The Colour of the Night

Chapter One: Mission Statement

Remus padded into the kitchen, his feet protesting as the chill from the stone seeped into his d bod bones. His tawny locks were, once again, knotted and tangled, hanging in an unruly mess around his face. Slender fingers came up to massage the back of his head as he stood next to the table, yawning widely and exposing perfect white teeth and abnormally long canines. Even when the moon wasn’t close, a werewolf’s canines were longer than usual, overlapping his bottom row of teeth much more than restrest when he bit down.

He’d dressed carefully, stealing one of Sirius’ more comfortable pairs of blue jeans. The only problem was that they were longer in the leg and so he ended up standing on the ends of them as they hugged around slender feet and flexible ankles. He wore an old, dark blue jumper which was also rather long for him and hid his thumbs entirely, finishing just over his knuckles. It was a cosy ensemble and one that Remus favoured. The stolen jeans were a plus.

He ran his hands over his lower back and, sinking lower, enjoyed the feel of them hugging his backside which, he was pleased to note, was once again full and firm. Remus had always been thin but, before his teaching career, he had been able to count his ribs and looking in the mirror was something that he’d grown to detest. Not now. Now, when amber eyes raked over his body, he could look past the scars littering his torso and see the man that lay beneath. The surprisingly handsome man, at that, even if he did say so himself.

Tea, he thought, if he had tea he would wake up. His mind was still a little fuzzy for the cosy bed that he’d been curled up in. When he’d woken up the plush white duvet had been wrapped around him and he’d been … well, he’d been wrapped around Sirius. Their legs had been tangled, their faces inches away from one another, so close that Remus had felt Sirius’ breath stroke the fine hairs on his neck gently. He shivered, ferreting about in his back pocket for his wand. He hadn’t had Sirius that close since the night in Harry’s fourth year when he’d curled around the thin, shivering figure of his best friend, the heat from the fire flowing over them in delicious waves.

The kettle whistled satisfyingly when he tapped it with his wand, then he went looking for a clean teacup. When his search failed to turn up anything which looked remotely clean enough to bring to his lips, Remus settled for a mug. Sirius’ favourite. It was red with a little devil on it and the words, ‘Seriously Sexy,’ scrawled over it. Remus would never have admitted it but he agreed wholeheartedly with the assessment. Now, armed with his mug of tea, he was free to curl up on the couch in the living room with a good book.

“Filthy half-breed vermin - -”

“Morning, Kreacher,” Remus passed him in the hallway. The aging house-elf gave him a filthy look and passed by, heading up the staircase, “Don’t wake anyone now, will you Kreacher?” the house-elf looked at him for a second then bowed.

“No, master. Kreacher is being careful,” Remus opened the living room door, “Stinking werewolf befouling my poor Mistresses house …” Remus smiled and closed the door behind him, sliding down onto the comfy couch. He was too happy this morning to care whether Kreacher was calling him a filthy half-breed or doing a naked tango around the living room.

Remus Lupin hadn’t felt this good in a very long time. He had his best friend back, he had a place to live, Albus was giving him regular payments for his services (not that he hadn’t tried to refuse) and Harry was safe aoundound. What more could he possibly want?

For a long time Remus had been pensive, almost as moody as Sirius. His life had, once again, been taken out of his hands and forced into the path of Lord Voldemort and his minions. His friends lives were at risk, Harry’s life was at risk and then he had almost lost Sirius. That had really brought him out of himself. He’d watched the beam shoot from Bellatrix’ wand. He’d watched Sirius go down to his knees, then he’d let go of a spell of his own which had almost cut the witch in half. The whole moment had been surreal. He’d watched it happening around him as if in a dream. Then he’d been at Sirius’ side, cradling him as he bled, saying how sorry he was that he hadn’t gotten to him before Bellatrix had whispered her spell.

For the two weeks afterward Remus had hardly left Sirius’ side. His best friend had been hurt but not mortally wounded and Remus had wanted to make sure that he stayed in bed and actually rested. Sirius had a habit of deciding he was better before cuts had fully closed or bruises had began to heal. Remus kept him entertained for those two weeks. They’d found out that Sirius still enjoyed being read to (it had been a habit of Remus’ to help Peter sleep and after a few weeks he had found that James and Sirius were just as riveted by his tireless story telling as their nervous friend was) and Remus had found some old favourites, like Treasure Island and Captain Blood to read.

