Nighttime Remembrances

Nighttime remembrances

A young man is sleeping in a cell. It is chilly in the room, a kind of damp chilliness that freezes you to your very bones and makes you feel as though you could never get warm again in your life. It is December, there had already been snow and the heating doesn’t work well – or maybe it is just that somebody thinks that the prisoners aren’t worth the money it would cost to heat the building properly.

The room is small, about three by three metres, on the wall opposite the door, so high up that the prisoner can’t reach, there is a little barred window and in the door there is a judas window which is always closed with a wooden slide. There is not much furniture in the cell, only a hard and uncomfortable bed with scratchy, thin blankets and a shabby pillow, and a worn desk and a rickety, old chair on the other side of the room. The floor is a cold concrete floor which can spend no warmth either. You see, not a very comfortable place at all.

The man who is sleeping uneasily is called Sirius Black and he will be twenty-eight years old in three weeks. He had spent the last eight years in that cell and he didn’t have a clue how long he still would be staying in there, memorising the cracks and holes in the walls. And dwelling in feelings of guilt and self-reproach. Especially doing that. He is imprisoned for a crime he didn’t commit, though nobody believes him; there was too much evidence against him and no witnesses to testify in favour of him. Above all, he even started to accept that he was guilty himself. He had almost given up himself.

Adrian is moving restlessly on his mattress, probably having nightmares. Maybe he is dreaming about the night of ‘The Incident’ as he took to call it in his mind. Though sometimes, in endless talks to himself, he refers to it as ‘The Betrayal’ or ‘The Murder’.

After some more time of tossing and turning he wakes up and decides that he would get no more sleep in that night so he could as well be awake. He has to stay in the dark because there is no light during the night – probably measures to save electricity – but he is used to it. The last night he really slept through was a long time ago. He sits up in his bed and puts his feet on the floor, he shivers as his toes touch the cold concrete. His elbows are resting on his knees and he buries his face in his hands, stifling a yawn at the same time. His shoulder-length, tousled black hair hangs around his pale, gaunt face, his eyes are sunken and look a bit hollow. He didn’t really care about shaving, he only does it when the guards tell him to – he doesn’t consider it necessary to bring up the energy to contradict – so he has black stubble on his cheeks. His hands are very thin, the fingers long. He slightly resembles a skeleton. Then he turns his head up, staring at the wall in front of him, and all of a sudden he starts blinking and squinting as if he sees something in front of him. Something that should not be there. And indeed, a shadowy, somewhat translucent figure is standing about one and a half metres away from him. It is a man, a few years younger than Sirius, about twenty maybe. Sirius gasps, his eyes widely open and he shakes his head slowly in disbelief.

“No,” he whispers, “you... what... how... you are not him!”

The figure walks slowly over to Sirius, and the man on the bed draws back hastily until he is huddled up against the wall. He seems to be deadly terrified by the strange not-quite-person in his cell. He is still shaking his head and blinking nervously, as if he could blink the vision away.

“Hush... Calm down, Sirius,” says the figure quietly. It has a strange voice which seems to come somehow from outside, not from inside. It was all there in the room, not much louder than a whisper, but still filling the whole room with its presence.

“What... what are you? You look like... him, but you – is he dead?!” Sirius is almost hyperventilating and he is utterly confused. I think that you could ask him what his name is and he wouldn’t know at that moment.

“Sirius, breathe,” the figure says, and after he manages to steady his breath more or less, it continues, “I don’t know whether Remus is dead because I’m only your memory of him.”

“My what,” Sirius asks, completely taken aback by that revelation. “How can you be my memory? Shouldn’t you be inside my head?!”

“Technically speaking, yes,” Remus’s memory responds, his lips curved into a minute smile, though it is a kind of smile that doesn’t quite reach the eyes which have a sad and pained look – as if he had seen too many bad things already.

“The reason why I’m here is... rather simple. I need to talk to you.”

“Talk to me? What for?” Sirius seems to be calmer again, but he doesn’t quite know what to think of the whole situation. Maybe he was still dreaming after all.

