Lascivious Linen

A/N: I adore vampires and their abilities to look into peoples' souls…

I apologize for the grammatical and format errors.

If we missed any they will be fixed soon! Thanks!

Drip. Drip. Drip… rhythmically, it was hypnotic. The drip, drip, drip sound of water upon cold, darkened rock made no one turn to see what exactly created the sound. A fountain—an above ground fountain—had finally snuck its way down, slyly, to corrode more rock instead of keeping to itself and the warm ground up above them all. It was the water that had created the small crevice that only the unluckiest got to sleep in.

And it was an unlucky Remus Lupin who sat, crammed in the cave. He didn't like the metallic taste of the water, but he was not going to drink from any of the sedative-induced jugs that Greyback handed out at every feast. Hell, he didn't even want to know what they served as "food" for Merlin's legendary sake.

Footsteps, upon footsteps, upon never-ending footsteps—how long had it been, he wondered lamely. He had seated himself here, now his pants were soaked, his moth-eaten shirt was strict against his chest from sweat… cold sweat, dammit. He was sick… again. He couldn't believe this. What was it about wounds that just attracted the sweet, forgiving kindness of sickness?

He coughed again into his fisted right hand.

Anger crinkled his eyes.

His body ached from being stuffed into the tightest space in all the camp.

More footsteps, he didn't look up to guess who it could be. Everyone was hooded unless they didn't have direct line to Greyback. No, he corrected himself, I'm calling him Gaybeard for all the shit he's put me through. He had never been spiteful, but the wet stench of fur had grown too sour, his feet had never been colder, he had never had the pain of arthritis in his hands, but now that he was so fucking wet he couldn't help but try not to move. And. It. Pissed. Him. The. Fuck. Off.

He hated it. Here. Greyback—no, Gaybeard. Everyone around him. He hated all of it. He was going to break soon enough, and whether torture by his fellow savage werewolves or death would be there at the very end of it to greet him… he could give a damn less.

Wounds… as a matter of fact, he was wounded. Getting in a scrape with Death Eater werewolves—excluding Gaybeard of all things—was not the wisest decision he had ever made. In fact, it was thanks to the both of those asses that he now had to put up with a common cold, three broken ribs, and the rest of the cuts on his body—caused by him, of course, and…

Hell, it could be worse, but the bruise over his left eye hurt like a son of a bitch, and he refused to move top get help—even as he butt had just started to wake up. So… how long had it been? A few days, a week even? Tonks had been… happy. There, he admitted it. She had been happy to see him, and he couldn't do anything about the drop he felt in his stomach then and there the moment he had seen her face.

Why did you leave us alone, Xavier?

The next time he saw that skinny bastard he would curse him to hell in a hand-basket and back.

He shouldn't have left us alone, that was part of the deal, Remus reminded himself. So what exactly was it that made him wander off deeper into the woods? Away from us, he added. Damn, he hated assuming things, but he did it allthe damn time. The worst comes before anything, he had grown up learning that, and now that it had been hammered into his skull, he went along with everything by his own moral. The worst is always first before everything. He was screaming—at himself, So be trained to take it that way, you coward! Why did you do that?! He couldn't help but punish himself.

Yeah, punish himself.

238 cuts on his lean, upper arms, 564 on his legs altogether, and then some—about 179—on the bottoms of his feet, the majority going to what he could reach of his back, and the remaining palms of his hands… at the end of it all, he couldn't even hold onto the knife, so it ended up being 179 instead of 180… too weak, he had lost too much blood, too much willpower, and definitely way too much of his common sense to continue.

He was a dead man if he ever returned to the Order…

Death by enraged woman…

It sounded so inviting… not.

And when Tonks saw him—"Remus." Yeah, yeah, he'd get to whoever stood there calling his name later, but right now, if Tonks could see him in this state—"Remus?" Not now, he waved his hand at the person insisting that he answer. If Tonks could see him right now, she would be—"Remus!"

He jumped suddenly. "Hmm?" And it was then he allowed himself the painful motion of opening his eyes. His vision was blurred. Being a werewolf was no help, for he couldn't even see a foot in front of himself. Who turned out the lights?

"No one turned out the lights, Remus. Wake up. It's nighttime. They're gathering everyone in the Cavern. Come on, before Gaybeard sends one of his cronies to fetch me. C'mon." The suave voice of a woman helped him up. He opened his eyes to the peppered grey, blue slate of the woman's eyes.

"I don't need help, Lee. Just leave me here. No," he groaned.