Remus had enjoyed being in Sirius’ company again, just one on one. They’d had time to properly find out that they still had a bond between them. They’d had time to laugh and cry about James. They’d had time to get to know each other again. Remus had discovered that Sirius could no longer eat cheese (it was one of the few pieces of found that Azkaban gave freely - rations of stale bread and cheese) and Sirius had realised that Remus wasll tll too fond of chocolate and whenever Sirius had received a box of chocolate frogs or something like that, he’d ended up sharing half of it with Remus.

It had been an enjoyable two weeks and the night before Remus had realised that he could still comfortably share a bed with Sirius. Gone were the gaunt lines on their faces, gone were the horrible shadows under their eyes from too many sleepless night where memories held sway. He had realised that body warmth could still be shared and they could still curl up next to each other without any awkwardness. Remus had loved waking up to find Sirius’ face only inches from his, the long lashes settled on porcelain-like skin.

Most of all Remus had discovered that he still found Sirius to be the devilishly handsome man who can stolen his heart as a boy and conveniently forgotten to give it back. Sirius was still a charmer, still a rogue. Sirius was … well he was still Padfoot, mischievous, impulsive, daring and breathtakingly fetching. Remus smiled to himself. The night before had proved something to him. It had proved that he could still hold Sirius’ attentions. That they could be what they once were, perhaps pick up where they had left of.

It had proved to him that he was still fiercely possessive and still very much in thrall with the enigmatic individual that was Sirius Black.

And what was more … Remus loved it.

The door slammed against the arm of the couch suddenly and Remus almost spilt what was left of his tea. Then, bleary eyed and with very tussled hair, Sirius charged through the door and slammed it back into its frame. From the sound of it he had hit Kreacher as well. Sirius’ mother started screaming then, in a horrible voice, Kreacher crooned to her softly and she promptly shut up then the house-elf was scurrying up the stairs again, mumbling to himself. Remus would have commented but he was gripped by how attractive Sirius was.

The mans hair was mussed but Remus knew that if he chose to shake his head gently the tangles would fall fris his hair as if they had never been there in the first place. The long black mane fell in silky trails like waves seeping down the rocks at the bottom of a waterfall over Sirius’ shoulders. He’d thrown on an old t-shirt that hugged in selfish but delicious ripples to his body, showing off the slim lines of toned, corded muscle that Sirius had built up since his return from Azkaban. A pair of old swear pants clung to his backside as he leant over to scratch his knee absentmindedly. Remus noted that Sirius had very … cute … feet. Dark stubble clung to Sirius’ jaw line and gave one the impression that he was a rogue from a romantic novel. Tired, annoyed eyes looked out from beneath frowning eyebrows, curved almost as delicately as Severus’ own. Remus swallowed once and then offered up a commiserating grin.

“Kreacher?” he asked, swinging his legs of off the couch so that Sirius could sit down. It took the man a few seconds to move (he had never been a morning person) then, much to Remus’ surprise, Sirius jumped onto the couch, curled his legs up and planted from his body, from head to shoulder, on Remus knee. It took Sirius a few moments to get comfy but, after he’d buried his face in the warm softness of Remus’ stomac nod nodded, groaning.

“He’s a little shite and I’m gonna feed him to Buckbeak,” Sirius moaned, he sounded petulant which was usual. Sirius had two modes in the morning; petulant or snappish and sulky.

Remus stroked the silky raven’s mane gently, the tangles falling loose at a single touch, “Aww. Were you still asleep or did he just bug you out of bed?”

Sirius turned his face to look up at Remus, “He came in a bashed about everything he could possibly get his hands on. I got up and chased him out of the room and back down the stairs before he could head into Harry’s room,” Remus started to chuckle and Sirius gave him a baleful look, “What’s so bloody funny, Moony?”

When Remus finally found his voice but he was giggling so much that the entire couch was shaking, “You ran after Kreacher at nine in the morning, naked, just because he was making a noise? I can sooo see that!” he started laughing again and Sirius pushed himself up so that he was eyelevel with his friend.

“Am I going to have to shut you up the hard way?” Remus instantly went silent. ‘The hard way’ usually involved ice cold water and Remus’ back. He chose the easy way and reigned in his mirth.

“Sorry, Paddy,” a slight smile, “But you have to admit … what a sight that must have been,” he brushed hair out of Sirius face and the animage leant into the touch shamelessly. Remus blushed but covered it up with, “I bet Kreacher loved it.”

“Bet he did,” Sirius had latched onto his hand with his own free one that had been hanging by his side. He was rubbing his face into the touch, letting Remus trace his eyelashes and lips gently with his fingers. After a few seconds Remus felt Sirius move closer. It was almost an imitation of the night before.

