Chapter 66: Colors, Candies, and… Quiet?

Sans yawned and tucked his hands behind his head, staring up at the de-cobwebbed ceiling of his small closet-room. Just like the rest of the place, even here it was markedly cleaner than he remembered—less dusty overall, and even the paint looked nicer. His area at the mattress-level had its usual clutter of wadded up blankets and random stuff, but it was still clean.

His personal mess sort of disguised the difference it made; the cleanliness was much more pronounced in the rest of the house, the effect obvious. And from the noise out there, it would seem the shock hadn't quite worn off yet.

"What the— Merlin's pants, hang on, that runner is purple?" exclaimed Sirius, voice only slightly muffled by the closed door. He was probably staring at the hall rug in amazement, scarcely able to believe that the changes they'd seen the evening prior had actually been real. "When did that happen?"

"i'd guess back when the thing was made," he remarked, finally pulling to his feet and pushing his door open into the narrow hallway. "but technically somebody could have dyed it. or bespelled it, whatever."

"My entire life," lamented Sirius, "I thought this place was just browns and grays and nasty puce-greens. And you mean to tell me there's been purples here?"

Sans blinked at him, easily drawing up a mental reference for what it had looked like when he'd first seen it. "wait, are you saying it's always been that dirty? not just since it's been left empty and gathering dust?"

The wizard rocked back on his feet, arms crossed and looking thoughtful. "Admittedly, my distaste for this place might be coloring my memories—"

"more like un-coloring them."

"—but I always thought it was too dreary here for such…" he adopted a faux haughty tone, and finished, "paltry considerations as decor or homeliness."

"this is a bleak lookin' place, overall," Sans agreed, "i mean, purple? couldn't be. must be a pigment of your imagination."

Sirius gave a laugh that sounded so fake it looped right back around to genuine. As the two of them started down the hall toward the the stairs, he was still looking around with wide eyes.

And apparently the wizard saw something that stopped him in his tracks, pausing just at the edge of the top step with a positively gobsmacked expression. Following his stare revealed nothing but a bare stretch of wall near the ceiling.

"uh… earth to paddy, you good?"

"Just in shock, my friend," he replied, shaking himself. "I have got to ask Remus how he managed that, there's no way Kreacher decided to take those down on his own."

Then Sirius went down the stairs two or three at a time, landing at the bottom with a loud thud. That was followed by a pause: a habit he hadn't quite shaken from when he'd lived here before, waiting to see if he'd been too loud.

But the only response was from Remus, calling from the other room. "Merlin's beard, Sirius." Fond exasperation was clear in his tone, even through the door. "Did you jump the stairs again? You're going to crack the tiles if you keep doing that!"

"They can take it!" he yelled back, breaking into a broad smile as he fully tossed aside the instinct to watch how loud he was being. "If not, well, that's what 'Reparo' is for!"

And all the while, the brooding portrait of Sirius's mother stayed quiet, closed behind her thick curtains—either asleep, unaware of anything outside the drapes, or unwilling to stir up a fuss now that she knew that Sans was around. After so many years being all but untouchable, safe on her canvas, it was probably unsettling to deal with somebody capable of interfering with her directly.

Sirius swung open a door and strode into the dinning room, with Sans following along behind at his signature laid-back pace.

"mornin'."

"Good morning, though only just barely," returned Remus. "Happy Christmas!"

"Merry holidays or whatever," Sirius waved it off with a grin. "We already traded season's greetings yesterday."

"but today is the actual holiday in question, assuming we didn't sleep through it."

"You didn't."

"too bad," Sans hummed, glancing around the room.

Between last night and now, a few new decorations had been added, which included a winter-themed runner along the table and a simple garland strung a little over halfway up the walls. As well as a significantly more tinsel-and-bauble decorated garland circling the hole in the ceiling, glittering as gold as a crown.

"Anyway," Sirius said, rubbing his hands together eagerly, "what do we have around here for breakfast?"

