Author: shyangell & MorningDawn
DISCLAIMER: All the fictional characters appearing in this fanfiction story are not mine, they're J.K. Rowling's; and they are being used with the only purpose of personal entertainment.
This story has been FINALLY revised. THIS CHAPTER IS NEWLY BETAED.
CHAPTER 1
Sirius Black trough Remus Lupin's eyes: of midnight, vampires and frosty logs.
Sometimes I sit up late with my thoughts, reluctant to fall asleep and leave my thoughts alone by themselves. (Robert Brault)
He didn't fit in at all in the beginning. Sirius Black wasn't cut to be one more amongst commoners, at least not at first. Later, he still wasn't sure he was meant to, but there were a lot more of arguments in favour of that. But this was now and that was then, and the difference was noticeable. He was too stiff, too cold… too different.
There was not a single person living and breathing inside of Hogwarts, and some outside of it, who didn't wonder what on earth had the Sorting Hat been thinking when he put Sirius Black in Gryffindor. His parents really didn't count because they didn't wonder, they weren't that sort of people, they were directly and loudly outraged. It was not that they, and by 'they' he meant Sirius' schoolmates, considered it impossible that deep down he had the qualities that made a Gryffindor well... a Gryffindor. They never really got that far. It was more that he didn't look like one in the least, didn't act like one at all. He wasn't comfortable around his housemates, and they weren't comfortable with him anywhere near, thank-you-very-much.
But after a few months, and a few choice words with older students, Sirius slowly started to fit in. Not exactly fit in, but he was there, and like an ingrown toenail, you had to live with it. It was neither instantaneous nor miraculous, but after the initial shock wore off, people were willing to ignore a lot of things. Sirius' deeply ingrained social skills kicked in and trough a prodigious work of observation and symbiosis Sirius started to belong to the tightly wound microcosms that was Gryffindor Tower.
And Remus thought it was fair of him to call a note on his social skills, even when Sirius was not a people-person. Because that's exactly what they were. Sirius could, he could when he was only eleven, easily deduce the rules that coalesced any given community and what he needed to do to be seen any given way he wanted. It didn't mean he chose to appear nice. Most of the time he acted like couldn't care less, or so he pretended. You could guess it was an honour to be allowed to know that Sirius did have a softer side.
Some things Sirius changed altogether from his persona. Some others he couldn't, or wouldn't change. Those were fortunately few enough and came out sparingly and could mostly be easily ignored. Remus guessed he wasn't the only one that forgot he had them, sometimes.
The thing was that sometimes, Sirius forgot too. And just like right now, one of the guys would suddenly notice them and realize how glaringly obvious it all was after all. You could cast back and notice how this annoying, posh, disturbingly plain weird little habit was there all along. Right under your nose.
It invariably led to obscenely long episodes of uninterrupted hilarity and teasing for a while. Sirius of course pretended to be impervious to it, which was reason enough to make him James' preferred target for jokes far beyond the time he should have been tired of it.
Remus Lupin was an early riser. He woke up at the crack of dawn, he washed, he dressed and he hurried along like the good student he was. Every damn day. He had his wits fairly about him, didn't seem particularly reluctant to go to classes. You could have said that he was up earlier than anybody else. Anybody else but Sirius, that is.
Classes starting at nine o'clock, he would wake up at half past seven, muster the strength to turn off his alarm clock and go have a hurried freezing cold shower. He hardly enjoyed them, but the lukewarm water always seemed cold that early.
At that ungodly hour in the morning, the dormitory was always quiet. Not literally quiet you see, as Fabian Prewett snored at the top of his lungs, and Peter Pettigrew muttered incoherencies in his sleep. James, who could never wake up earlier than eight o'clock (and even then it was with supreme effort and much whining and flailing) slept buried under an incredibly tangled pile of blankets.
No matter what, Sirius would already be up and about, cheery and ready to go get the trouble the day brought in. Often enough thinking of ways of spurring mayhem to alleviate boredom. Sometimes he was even down in the common room feeding that demon-she-cat of his. Or finishing whatever homework for the day he had accidentally on purpose forgotten to do in a hurry. He mostly waited for the rest to awaken.
Of course Sirius was never a patient man in any circumstance. Once the cat was fed, the homework done to passable standards and Remus was completely dressed, Sirius had usually reached the end of his tether. Remus had lost count of how many times Sirius had walked purposefully out of the bathroom and emptied a glass full of freezing cold water on James' head, as a friendly wake-up call. By then James and Sirius were the best of friends, of course, but Remus doubted Sirius would have been deterred otherwise. James would scream like a banshee every time, and Sirius looked invariably satisfied.
And when, after seven years of seeing Sirius smirk first thing in the morning like clockwork, Remus woke up one day to find Sirius still in bed he couldn't believe his eyes. Of course he didn't, it was the wise thing to do. Otherwise he'd trick you out of your socks that one. He knew he shouldn't be all that surprised because when he'd left Sirius with his Herbology homework it was more than late, and his friend still had work for a while. And please suspend your disbelief but Sirius did hate Herbology with a passion. Apparently it as far too dirty a subject for him, or something of the likes.
He peeked, as the curtains hadn't been properly closed, just to check that he was truly sleeping. He could be dead for all he knew, he told himself.