“Sirius …?” he asked, his voice wavering a little. Sirius answered only with a, ‘Hmm?’ before going back to being very catlike again. “D-Do you want tea or coffee?”

Sirius eyes came open and Remus found himself pinned by those icy, bright eyes of arctic blue. He couldn’t move, couldn’t look away. Then, as if in slow motion, Sirius moved a l a little and smiled, “Tea, if your making it, Moony.”

Remus nodded steadily, watching Sirius pull back before he left the room. trying his best not to dart into the kitchen. Then as the werewolf poured the fresh cups of tea he couldn’t help but wonder at why his hand was shaking and his breath was coming faster than usual.

What had Sirius done to make his heart beat so?

* * *

Sunlight danced in the window and trailed lightly across Harry and Ron’s faces, the warmth making the young Potter snuggle down in Ron’s arms and find more heat deeper in the covers. His hands gripped reflexively at Ron’s cotton t-shirt and his body flexed without his knowledge, pushing him closer to the young Weasley.

Ron awoke with a jolt. He’d been dreaming and it was one of those times when, on the verge of waking you desperately try for sleep and miss pitifully, your body convulsing against your will. He blinked open deep blue eyes that clashed terribly with the mess of red hair that was spread across the pillow. A pink tongue found rather full lips and massaged moisture into the dry cracks that had appeared on them overnight. Red eyelashes touched lightly freckled cheeks as he rubbed sleep from his eyes with one, also lightly freckled, hand.

Warmth flooded his body and tingled in every nerve as he moved, only to find that a weight had settled atop him. Looking down he saw the top of a very tussled black head. Harry. So then it was Harry’s arm slung about his waist and Harry’s leg slotted through his, linked at the ankles. Moreover, it was Harry’s face that rested against his chest, which he was now afraid to push out too fully while he was breathing in case it woke the sleeping boy. A soft sigh bushed over his side as Harry moved a little in his sleep. A contented sigh.

Ron was just about to lower his cheek to the top of Harry’s head when something jumped onto the bottom of their beds making him start and throw Harry off. The disgruntled boy woke with a loud, but slightly pillow-muffled, “Hugh? Wassat?”

Kreacher turned around to gaze maliciously at them. Then, in unspoken agreement, both Harry and Ron lifted their duvet covered feet and kicked Kreacher to the floor. He instantly launched into a stream of insults but, thankfully, ran to the door in record speeds, pulling it closed behind him with a crash.

Harry groaned and sank back down to the bed, “I hate ‘im,” he mumbled before diving under the covers and tugging on Ron’s sleeve, indicating that he should do the same. Ron stayed where he was. He was going to pull Kreacher apart at the joints, no - wait! He was going to poison him and watch him die slowly ….
… ’o… ’oncomingcoversshould …” Harry muttered and Ron peeked his face under the covers. Harry was curled up in a tight ball, smiling sleepily at him. The young Potter’s beautiful emerald eyes were closed over gently with drowsiness and his bangs were flopping into his eyes again. They coveree sce scar. Ron sighed.

“ … ‘sup?” Harry managed, using one finger to rub at the corner of his eye.

Ron shook his head, “Nothing. Just tired.” You liar, you. Well, blame it on being related to Fred and George, he thought.

“Something’s up,” Harry stated. Far too firmly for someone who was only half awake.

“Nothing’s up. Go back to sleep,” Ron rolled over and buried his face in the white pillow, exposing only a mop of tomato red, golden streaked hair, to the sun. Seconds later he felt Harry tug on his t-shirt and crawl up his back.

“What’s wrong? Is it ‘cause the holidays are ending?” Ron chanced a look over his shoulder at the exact moment Harry chose to yawn and expose white teeth and a clear view of his tonsils to his best friend, “Well?” he prompted, talking around the stretching of his mouth.

“Kinda’,” Ron mumbled then, giving up, he flopped onto his back, feeling his pyjama bottoms twisting around his legs as he did.

“Worried about school?” Harry put his head on the pillow beside Ron and stretched out so that his leg was practically at Ron’s waist.

“Nah .. Just stuff.”

Harry made a face at him, bright green coloured eyes sparkling back and sculpted lips pulling back in a motion that gifted him, almost, with a more believable scorn than Snape, “I got that much, daft git. What I meant was, is this ‘stuff’ to do with Hogwarts or is it something to do with me, you and Hermione?”