"Stop being a big baby about it! Come on—" His sleeve slipped higher and higher along his left arm, and just as both her hands struggled to keep him upright, her highest hand gripped the first few ranks of cuts along his arm. When he wailed at the contact, she looked down. "What the hell did you do?!" Basically, she dropped him to the ground. That would be a bruise to his ass for a week. Now how the hell am I supposed to lay down? He wondered silently, fuming at the agonizing pain.

Grimacing, the woman above him asked—more demanded—for an answer. "Well… What did you do?"

"Nothing…"

"Remus, you dumbass, that isn't nothing. Do you have anymore?"

—xliii—

It was an hour after the meeting, and Remus stood almost naked in front of Lee. "I wasn't planning to tell anyone."

"You didn't tell me," Lee paused, "I found out, genius. It's your fault. If you didn't want me to find out, you would have gotten up in the first place."

"I can't move."

"I noticed." Lee put emphasis on the word just as she poked him sharply in the back where a deep cut weaved from the base of his shoulder blade, diagonally up to the very end of his shoulder. "How in the hell?" she asked as he sucked in a sharp breath.

"Just don't touch them, dammit." He cursed her wet fingers. The water—the moisture—it made his very skin burn, crawl in agony. And he hated this place. Yeah, so, it was his own fault for being in pain in the first place, but that wasn't the point. He shuddered at Lee's touch. She was trying to be gentle, but it wasn't helping at all. The salt of the water Greyback—Gaybeard, he insisted—gave them was everywhere, spread along the walls of the cave only because it deadened the need for blood and prevented everyone from killing each other.

"I can if I want," she insisted. She traced a few stray ones in the very middle of his back with her fingernail. Leading her right index finger over his tightened skin, she listened to his breathing… soothing breathing.

"Lee."

"What?"

"The water on your hands burns," he stated blankly.

"Oh…" she jerked her hand away from his back as if he had burned her. All the while, Remus stiffly made to turn around. The cuts on his feet, however, prevented the simple movement and he buckled there in front of her… or more so, on her. They were a mess on the uncomfortable rocky floor, Remus above her, with a breathless, strangled Lee below. She looked up at Remus, flushing Remus.

"Sorry—"

"I—"

They both tried speaking at the same time… and that just wouldn't work. Remus looked down at their close bodies, trying to assess how he should go with the situation. Slowly, he let his head rise, and—before he could even catch the sight of Lee's darkened brown hair framing her face—his lips were being crushed.

And Lee had no clue what had overcome her. Suddenly she was… kissing Remus, Remus' soft lips, she took it all in.

That was the one thing that could make Remus move very quickly even if he had been cut to shreds. His breathing was ragged and tight as he turned away from her, his pushed up, ripped up pants' legs were askew everywhere, and his hair was a complete disaster. But all the while, Lee laid there on the cold ground struck. She didn't move so much as a muscle.

Great, now what had he done?

—xliv—

"What have I done?" His hair was a tangled mess, his breathing erratic. What had he done? He didn't understand. Nothing made sense anymore. His head pounded. The world was a spinning chaos that he didn't care to assess. What was more, the silhouette in front of him was no more forgiving than himself.

"You understand that everyone you love, care about, met, have spoken to will be terminated?"

That cold voice, it brought an unwelcome chill up his spine. "Yes," he croaked. They had weakened him. Terminated? Everyone he knew would be terminated? Killed, is that what he means, he wondered. But, yes, he understood. They had weakened him so he would give in. His face was anything but healthy. Sallow skin, hollowed eyes. The only things of him that glowed anymore were his hopeless eyes and his pallid skin.

His hair definitely was a tangled mess and the hand that was tangled in it wasn't moving. He would sooner let his arm fall asleep than yank his head off his shoulders. He was sure he wouldn't mind either right now… the pain.

Everyone he loved… everyone and anyone that cared about him. He couldn't understand that. He wanted to be alone in the first place but now… no one would even know he existed… no one…

"You'll be just another face in the crowd that no one could give a shit less about." The robotic, metallic voice filled his mind.

"It doesn't matter anymore. I don't care. I don't care if they know. I didn't kill anyone. It wasn't—"

"You're a monster. You understand that. You kill people for a living. You must live with it yourself. And in turn, those who care about you shall be terminated so you can't hurt them."

But they will hurt me for not being here for me, he knew that much. They wouldn't be killed, though they would be pretty much dead to him after he was freed from this hell. No one would be there. He wouldn't be able to talk to anyone for fear they be killed, or taken away, or whatever these moronic insane homicide maniacs were going to do with them.