“Did you notice that you keep losing one happy memory after the other? That every thought that used to cheer you up before simply seems to vanish? You become more indifferent and detached from everything around you from day to day. You are simply wasting away. Soon there will be nothing left but an empty shell, wrecked by guilt and remorse. Even now there is little but sudden, rare explosions of hate, rage and vindictiveness, if you manage to summon up the energy. I can hardly see anything of the person you used to be.

“No, don’t interrupt me. I don’t think that people don’t change if they are imprisoned, but what happened – or what is happening to you is not only that you change. It’s that you are giving yourself up – your life and your uniqueness. You were a very special person, and if you get a grip on yourself then you can get back to who you were. You won’t be the same person, but you will be a unique person again, not a living shell with a dead soul.”

Remus’s memory walks over to the bed. Sirius has remained sitting there, still confused but realizing that the memory, the person, the figure or whatever it is, is right. But nevertheless he has no idea what he can do. He has no idea where to get the energy from to lead a ‘normal’ life – as normal as a life in prison can be.

Immersed in his thoughts he had not noticed Remus's memory sit down beside him, but realising that something has changed around him he looks up and sees the ghostly pale figure not an arm's length away. He almost jumps up with fright. Then he exhales and tries to get his pulse back to a moderate speed again.

"Sorry," he says, "I just don't understand... What can I do? How can I get my 'old self' back?"

"Answer me a question. A very simple one, but you have to answer it honestly," Remus's memory says, laying one hand on Sirius's and squeezing it reassuringly. It feels a bit strange to Adrian, who had supposed that the memory would have no substance, but he can feel it, it's cool and very smooth, it has almost no resemblance to the skin of a real person. And he doesn't pull away, as it doesn't feel wrong.

"Do you believe it is your fault that Lily and James died?"

Sirius swallows and lowers his head.

"Yes... No... I don't know. Yes. It is my fault. I shouldn't have trusted Peter. If I had done everything how it was planned, they would still be alive and everything would be fine." He speaks slowly and quietly, almost as if talking to himself.

"You see, there is the problem. You believe it yourself. It is definitely not your fault. How could you have known that Peter's loyalties didn't lie where we expected them to? It would be your fault if you had gone in there and killed them. Then you would be sitting here for a reason. But you didn't."

"No... But it doesn't matter as I'm the only one who knows that it wasn't me. So I will rot in here until..."

"You won't. You just mustn't lose hope. You know that there is still a possibility that they will find Peter and see that he's not dead, and they would look at your case again. But if you stop believing-"

"Why should I wait for a miracle? To make me feel worse if nothing happens?"

"Sirius, you don't understand. It's not about believing in miracles, miracles are rare. They wouldn't be called miracles otherwise. It's about believing in you. It's about knowing who you are and what you can achieve. Even if you are in here. Now... Lie down and close your eyes."

"What for?"

"Just do it and listen."

Sirius does as he is told and waits. Then he feels Remus's memory's cool hands on his cheeks.

"Will you go away," he asks in a small voice.

"Hush... Don't speak."

He is lying in his bed, feeling almost peaceful for once. It felt good not to be alone.

"Now try to remember. Remember how we met, how you, Lily, James and I became friends, try to recall the happiest days in your life... don't try too hard, then it won't work. Just see if you can get those memories out of their hiding places..."

Sirius tries to think about happy times, and although it is hard in the beginning, after some time he can see all these occasions again, like a colourful film inside his head. A welcome change to the dull grey that had taken over his mind during the last years.

He sees himself as a young boy, he sees himself as a rebellious teenager, risking almost everything just for this rush of excitement he felt when he was doing something he shouldn't; he sees himself kissing his first love – who was in fact Remus. He relives many more experiences, and suddenly he knows again how it feels to be him. He knows that he can be the person he was again. He knows again how to be self-confident, he knows again how to be talkative and how to make jokes and laugh – he even knows how it feels to love and to be loved again, something he thought was long forgotten.

And what is best about it all: He still knows it when he wakes up in the morning, looking at the cold winter sun and the brilliant blue sky through his little window and he really feels good. He looks around to see if Remus's memory is still around, but he is alone in his cell. He thinks that maybe it was just a dream, but even if it was, then it was a good dream.

And he swears to himself not to get lost in depressions again but to remain the person he originally was, so that if he got out of prison he could go and find Remus, and Remus would recognize him.