His smile was soft, that first time. It had been one of those secret smiles, reserved for those few who chose to look closely; a soft quirk to the mouth that would have been missed had it not been for the sunlight that streamed into the hospital wing's many windows high above them.

They had been talking softly that morning, Harry's eyes closed against the pain of sunlight, voice hoarse from screaming just nights before. Sirius was there, beside his bed, wrapped in almost as many bandages as Harry, voice just a whisper from issuing orders for days on end. Sirius' burned hands were cradled in Harry's lap, soft digits stroking around the bandages as he talked around the nightmares.

There was no talk of fear, no talk of who had been lost, and no answer to the soft comment from Remus that they were truly blind if they didn't see what was in front of them. Because they felt it; whatever 'it' was, it was curling them into a lazy blanket of comfort, and they weren't going to question it.

They weren't so foolish as to tempt Fate.

Sirius' head was cradled on Harry's stomach, body half in and half out of the chair next to the man's bed. He was careful to avoid the flesh wounds, arms curled above Harry's heart as the young man traced his way around Sirius' wrists. They'd been like this for hours; a mock prayer position that offered Sirius the opportunity to thank whoever needed thanking for keeping Harry safe.

He didn't voice his concern that he was hurting Harry. Didn't need to; he'd moved away to take a glass of water from Hermione hours before, and felt, rather than heard, the painful inhalation as his body weight was removed. And he hated himself for enjoying that; enjoying that his weight kept Harry out of pain and free from harm. Harry's gentle hands had guided him around the pain, curled Sirius into him with a soft whisper of, "Don't leave."

A heartbeat lulled him into a sated state, and Harry's voice had spoken of the things he wanted to do now, places he wanted to go; he'd asked Sirius if they could buy that house in the country and never ever leave. They'd talked about a home for what felt like an eternity and an instant, and before they both knew it, their tones were drowsy, already hoarse voices like sandpaper on gravel.

Remus had limped by then, stride jerky and swaying, but determined. He'd smiled, a quiet smile that offered reassurances that didn't need to be given, and promised that they could rest for a while. Sirius barely caught it, eyes lidded and hair obscuring his view, but Harry did. Eyes shut against the winter sun, he smiled back.

It was a secret smile, a quirk of the lips that no one would have seen if it hadn't been for the sunlight that carded through Sirius' hair like molten ribbons of blue. It spoke of the care and trust placed in the man swaying on his feet before them, unseen, but felt in presence.

But it hadn't been the first smile. Sirius' lips curled in a shadow of a grin, and he pressed a kiss to the flesh beneath the fabric his cheek was pillowed against. No, that first smile had been saved for him, as sure hands guided him back to a spot over a young man's heart; it had been kissed by sunshine, and promised a future that would be had together.

And he enjoyed that.

I do not own Harry Potter, any of the characters involved, and am not making any profit from this piece of fanfiction.