"We harvest souls who are infected," the figure explained, swaying a little.

Infected? Nothing made sense. Why was his head swimming. The room wasn't moving at all, but his head was swimming? "Infected," he wondered aloud. "You mean like vampires or something?" he asked drunkenly. What the hell had they done to him? He was still perched on the edge of the chair, alert and ready, but his back was bent lazily, and his voice was weakened and scratchy. Malnourished, that's it, he was malnourished. Dehydrated, starved, practically not sane anymore, did he have to keep adding to the list?

"Humans who are touched by our kind."

Elaborate some more, please, he said silently. No words escaped his mouth. He didn't need to hear anymore.

"And just what—" No chance to finish that question. He was interrupted.

"As a vampire you are, one, never to tell a human of your being a vampire. Two, if you come in contact with a human, speak to them or anything, you must turn them at some point in time immediately," the stern voice insisted, "after coming in contact with them. You shall be discreet in this act as well."

"Yes, yes. I know the ten blood rules. My parents had them taught to me centuries ago. I want my question answered—"

He was spat insincerely at, "If you know them so well, you filthy disgrace, then you will do well to follow them."

"I need no instruction from you."

"Explain then," pausing on the brink of disaster, it was unbearable, "why your little human toy was taken away from you."

Coraline, beautiful Coraline, her darkened wavy hair was still tickling his face. Wonderful Coraline, the only person in the world that could make him laugh. That had been fifty years—her sky blue eyes were vibrant against his own, imperial purple pair. That was what he didn't understand. How could her eyes shine so brightly when she had lost everything in the world? He couldn't possibly have made her that happy and still…

No, she would murder him if she could get half the chance. Her bloodied body was still fresh in his mind. Being so long ago, the human whiskeys and alcohols could drain him of enough consciousness to forget about everything, her eyeless face, open-mouthed, bloody expression, the shredded, practically chocolate locks around her body that had once belonged solely to his hands. How he had loved to stroke her hair, how beautiful, soft, he would never have to chance to touch her again.

Her blouse had been ripped apart, and the gaping hole in her chest… her heart had been torn to pieces as well… but it wasn't there. It wasn't there. It was no longer for him, it wasn't his, it had been taken, stolen just as her life. And he didn't understand it, with her bloodied hair there in his hands as he openly wept on his knees. He had never expected to find her that broken on his bed.

But he swore upon her soul that he would get his revenge… and searching for it… had landed him here.

"She was mine," he snarled.

"And now she belongs to us. We have her heart, you know. We've had it ever since."

And even though all those—everyone of his tears couldn't fix her, his love for her wouldn't make her come back, that was when he learned he didn't deserve anyone or anything. "So now she belongs to me," Malcolm's glowing yellow eyes and bright-toothed smile made him jump. He clawed his way out of his mind, and everything was left alone.

God, he just wanted to end… everything.

—xlv—

He hated dreams. Goddamn it, he hated dreams. He hated fucking dreams. Hated, despised, no, no, no more dreams. He hated the mother fuckers. It was Malcolm's bright eyes and stretched frown he woke up to. Malcolm's clawing hands fighting his own. Malcolm's shouts challenging his own, croaking roars. Dreams, horrible, fucking nightmares and memories that hellishly wouldn't stop bothering him, he hated them all.

"Coral, Coraline!" His screeches escalated until Malcolm was forced to cover the vampire's mouth with his hand. Blood welled as Xavier bit into his hand panicking.

"Ugh!" It wasn't a sound of disgusted but of pain as Malcolm tried not to jerk from the sharp pain. Xavier's breath was hot against his palm as he calmed very slowly.

"Malcolm?"

"You were dreaming of Coral." Malcolm asked. It hadn't be a question, more of a question to sit down as Xavier sat up.

"They took her away from me. You took her away." His voice was haunted as he blankly looked down at his hands.

Softly, "What?" Malcolm had to be gentle when it came to Xavier and the vampire's Coraline. It was a touchy subject that even he had yet to get the full story on. "Xavier."

"Malcolm."

"What do you mean…"

"They took Coraline. And you were there. You were the one executing me."

"At the compound," Malcolm simplified. Xavier silently nodded. "Hey," Malcolm focused on Xavier's worrying hands.

"Hi." His eyes darkened as he silently leaned forward. He jerked Malcolm down suddenly, and before Malcolm could even register what was happened, his body exploded. Xavier's teeth dug into his flesh. He could smell his own blood running down, around his shoulder, and Xavier's teeth only dug deeper. He wasn't, however, released into the reprieve of unconsciousness.