He couldn't put his finger on exactly why, but it felt incredibly stalker-ish, like he was invading Sirius' privacy. Which was bullshit because Sirius wouldn't have thought twice about doing that to him. But Sirius was always the last to go to bed, and the first one to rise. It was always like that, fact of life, so it was logical he checked.
Sirius was odd. But he was okay, still breathing.
Seeing Sirius go to sleep was freaky enough. He'd never gotten to see Sirius actually sleep before now. Sirius lounged and laid himself out in haphazard fashion on the common room armchairs, his limbs strewn in elegant and suitably dramatic angles. Sirius was all casually devastating poses and fluidity of motion. Sirius was energy and irrepressible movement, constant purpose of action. Sirius was always doing something or other, larger than life and more animated than anyone else Remus knew. He would've thought that he would be like that always. That he'd sleep with his limbs strewn all over his bed, occupying the maximum space available, with his characteristic lack of self-consciousness and provably look good while doing so.
It turns out Sirius wasn't quite like that either. He was neither casual nor looked particularly at ease in his own bed. He slept laid on his back, perfectly straight, like he'd arranged his limbs with a ruler. He was perfectly still. He looked a bit dead, or at least unconscious. Remus always had the feeling that he was looking at someone in a coffin, or even worse, one of those incredibly bad vampire movies because you could see the actor breathing, and vampires were not supposed to be alive.
Sirius once pointed out that it would be more correct to say deathbed, because in the case he was a vampire Remus would have known for sure. It had the desired effect of driving Remus off in a huff, indignant and outraged because the joke had turned out to be at his expense and he really didn't like being remembered of his lycanthropy. James of course laughed his head off instead, and proclaimed that they better stay clear of Sirius just in case the Mummy's curse was contagious.
That was a while ago, when they'd been young, or younger at any rate, and Peter had woken up at four o'clock in the morning because he needed to pee so badly, and had stumbled in the dark straight into Sirius' curtains instead of the door. They were in second year, and Peter had been the only one to see Sirius in bed until then. Peter had mimicked Sirius lying ramrod straight for weeks just to amuse James, which showed the reason he was a Gryffindor. He was at least a little brave.
They didn't understand how he used to do it then, and they most definitely didn't understand it now. They did ask, of course they did but between jokes none of them mustered the courage to ask 'Actually why are you so damn weird even in your sleep, Sirius?'. Sirius' withering look could burn a hole through your skull in less time it took McGonagall to take away House points. Even so Remus thinks he remembers a lame-ass excuse to do with some creature.
Sirius tried to imitate the others in that like in everything else, to a degree. He observed them like a hawk for a while, his grey eyes focused and piercing, scrutinizing. It was quite amusing to see him try and find a posture comfortable enough for without succeeding. He'd had bags under his eyes. After while he was sleeping mummified again. Which was fine, really.
There was also a time in which they thought that Sirius would be forced to sleep like normal people do. They were disabused of that soon enough, but imagining it had been challenging.
Sirius had always been incredibly tall for his age. Some absentminded people often mistook him for a boy two or three years older easily. He was easily a head span taller than any other boy in their year, and towered over professor Flitwick.
Remus had been almost able to swim in the king-sized beds of Hogwarts. Sirius already touched the bed's foot by fourth year. In fifth year to his roommates' horror he slept still perfectly straight, and his feet dangled off the bed quite listlessly. When he started to complain about cold feet, Remus sent him to McGonagall. Not that Sirius listened at first, but he threatened to stop letting him copy his History of Magic essays, he gave in.
A very shocked Professor MacGonagall verified that Sirius was truly in need of a longer bed, and of course James input in the matter was that worry not she certainly had no need for to make it any wider. That way, one of the bigger beds available for older students in the same situation ended up in their bedroom.
Now, with his impressive six foot five inches and a half, he still slept in the same fashion he did as an eleven-year-old kid. But he looked relaxed, and almost younger.
Remus couldn't help wondering, his back aching with the proximity of the full moon, how on earth was his friend able to sleep so still without everything hurting. He guessed some things just didn't go away. And whatever education Sirius received marked him deeply and thoroughly. And when unconscious he was both the most vulnerable and the most defensive.
Sirius was an insomniac and had nightmares, not unlike himself. His churning mind and unspoken night terrors kept him up when the world was asleep. He never accused it, and seemed to be even more active come morning. He surrounded himself with activity. Remus, now wiser, was of the opinion that Sirius was afraid to be left alone with the incessant obsessive thoughts in his mind. Sirius was always obsessive, even about not obsessing.
He maintained an erratic bedtime and was annoyingly active at one a.m. when he should have been dead on his feet. He himself held his horrible family accountable for that, of course. But it was very difficult to feel sorry for Sirius; he always made to be certain you wouldn't. They were so cold from what Remus could see, he was sure that you could get frostbite just for being in the same room with them.
And he was certain sleeping beside Sirius should feel like sleeping beside a particularly unwieldy and frosty log. But as he watched James complete his nightly fight with his bed's blankets, he decided Sirius would make ten thousand times a better sleeping partner for whichever lucky witch he ended up with than poor James. At least, he thought with a wry smile, you could cuddle against him without risk of being kicked, permanently maimed, or getting at the very least, a black eye.