For a second all Ron could do was marvel at how annoyed he was that, on top of everything else, Harry seemed quite able to look right past all the gobbledegook and ridiculous mutterings Ron threw at him to the truth right at the heart of things. It was like having the fact that Harry was, ‘The-Boy-Who-Lived’ thrown back in his face and he hated it. “It’s nothing to do with Hogwarts,” he answered finally.

“So it’s me and Hermione?” Harry asked. Ron nodded sullenly. One of these days the upper hand would fall to him and once, just once, he’d be the one who said, ‘Is it because of this? Oh, come on. Of course it is!’

“You haven’t done anything,” Ron muttered unhappilwistwisting the sheet beneath him around one of his fingers. Harry looked mildly concerned.

“Then what is it?” Harry was his best friend in the world. Ron knew that. In the last few years, however, they’d had some problems. He and Harry had occasionally come to sniping at each other, sometimes not talking to each other for long periods of time and, despite the front that he showed Harry, Ron hated it. He hated not having his best friend (because let’s face it, some things you just can’t tell Hermione), he hated having to act like his best friend had suddenly turned into another version of Draco Malfoy. He hated … well he hated not being able to sit and talk to Harry or grin with him when Gryffindor won a match. It was the little things that really got to him.

“Just … look,” Ron started, turning onto his side and gesturing with his hand, both manoeuvres so that he didn’t have to look into those sparkling emerald eyes when he was giving his well rehearsed speech, “I don’t want there to be any arguments this year. I’ve just been thinking and we’ve both been bloody prats in the past not to mention we’ve ganged up on Hermione occasionally. My mum’s really been getting down to it with the whole, ‘There’s a war on you know?’ and it’s just kind of hit me that there is and I don’t want to loose you both because we decide that we’re not going to talk to each other. And well, that’s kind of it,” he finished, uncertainly and feeling like a bigger fool by the second. If it was possible to feel like a bigger anything while one is shrinking to three inches tall, that is.

Harry was silent and Ron chanced a look at his face. There was a huge split-your-face-in-half-grin plastered over his smooth skin and Ron couldn‘t help but smile shakily at him. Then Harry opened his mouth and … “Love you too, Ron.”

It took a few seconds to sink in. Then Ron shared Harry’s grin. That had been exactly what he’d been trying to say and, as always, he’d been failing miserably at it, “Cheers mate,” he went to give Harry a hug then pulled back, as if thinking better of it.

“Look,” Harry said at seeing Ron’s obvious discomfort, “We’ve all been through stuff that we didn’t have to go through and we’ve argued and hurt each other but I pretty much think we got the whole, ‘no more arguments, let’s be friends’ thing down last year. I know I was a great git for the start of it but … well I thought that we’d pretty much gotten things smoothed out, didn’t you?” Harry leaned his face down so that Ron would look at him properly, “No more arguments. No more stupid fights. Just the three of us together, right?” he punctuated the end with a hopeful but very cocky grin.

Ron couldn’t help but respond in kind, “Right.” Then Harry pulled him into a rib-popping hug that he fell into immediately. Whatever Gods decided to send him friends like Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, would be getting a nice big barrel of Blackcurrant Brandy from the Great Three Broomsticks in the sky, if they ever let Ron into heaven.

When Harry finally pulled back, with a yawn that Ron echoed in kind, he blinked and groped with one hand on the nightstand for his glasses, “We might as well see what’s for breakfast,” Harry moaned.

Ron nodded. He suddenly felt like he had an appetite. In fact, he could eat a whole Thestral if someone was of a mind to make one.

* * *

“Moony, what are you doing,” Sirius frowned at the werewolf across the kitchen table as he dipped his quill in the bottle of ink again. Remus just held a finger up to silence him before moving on to another line.

Sirius sipped on his third cup of tea sullenly. He had wanted to go back to bed but Remus wasn’t going to let him. He’d also stolen his jeans which, as Remus well knew, were his favourite pair. Sirius was tired, in danger of becoming very cranky and what was worse, it sounded like people were getting up.

For as long as Sirius Black could remember he had hated mornings. Mornings when he was a child had meant his father glaring at him over a teacup and ‘business associates’ coming and going, making snide remarks about how he would be just like his father when he grew up. When he went to Hogwarts years later mornings had meant James dragging him bodily out of bed for morning lessons (which he had tried to point out at the time was next to hopeless because he didn’t actually learn anything - his brain not having switched on yet- and he could just get it all from Remus’ notes later …) Mornings in Azkaban meant a bowl of slop and the occasional inspection, which would inevitably lead to a beating or two from someone. Mornings now were … becoming more pleasant but there was always Kreacher and the fact that he still had to make the bed occasionally.

