Familiarity

Familiarity

It was precisely half past two o'clock in the morning. Though it was hard from where he sat upon the staircase to distinguish the hands of the enchanted clock in the waning moonlight streaming in through the foyer's windows. If the time was in fact correct, it had been over two days since leaving Lupin's and nearly three hours since Dumbledore had left Sirius alone amongst the cobwebs and shrill shrieks of his mother's portrait. (Thankfully the woman had gone hoarse after spewing nonstop prejudice which namely concerned, but was certainly not limited to, the profane fornication between blood traitors and werewolves.) Though the Order had already staked their claim on number twelve, Grimmauld Place as their official and unplottable base of operations, the members had yet to establish themselves as a physical force within the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. However, Sirius reminded himself with a half-hearted grin, in a few hours several members of the reestablished Order would be arriving to assist him in giving the antique house a proper scrubbing down.

Only three hours and already there was a chilling dread writhing mirthlessly inside him. The inevitable prospect that there would be countless more nights alone had begun to wear away at his fractured soul. While the rest of the Order, including Remus, would be out in the wizarding world protecting Harry, his godson, he would remain caged in his family's house with Kreacher as his only companion.

Sirius shivered at the thought, anxiously shifting his weight. He moved to sit on a lower step so that his feet were resting comfortably against the dusty floor. Legs bent at the knees, he pressed his elbows against the filthy robes he had borrowed from Remus covering his thighs. A creak of decrepit and rotting wood, the thick plank protesting loudly to being bowed against its will for the first time in over a decade, echoed his every movement with deafening precision. The reverberating sound brought his attention back to the fact he was completely alone in the dark, mausoleum like house he refused to call his own home ever since stepping foot inside Hogwarts.

Cradled in his callused fingers was what appeared to be a moth-eaten ball of two intertwined tube socks. Both pieces of clothing looked to be encrusted with layers of dust from where they had been discarded in the recesses of Sirius' old room. A tiny puff of dust emitted from the fabric each time Sirius tossed it from one hand to the other. The moldy fabric had a strangely heavy weight to it for a pair of socks, as well as a surprisingly pleasant, sharp tangy scent lingering about them.

From the depths of his robe's pocket, Sirius withdrew a battered wand and poked the tip of it at the balled up socks. Murmuring something under his breath, the beginnings of a long forgotten mischievous glint resurfaced in Sirius' gray eyes. He watched as the clothing trembled for a moment before liquefying in his hands. Cold silvery liquid quickly solidified, reshaping itself until it modeled an archaic looking vial with a glass stopper securely corking the substance. Within the bulb of the bottle the concealed amber liquid swirled about as it took form, the scent already pouring from the tiny gap between the bottle's neck and the stopper.

The container was rounded at the bottom where it melded with the thick glass stem and sturdy base. However, the body of the vial was of a sleek obsidian make. Flawless black stone curved elegantly to the glass banded neck of the bottle. Thin ribbons of melted gold had been poured over the obsidian, crisscrossing, overlapping and intersecting in an elaborate design. Beautiful golden threads were woven across the entire body of the posh cologne bottle. The pad of his thumb methodically began to trace over the pattern, feeling the cool surface against his rough flesh. A genuine smile, the first since the row he and Remus had had a couple of days ago, spread over his lips.

Somewhere in the back of his mind Sirius knew that he had forgotten the vial at Grimmauld Place in his blind furry as he ran off to the Potters' house for the remainder of his adolescences. He distinctly remembered transfiguring the muggle-made cologne to resemble a pair of old socks on the Hogwarts Express back home after his fourth year. The tricky little spell of transfiguring an object containing a liquid was one little Peter Pettigrew had managed to master thanks to McGonagall's constant nagging that the young wizard aught to stretch himself in one of his better subjects. Transfiguring the item had ensured that Sirius' pure-blood, muggle-loathing parents would never touch the cologne. Of course, that had been half the fun, having such contraband right beneath his parents' haughty noses. Plus, the small fact that one Remus Lupin always seemed to stand a little bit closer, hold on a little bit longer and touch him just a little bit more whenever he wore the cologne, did not hurt.

Distracted rather easily by the intoxicatingly familiar scent leaking from the vial and the bittersweet memories accompanying it, Sirius was caught off guard by the harsh whine of rusted hinges. His pulse sped up for a moment before a flood of warm relief began to course through his veins, managing to chase away the unbidden chill that had settled in the pit of his stomach.

The front door of Grimmauld Place creaked open with a cautious push, revealing Lupin's lithe frame wrapped in his shabby robes. Lowering his illuminated wand, Lupin moved to close the door behind him. His eyes never left the space where Sirius sat veiled in darkness. Torn between turning away from the wholly sinister house and smothering the sulking man in his arms, Remus took a tentative step towards the dark figure on the staircase. His lips parted, a short breath caught in his throat before he closed it again. Lupin found himself at a complete loss. The small misguided light inside Remus, the one that had had him foolishly believing for the past month that maybe the world would stay the way it was, finally leave them be, guttered and went out.

