustn't have been very patient Before. Cedric figures that he was impulsive and used to getting what he wanted Before, and James' ways Before show up Now when he snakes a hand under Cedric's robes to push them up his chest before diving under the waistband of his trousers.

Cedric makes a low keening noise in his throat, a sound that is new to James. James must like this sound, for he gives Cedric's cock a squeeze before tugging his trousers and shorts down about his knees. Cedric feels a rush of air on his groin and groans when his cock slaps against his belly before springing fully to attention. Hands, large and calloused, skate over the tops of his thighs, and then turn in to rest on the inner thighs.

He doesn't wait for James to press his palms against his thighs; Cedric's legs fall open as though they've done this a thousand times before, and he thrusts up into James' waiting, welcome, warm mouth. Cedric hisses, James hums, and all Cedric can see behind lids screwed tightly shut is green, glittering light.

There is forceful suction around his cock, and Cedric moans, arching into it, into the green. James' tongue swirls and strokes his length while teeth scrape along the underside, and there is a frenetic beat playing in Cedric's head, rhythmic and primordial and raw. Thudding and thumping and rattling, all urging him on. He moves, writhing and pushing himself roughly into James' mouth, moving and bucking and driving until the head of his cock is touching the back of James' throat.

One hand fists in James' messy hair while Cedric concentrates on the tingling sensation in his balls, a sensation that increases with every thrust and every suckle until finally he can't take it anymore. He comes, shooting his seed down James' throat while his thighs quiver and his mouth gapes open soundlessly. He is vaguely aware of James' mouth releasing his cock, and he tugs James' hair until he climbs up Cedric's body, pressing their chests flush together.

"I see," James pants, working a hand in between them. Cedric grins; he can feel James hard and free and hot against his thigh.

"You do," Cedric whispers, shoving his hand down to take hold of James' cock. There is a hiss - from whom, Cedric isn't sure - and then Cedric can feel the length of James' cock sliding against the prominent line in his palm. The lifeline. Cedric grits his teeth and tightens the ring of his fingers, and he can feel the lifeline of James' own palm on his cock again. With a guttural moan, Cedric wraps his legs around James' thighs and reverses their positions so that he is on top. He is on top now, in charge now, and he shoves James down against the grass and dirt, quickening the ministrations of his hand. The need to hear James cry out, to feel him harden ever more in his palm is taking over Cedric's senses so completely that he finds it hard to form a coherent thought.

"Christ," he hears James choke, and it makes Cedric's already-tight balls clench tighter. He is responsible for that noise. Cedric is. James' voice reverberates in his mind and just like that--

*************

THE ADDITION

Red.

Just a moment ago, he had been nearly blinded by bright red light and now he finds himself sitting in a field of lush, green grass. This confuses him. While the details are hazy, he can vaguely recall the taunting laughter, cool marble, and veiled archway of his Before just now.

Red.

Closing his eyes briefly, he can still see the bright red light and he feels ill.

Clutching his stomach, he stumbles a few steps forward. He needs to move. Maybe fresh air will help.

The air here is crisp and clean; he inhales deeply, forcing himself to lift his chin and keep his wits about him as he explores.

He walks through the high grass, over flat plains and up over gentle inclines, trying to get his bearings.

He doesn't know where he is, but he knows it's far from where he ought to be.

"Christ."

The voice isn't far away.

Picking up his pace, he heads toward the sound, wondering who else could possibly be in the middle of nowhere.

After staggering uphill for a few minutes, he reaches the top of a steep hill and abruptly stops.

Only a few feet in front of him two bodies are entwined, two bodies he is certain he knows well. Knew well.

The man on top collapses on the man beneath him, his face pressing against his partner's shoulder. He cannot see that man's face, but he can clearly see the man on the bottom, and he feels very old all of a sudden.

Time must have stood still.

James looks exactly the same as when he last saw him.

James' glasses are half-on and half-off, and he hurriedly puts them back in place when he notices someone standing before him.

The new arrival can see confusion, and then recognition settle on James' face.

"You," he gasps, and the new arrival nods. He points at the prone form atop James, and James shakes his head.

No.

It isn't Remus, then.

Part of him wants to scream and throw things at the news; how can he be anywhere without Remus? A larger part of him, however, is relieved. If Remus is not here, he must be safe; Remus' safety is the most important thing. Someone There needs Remus, will need him more than ever now that he is Here.

He looks questioningly down at the man on top of James. James grins tiredly and nudges the man until he lifts his head up to look at Sirius.

"Cedric," James says, "meet Sirius." Cedric props himself up on one elbow, extending a hand out toward him.

"It's a pleasure, Sirius."

Sirius takes in the both of them, takes in James' warm, wicked hazel eyes and Cedric's compassionate, thoughtful grey ones that call Remus to mind.

Maybe Here and Now won't be so bad after all.

As Cedric and James sit up and re-arrange their clothing, Remus' voice, calm and knowing, enters Sirius' thoughts.

"After life, there is much more. The end is just the beginning."

Sirius turns around, seeing nothing but green for kilometres and kilometres.

Just the beginning.