Remus, who was sitting at the table with a steaming mug and a plate of red cookies, took a pointedly long sip of his tea. "Actually, it's closer to lunch by this point."

"I have only just woken up, it will be the first meal I eat—ergo, it is breakfast."

"Well, I have already eaten once already," countered Remus, "and as such, on a household level, we are up to the lunch meal."

"But behold, there on the table! Isn't that—"

"brunch."

"Ah! A compromise!" Snagging a plate and pilling it up with the pancakes he'd been about to use as evidence in the breakfast-vs-lunch argument, Sirius nodded. "I like the way you think, Rattles."

"thanks, i get a lot of practice." Sans took his spot at the table, slippers left on the floor while he sat criss-cross in the chair. "but really though, are we late? i coulda sworn there was some special emphasis on 'christmas morn' or whatever."

That said, a lot of what the monsters knew of human culture was literally trash: just whatever washed away through the barrier and eventually gathered into the big garbage heaps under Waterfall. Perhaps not the most accurate resource, all things considered, though he'd been able to cross-check some things during their stints on the surface between resets.

As their mutual friend was too busy scarfing down pancakes to reply, Remus answered, "It can be different, family to family. I remember when we stayed at Hogwarts over break, we'd open presents first thing in the morning."

Right. Presents.

Luckily he'd already sorted that out.

Sans was not particularly good at picking out gifts—a little surprising, perhaps, given how well he could read people. But just because he could see through layers of expressions and spot liars a mile away, didn't mean he knew what someone would like to get as a present. As such, he tended to default to the tried-and-true option: candy.

Monster Candy, specifically.

It's not hard to make: just swirl magic, sugar, and good intentions together over medium heat until it coagulates into little balls. Sweet and simple. Mixing in some vanilla or cinnamon or peppermint can spice it up, though Sans wouldn't recommend getting too spicy with it—the one time Undyne added sriracha was an experience.

Making batches of the stuff used to be one of his small family traditions, just him and Papyrus hanging out in the kitchen. But, over (looped) time, the practice had slowly expanded to include others.

Frisk couldn't exactly participate in the magic step, but that didn't mean Undyne was any less energetic as she tried to teach them. Alphys, when she joined in, tended to have a laptop open next to her—either taking notes on the process or watching shows while she worked. Then there was Toriel, who would often accidentally end up making small pies instead. Somehow. It was something of a mystery.

And his brother, even as the groups got larger and more varied, would still eagerly try to get each candy in his batch to look like his face. They always came out too round, though, so he'd never managed it to his satisfaction.

This time, Sans had made the Monster Candy alone. He could probably teach Sirius how to do it—and he likely would, some day—but he wanted the time to himself. The kitchen in Grimmauld was almost a polar opposite to the one in his home in Snowdin, but that midnight, when he'd stood in front of the stove with a pot of magic-melting sugar and thoughts of friends, it felt like there were more similarities than differences.

It had been… bittersweet.

When he'd actually sat down and figured out how much he'd need to make to be able to give a baggie to everyone he wanted to, it sort of came into focus just how many people he'd met since it all started.

(Since it all ended.)

Sirius, obviously. Plus Perkins and Remus. Harry, Ron, and Hermione would get some, as well as Neville, Luna, and Laura. Plus the Weasley twins. The four members of the Roberts family deserved a bag each. Cassius, of course. And he figured he should give presents to the other two champions, just to finish the full set.

Suffice to say, it had been a lot of candy-making.

The ones he'd taste-tested had come out a little more sweet-and-sour than he usually liked, but he was not going through that rigmarole again. It's an easy recipe, sure, but that's a lot of candies.

As a bonus, the final candy-count in each gift bag was further bolstered when Sirius contributed a whole load of wizard treats he'd bought from a shop in Hogsmeade at some point. Apparently he, too, wasn't great at personalized gift selection.

Candy: the great equalizer.

