Rain lashed down and thunder resounded around the ancient village church spire, causing the finely wrought brass bells, which usually sang harmoniously when tolled, to clash and clang resulting in a cacophony of noise that was almost deafening.
At the very edge of the village was a small cottage, and all though the thatch was old, and the iron knocker was tinged a reddy-brown with rust, it had an air of being well lived-in, well looked after and well cared for. All were in, and away from the windows for who9 would want to watch such a dreary sight. If they were, and they just happened to look at the old cottage, they would have seen that one did stand at the window, and one did want to stare at the dreary sky.
A man stood in the window, sipping a mug of hot chocolate, steam rising of its surface wreathing his eternally tired face and weary eyes. Lightening flashed across the sky, accentuating the silver tones in his hair. Remus had tried desperately not to look, as the sight of the gloomy grey sky constantly brought him pain. Yet he couldn't help it. Storms always brought his eyes unerringly towards them, like sailors of an age long past were drawn onto the rocks by the alluring song of sirens. He had sworn to himself that he wouldn't watch another storm. Yet here he was, once more standing at the window. For secretly, and it would only have taken Veritaserum to make him admit it, Remus loved storms. Loved the way the lightning flew through the air, graceful and free. Loved the way the rain felt on his skin, but most especially loved the clouds. The wondrous grey clouds. Clouds that could match the shade of the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen and ever would see. His eyes.
Before Remus had met Him, before he had came to Hogwarts, he had existed in a box; A painfully clear glass box, surrounded by a world of glorious colour. A world he was not allowed to touch, or be a part of. He had come from a world of clear cut black and white; where no colours existed, only light and it's absence. There was no leeway, no in-between cracks which allowed for flexibility, and no detraction from his world's rigidly held beliefs.
When they had met, they had clashed, and clashed with tremendous force. They had matched and complemented perfectly. And as the years progressed, fell head over heels into breath-taking and everlastingly sweet love. Remus had added grey to his precise view of black and white, and He, He had smashed the glass barrier which separated Remus from the glorious riot of colour that was life. Yet with all its rich reds and purples, cool blues and vibrant citruses, Remus' favourite colour was always grey. The grey which existed only in His eyes, His perfect eyes.
Shaking his head slightly, Remus tried not, or was he really trying to, remember after graduation, shopping for James' birthday, they had been caught out in the rain. And instead of scurrying for home or shelter, they had danced. Soaked to the skin, with a grey jumper stuck to His chest, they had twirled and waltzed around the street, laughing with the delightful joy that they were alive and in love. Remus had then looked Him in the eyes, and found himself truly in love again, free-falling through open-space to drown willingly in twin baths of mercury.
The image was chased by another of his lover, on the last day he saw Him whole, the last days before Azkaban. Accusation had burnished His eyes to pools of molten silver that seared and burned his flesh as surely as if he was in contact with them. And then it was in the shack. With Harry standing over Him And Remus had to stifle a sob, for now he looked into eyes of plain dull lead, and that hurt more than any blame.
Finally Remus was left with the picture of Him, falling through a tattered veil. His own love. The only one to ever make him feel like he was everything. He had been everything to someone. That someone made him feel loved, cherished. Worshipped almost. He had been everything to Him. And all this was conveyed, through the mask of fear, in the eyes that were the most stunning of them all. Charcoal.
Yes, Sirius had been his love, his mate. And while the wolf within howled and cried for its loss, Remus cherished the memories, and eyes that were so many hues of his much loved colour. Silver. Mercury. Steel. Nickel. Lead. And that's why on days like these, Remus could be found stood at a window, wearing a too large grey jumper, staring at a sky, which emitted hi favourite weather, and beheld charcoal clouds. His most favourite shade of grey.