This morning had been quite good actually. He’d woken up to find his best friend curled around him, Remus’ mouth touching the soft skin between his neck and his collar bone. Warmth surrounded him and his cheek had been pressed against Remus’ soft hair. He’d fallen asleep again but when he’d woken up Remus had been gone. Sirius had been briefly disappointed, then he’d realised that Remus had tucked the covers around him and there was a moist spot on his head that he was sure had come from a kiss.

Then Kreacher had come in and ruined it all.

Sirius was about to start grumbling again but Remus tapped the table gently, “I’m finished,” Sirius threw his arms in the air and mumbled ‘Hallelujah!’ before snatching the parchment from Remus’ hands.

“Let me see then,” he glanced over the parchment and then took in a tiny breath, “You mean all of this?” Remus nodded. The nod was certain, definite. Sirius read over the parchment again.

Mission Statement

Step One: Live through this war (and no more close shaves please, Padfoot? You’ve already shaved ten years of off my life that I can scarcely afford)

Step Two: Get a home (just me, you and a room for Harry because we’ve got an entire future ahead of us that we can spend together, watching over James’ boy the way we promised)

Step Three: Be happy (because after everything we’ve been through, I think that we deserve some time together, living a quiet life, don’t you?)

Step Four: Stay that way (it shouldn’t be too hard, should it?)

Sirius stared at the words for the longest time, he didn’t even look up when he heard Remus move his chair beside of him. He didn’t look up at the gentle squeeze on his shoulder, he couldn’t … “Are you all right, Siri’?” Remus’ concerned voice did break his reverie, however. He nodded, dazed, and felt for the quill, topping up the ink before scratching onto the bottom of the parchment;

Step Five: Get a dog (because a puppy makes a home and I’ve always wanted a black Labrador)

Remus took a second to skim the words before laughing softly. Sirius turned to him, intending to wrap him in a hug and thank him, but his breath hitched in his throat. Remus’ amber eyes danced in the sunlight slanting into the cavernous kitchen, little laughter lines cheering his usually passive face. His sculpted, soft lips were drawn back in a wide smile, those canines glinting again in the light. Tawny hair, now brushed back, was falling about his shoulders again, silver streaks glimmering like white hot midnight.

“Your beautiful,” Sirius murmured, stretching his hand out to finger one of the soft locks tumbling about his smooth skinned face.

A blush touched Remus’ porcelain like cheeks, “So you keep saying,” he mumbled as twinkling amber eyes slipped downcast, focusing on his lap.

“Well you are,” Sirius inched forwards, tilted the werewolf’s face up and locked his ice blue eyes, cold as the frostiest winter yet filled with the warmth of a thousand hearts, onto Remus’, binding him still.

“Your t-tired, Siri’,” Remus’ eyelashes came down on his cheeks for a second and something jumped inside of Sirius, “You c-can go back to bed now, if y-you want to.”

“Now why would I want to do that?” Sirius’ voice had dropped a notch, now it was husky and smooth, like the caress of the last summer breeze’ before the seasons move and autumn takes over. Sirius had always thought that Remus was like autumn. His hair the tawny colour of the animals fur, his eyes the colour of falling leaves. In a way Sirius had always been the winter after Remus’ autumn, his eyes the colour of a frozen lake, the flecks of cold white laying across the clear blue like the first flecks of snow on the ice, the black of his hair and smoke like caress of his voice like the burning coal, warming that cold night.

Sirius shook his head. Here he was waxing poetical while he tilted Remus Lupin’s beautiful face towards him. In that moment he decided, quite finally, that he had missed enough opportunities in his life. Wasn’t that the point of Remus’ ‘Mission Statement’? To move forward? Well Sirius chose to take that quite literally and started to lean forwards, keeping Remus’ chin firmly in his grasp.

Remus’ breath quickened suddenly, Sirius knew just how he felt, but a second before their lips touched - - “Harry! Ron! G-Good morning,” Remus stared past him to the door then sat up straight, darting from Sirius’ grasp. His expression was flushed as he jumped from the chair, “I haven’t even started breakfast, I’ll get it on right now …”

Sirius made a frustrated noise and slouched in the chair, throwing Harry a ‘Why Me?’ look before burying his face in his hands, scratching absentmindedly at the stubble on his jaw line.

One of these days …