His heart sped up with Xavier's breathing as he bit down even harder. "Mmm," he groaned. His body fell completely limp, and he muttered, "I didn't take Coraline… she took herself." It was then he fell into unconsciousness as Xavier licked the blood off his shoulder, and pondered what exactly Malcolm meant as he let his fingers tangle and grasp the werewolf's scalp. Soon Malcolm fell to unconsciousness, his head in the vampire's lap while Xavier thought and finally smiled.

—xlvi—

Leaves crackling beneath his feet. Where was he? The moon was shining above his head brightly. Wasn't he here just a few days ago?

"Hey, Xavier," he heard Tonks' voice in his head. Malcolm didn't understand… what…

"Yeah?"

"I'm going on Ministry call. I'll be safe there, so don't worry. I'll be back probably around two tonight."

"Tomorrow morning, you mean."

"Yeah," Tonks corrected herself nervously, "Yeah. Later. Bye!" She hurried out of the house and out of the vampire's thoughts.

So now their little vampire friend was here… but why? He was here… a few days ago… so why was Xavier… Here for just what exactly, his mind questioned him guiltily. He didn't want to answer it, but it came immediately with the clearing of trees around him, and the leaves leaving his feet to be replaced by soft grass. Why did Xavier want him here, of all places? He was guilty enough as it was…

"Malcolm." It was his name, yeah, but Xavier could only slowly, agonizingly slowly turn toward the sight of the two entangled bodies. Malcolm was… He paled at the sight slightly.

No.

Xavier knew… Dammit.

He had been a bad werewolf. He laid there, silently on the ground, attacking Tonks' neck in the moonlight, his tongue tracing numerous patterns as her breath caught and sped all at once. Her hands intertwined in his hair, and she kissed his forehead, the point of his nose, and finally their lips messed once he had raised his head fully to her. His eyes shimmered in the darkness, as Tonks kept her own closed to enjoy the sweetness of the moment.

He hands ran up along her sides, down, rhythmically, over and over. His shirt had been tossed to the ground, residing now beneath his head instead of clinging to his body. Tonks had replaced his shirt quite skillfully.

"You're going to be cold." Xavier had heard their whole conversation? Great! That was perfect. He remembered the sensation of Tonks pressing closer, kissing him harder. And they had had an audience that consisted of Xavier of all people. It was their breathing floating away in the darkness, their smothering kisses blotting out the stars above them, and Malcolm hadn't even bothered with looking around. Xavier was exceptionally good at being quiet, that bastard.

Tonks' shirt, he remembered, had been close to being unbuttoned… why did she insist on bringing him here? On getting him to do that? To get back at Remus? Comfort, maybe, she needed comfort. He felt like a puppy that was trying to learn a new trick and had succeeded in nothing.

"You're going to be cold." Why was Xavier talking to him now? He didn't get anything, soon, though, the memory was theatrically washed away and became blotchy as if he had poured water directly into his eyes.

He quickly opened them to see Xavier looking over him through the dark. "Malcolm," he said again. He apparently couldn't tell he wasn't awake. Malcolm smiled through the dark.

"I'm alive."

"I knew that much," the vampire scoffed. "So…"

"You were there," Malcolm didn't feel like playing around. It was four in the morning, and his brain was as fuzzy as his vision.

"Yeah, I was there." Xavier wasn't giving in to explaining.

"Why—"

"I could hear the lie in Tonks' voice." Malcolm could hear the smile in the vampire's voice. "She doesn't make for a very good liar."

"You don't make for a very serious person, on my account." What is he doing, he's just going to let this happen, I—

"Remus was the one who let this happen. Tonks is still going to be his, whether or not you two make out in every room in this house," Malcolm could feel his face heat, flush, and all at once cool, "She is still going to be his by the time this is over."

"And…"

Suddenly, Xavier said in a smoothened monotone, "I'm not the only one who knows."

"What?"

—xlvii—

Ooh, she was furious—angered by the mere thought of doing this to someone else! A low growl seared her throat, the acid building up in her mouth was horrible and it burned like a son of a bitch, but she was not going to loosen her grip on her emotions, which happened to be very lax at the moment.