There was a war upon them; everything would finally come to fruition.

Even in the shadows, Sirius' eyes locked onto the intensified color of glinting amber rimming the wizard's pupils, a lingering characteristic from the werewolf. Pale moonlight flitted over Remus' tired face as he stepped closer, revealing thin cuts still on the mend; the dim light turning the scratches a faint, silver hue. Self-conscious remorse was carved into the prematurely aged face of his friend as Lupin hesitated for a moment before finding his resolve. Soundlessly, the wizard crossed the room and settled beside Sirius on the opposite side of the step. The space between them, in actuality the distance was only inches, but to the two men it felt for all the world like a million miles.

A palpable silence hung in the air, so thick with the unresolved tension it felt nearly tangible. It was obvious in the awkward way Remus had folded his hands too tightly in his lap so that his knuckles were turning white, that he was unsure what ground he stood on with Sirius.

The two had gotten into a rather heated argument the evening before the full moon, after Dumbledore had floo'd Lupin's residence to call Sirius back without disclosing his motives. A stupid row, really, nothing but a manifestation of the lingering fears and doubts both men still harbored. The issue inflamed to the breaking point when Sirius was called away after spending little over a month with the werewolf in a strange twist of domestic bliss. But, it had been apparent that Lupin's fear of losing Sirius again, as well as his 'furry little problem' scheduled that night, had sparked the werewolf's foul disposition that morning; leaving no room for error on Sirius' behalf. No one in their right mind would get so worked up over a spoonful too much honey in their tea.

And, of course, despite everything, hot-headed and impulsive as ever, Sirius allowed his emotions to get the better of him and had left Lupin's still raw.

"Sirius..." Remus whispered; the single word infused with so many different levels of conflicting emotions it seemed impossible to label them all in Sirius' sleep deprived state of mind. Rising to the surface, above the odd jumble was a pulsing undercurrent of regret and a request for forgiveness from his mate. Remus turned towards Sirius, his strategically planned words dieing in his throat as he felt his knee knocked gently against the other man's. Sirius didn't move away. Feeling a little more confident, but keeping his gaze downcast, the werewolf glanced to where the wizard was holding an oddly familiar vial. He shifted closer, their thighs and shoulders pressed flush against one another as he strained to see the black bottle in the darkness.

"You remember this, Moony?" A small grin lit up Black's face as he flippantly showed Lupin the bottle. Instantly, Remus felt a flicker of charged energy surge through his body, setting his every last nerve ending on fire as the scent overpowered his heightened senses.

Remus' head tipped back slowly as if in a daze, eyes falling shut. Rush of happy memories mingled with his present, a hesitant brush of fingertips skidding over the slope of his scratched jaw, the illusive ghosting of heated breath licking at his lips. As he pressed closer, the warmth of Sirius' body seeped through the layers of clothing, making Remus' skin sear with the raw intensity of it. The little 'oh' that slipped from Lupin's mouth only caused Sirius' smile to widen.

"Sirius." As he spoke his lips just barely brushed against Sirius' warm and all too inviting mouth. The rigid demeanor that had been contorting Lupin's naturally fluid grace drained from his body as he leaned into the kiss. His arms wrapped tightly around Sirius' neck. Fingers thread through the long strands of black hair, he pulled Sirius impossibly closer to fuse them together. It was a languid caress of pent up tension, released in a slow burn. Behind him there was a quiet chink of glass as Sirius placed the vial on a step above them, just out of reach to protect it from being smashed. "I-I," Remus murmured unintelligibly between kisses, shaking his head in a last ditch attempt to dishevel his lost words.

"No, Remus," Sirius instructed, silencing Lupin's babbling by pressing a finger to his lips. The rough skin traced over the wet flesh before Sirius caught the lower lips between his teeth. Beneath the cacophony of his own pulse pounding in his ears, Remus heard the rush of air and felt the sudden weight as Sirius straddled his lap. Disregarding the discomfort of the hard edge of a stair digging into his shoulder blades, Lupin's entire body responded to the sudden pressure with thin hips twitching. A breathy yelp escaped the usually composed wizard as their hips matched up with a slow grind. "J-just," the words dissolved into a low moan in the back of his throat as all the blood seemed to rush down from his head. Strained muscles tensed and relaxed as Sirius nipped gently at Remus' lips, always taking his time to sooth over the same spot with the flat of his tongue. "Just give me this." His hands anxiously tugged open Remus' robes, slipping beneath the untucked hem of a collared shirt to caress the scarred skin hidden beneath. "Something familiar."

Maybe if his shut his eyes real tight, breathed deep and focused on the beauty of the familiar body beneath him everything else would melt away and he would be whole and young again, well, maybe.

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