She stomped through room after room, cavern after cavern, glancing this way and that at every other crevice in the wall just to see if she would spot the scraggily man she was looking for—

"Well, well, my dear." There it was, his slimy, greased voice trailing up her spine until the finest of fine hairs on her neck prickled at his very presence behind her. She spun wildly to face him, his grotesque yellowed smile, and evilly twinkling, emotionless grey eyes. They were narrowing at her harried appearance at the moment, and she couldn't help but notice in her anger.

"Now what is it, on this… very fine day," he hissed lowly, letting his eyes wander around—to his left and right then to a sudden down at her blouse—as he stepped slowly around her, his hands clasped around his back, "that has you so uptight and in a huff, my dear."

"Don't touch me," she jerked back away from his hand on her chin once he stabilized himself in front of her stilled figure.

"I shall do whatever I please, Miss Lia. Oh, I'm sorry, Miss Lee or… should we use your more formal name; it is your name after all. What, did you think I didn't know… It's simple," his foul breath wafted in her face as he tightly grasped her arm to keep her staring into his eyes. "Of course I knew. I've known. I had to find a way to get back at Malcolm. And you were the key to his heart." The rest of his nightmarish words were drowned out by her quickly paced footsteps echoing around her, off the walls. But even as she ran, no matter where she went, she could not get his disgusting sneer out of her mind…

—xlviii—

"That envious bastard—Perverted asshole." She couldn't breathe now. What was it that was wrong with her? Remus sat perched upon a rock.

"Lee…" She interrupted him.

"I can't stand him." Her breath hitched softly, "Mother fucker."

"Lee, you've got to calm down…"

"I don't have to do shit. I'm going to kill that dumbass, I can't believe it! He's known all along!" Remus watched worriedly from where he was sitting. He wasn't worried for the angered, fuming woman pacing in front of him, he was worried for himself and the wrath he would be under later. "Did I tell you, Remus?"

"What?"

"I've been out on patrol duty. I was wandering near the clearing when I saw your little human passionately snogging someone else."

Remus face crumbled from the worried façade he had been wearing to one of pure devastation. He would have helped in under different circumstances, but the fact that Tonks had actually listened to him… "What? With who?"

"Oh, Remus," she waved him off, "I don't know—I wasn't paying attention. I just knew it was your little nymph."

"Are you sure it wasn't Malcolm?" Remus asked quickly.

The pit of Lee's stomach fell completely through at the name, "What do you mean by Mallie—I mean Malcolm?"

Tentatively, Remus wondered aloud, "Are you Malcolm's Lia?"

"What?"

"Never mind, tell anyone who asks I'm on leave. I'll be back in a few days."

—xlix—

"Going to work!"

Xavier leaned around the corner to glance at Tonks standing harassed and hurrying in the sitting room, struggling with her coat, as she tried—failing—to slip her arm in one of the sleeves. The next thing she grappled with, her scarf, was being a little fiercer. Her lips were a pale purple as she waved at him in the hall.

"Don't get lost in the woods!" he called as she shut the door. He wondered how fast her heart would be pounding by the time she stepped down the staircase of the porch.

Malcolm came ambling down the hallway laughing. "Try not to let her heart jump out of her chest. She needs that, you know."

"That was the point," Xavier muttered mercilessly.

"Don't be such a horrible ass, you evil vampire."

Xavier smiled slightly as he walked into the kitchen and perched on the counter. "So what do you want to do?"

"I have absolutely no clue whatsoever!" Malcolm announced.

"Tonks?" The voice intruded into every room in the house.

Xavier looked up. "Remus?"

He replied with an unsteady, "Xavier?"

"Malcolm!"

The vampire walked to the door and opened it. Remus straightened at the sight of the vampire. Xavier muttered flatly to the werewolf behind him, "Shut up."

Malcolm could hear the chuckle.

—l—

"What is it?" the silhouetted man snarled. "Oh," he said sickeningly sweetly, "My dear, Lia."

"You son of a bitch," she snarled, walking up to him. She straightened her back and squared her shoulders and… spat directly in his face. "You are a horrible, filthy, disgusting pig, Greyback. Oh, I'm sorry, I meant Gaybeard." It was in slow motion that he raised his head and slugged her in the gut. She lost all traces of her breath as his claws ripped her shirt and grasped the fine muscles of her stomach. The blood was a divine stench amongst all the other foul smelling things surrounding them. Corpses, still fresh and some rotting, others just mere petrified bones, glowing distinct in the darkness.

"Each one my own masterpiece, each one a human or person I have killed," he whispered, simplifying, "You see, Lia, my art is death, and I'm about to make you my grand finale."

—li—

It was in tears and pain and an hour later that Lia found herself as Greyback's gazed leered through the darkness at her broken body. Her throat was raw, she couldn't smell the blood anymore. Her breath was raged and so was the rest of her. Rape, violation, she would kill this bastard for what he had just done to her.

"You violate me, I shall destroy you," Greyback murmured. His voice wasn't rough and coarse as it normally was. It was only for her, and her presence. To haunt her, to break her. She wouldn't make anything easy for this fucking asshole.

"You'll rot in hell, you worthless piece of shit!" she could only hear the syllables of the words, her throat had been ripped out, but why? Greyback loved to be violent, he lived, longed for pain. And that was what she was now—the essence of pain. The very core of her body shouldn't be screaming at her for her idiocy. Her throat should not be ripped and bleeding openly and as profusely as it was.

She had begun screaming as he slapped her, hurt her… raped her. And that was why her throat had been torn out, by his caked, dirty yellowed nails. His crazy, matted grey hair was a mess above her, and closing her eyes was nothing against it. "I will tear your eyes out." And so it was focusing on the dark ceiling above them with her eyes and mouth open at the bouts of severe pain shocking waves through her body.

I hope to Merlin you get the chance to see this fucker, Malcolm, I want you to kill him for me, she thought silently, promising Greyback that, yes, she would give Malcolm the chance of seeing this fucker to the afterlife.

—lii—

"Yeah… About that…" Malcolm tried his hardest to make the situation easier for himself. He had been leaning casually against the soft leather, his arm adorning the back of the couch. Now he was leaning over, his elbows uncomfortably adorning his knees. "It was me… she wanted to… uhm," he explained disjointedly. Remus, though, raised his hand, nodding.

"I understand, I know, I insisted that she go with someone younger, someone like you… instead of me." Remus glanced around the room and his gaze dropped a final degree to the floor.

"Almost," Xavier hinted.

"Yeah, almost." Malcolm studied the other's werewolf's face. "So why did you do it, then? If you didn't want to give her up, why did you do that? You could easily talk to her, care for her, love her, even when you're out doing this mission in the camps. She doesn't care about how old you are or how poor…" Malcolm's eyes wandered along Remus' hands, red and swollen, down his ragged pants to the brightest of cuts tattooed around his ankles. "She cares about you," he insisted, pointing out the open, burning wounds all over his body.

"They won't heal… I've had Halloway try over and over—"

Xavier glanced quietly over at Malcolm's suddenly still figure, "Who?"

"Just a woman in the camp. She tends to be the healer sometimes, but in my case she practically my mother most of the time… Why?"

What's her first name, ask him, Malcolm, come on, you know you want to hear it… it can't possibly be her. He shook his head to clear the buzzing, annoying thoughts, "What—What's her first name?" he asked shakily. He wanted to know, yes, but it wasn't… he didn't want to hear about her death if she had even lived after that horrible, gruesome night.

"Lee."

A mutual sigh filled the room with silent relief. He internally sighed himself, but he still wasn't sure. "What does she look like?"

Remus pondered what could've happened for these two to be so closely linked… Malcolm's Lia, could she possibly be Lee? He knew Lee was Greyback's, and no one bothered with that. She had been there long before Remus himself, and he didn't—never dared as a matter of fact—ask why, but he wondered, of all things,why it would be so important for them both to find out through him, of all people. "Uhm…" he began, "Her hair frames her face, it's a light brown, almost blond. I think she dyed it a long time ago. Her eyes are grey, but she wears contacts all the time. They're blue," Remus added.

"What color are her eyes—without them? What do her eyes look like? What color was her hair—without—without the dye," Malcolm asked hurriedly. His heart was working a million times faster, it felt, than his brain, and he continuously stumbled over his words… his heart would explode out of his chest if this answer came down to be the one he was thinking of…

"Her… her eyes?" Malcolm nodded quickly. Remus glanced once, twice, at Xavier, and the vampire gave a short nod in answer that everything was all right and that Malcolm was not crazy, "They're grey without the contacts… like a peppered grey… There's a dark, black ring around the outside of her iris, why?"

Malcolm was immediately up and out of the door—before either of them could speak, he called from the edge of the porch to Xavier, "I'll be back later, if Tonks asks where I've gone, tell her that everything—including me—is all right." With that he left a confused Remus and a lightheaded-from-happiness, triumphant Xavier alone to stand watching from the doorway of the house. And with Xavier's last thought, Malcolm disappeared into the white ambiance beyond them…

Greyback, you shall finally get what you deserve…

TBC

Moony73