Though not all of the baggies were created equal—at least with respect to the wizarding sweets. Some had more, some had fewer, and some were sets specifically chosen from the less wacky and strange options.

For example, in the case of the Roberts family, the especially charming candies might be more alarming than entertaining. Sans made sure to include a note for them.

It's all as safe as magic prank candies can be, of course, but wizard sensibilities could get… weird, and he didn't want any of them worrying if they suddenly started speaking entirely in riddles thanks to the esoteric effect of some lollipops or whatever.

"—clearly can differ, even year to year," Remus was saying. Apparently he'd continued to muse on holiday celebration schedules, even as Sans's attention drifted. "And then, of course, there would be everyone who doesn't celebrate Christmas, though you'd be better off asking somebody else if you want specifics."

"hmm, yes, fascinating," and what he had caught of it, despite his distraction, did sound interesting enough. "now could you repeat that, from the top? i wasn't listening."

Remus blinked at him, then sighed. "I can see how you'd make a convincing student." He shook his head. "Well, in brief, there's nothing wrong with opening presents a day late, like we're planning. Being together is more important than the timing."

"oh, good." Looking around the room again, Sans asked, "where's ron, by the way?"

Sirius shrugged, grabbing another pancake. "Probably still asleep."

"…can i—"

"No."

Bemused, Sans leaned back in his chair. "you didn't let me finish."

"Didn't need to," he replied. "Regardless, if I let you go back to sleep now we might not see you 'til New Years."

Remus, though not as closely familiar with the disguised skeleton's peculiarities, did know him well enough to recognize the truth when he heard it. So he nodded, in silent agreement with that assessment.

And Sans had to admit it, too. "alright, fine, that's a fair point." Though technically, despite so much time spent lazing around, he didn't manage to get properly unconscious very often. But he would definitely pretend to sleep for a full week if he thought he could get away with it. "but no promises past today."

With a porcelain clink as he set down his mug, Remus noted, "You'd miss the main event if you conk out tomorrow, seeing as we're essentially delaying the holiday until then. You'll bring Harry and Hermione over tonight, and even Perkins was planning to drop by."

"wait, perkins is coming over?"

Sirius paused his chewing for long enough to fish around in the pockets of his robes and pull out the two-way journal. A swallow, and he replied, "Can't make it today, but he has time tomorrow." He flipped it open to the current page. "Said, and I'm quoting this here, 'I prefer a quiet holiday, and I doubt whatever you have planned would be conducive to such'."

Another fair point.

"Of course," continued Sirius, tucking the book away again, "you'll have to fill him in on the whole secret part once he gets to the neighborhood."

Sans nodded, a little absentmindedly. Well, he had wanted to check in with the older wizard—their man on the inside, so to speak. He'd been worried about Snape getting his nose in their business, about how that might effect their position in the school. And, perhaps more importantly, if Perkins might be caught in the crossfire.

Well, he'd just have to ask tomorrow.

Today—nearly half-gone by now—was already fully booked, anyway.

"welp." Sans uncrossed his legs and stretched his arms back behind his head, popping his joints. "those gifts ain't gonna deliver themselves."

That's what shortcuts were for, naturally. And while he could just drop the presents through directly to their proper spots, no personal presence required, he might as well tag along for at least some of them.

"Oh, while you're playing delivery boy—"

"uh-oh."

"—could y- Relax, Rattles, it's not much." Sirius pawed through his pockets again, before pulling out folded paper. "Could you take this letter, too?"

Sans took the tidy envelope with the same care one might a live explosive. "and where do you want this taken?"

"…Dumbledore."

He blinked. "why?"

Sirius looked shifty, in a weirdly non-shifty sort of way. Which meant that, whatever the specific contents of the letter, it was likely about their situation in general. He wouldn't have written anything too… honest about the whole time-travel aspect, but plenty of the things that would be good to include in a letter like that would perhaps come a bit close to the line.

Still. Sirius was the one who actually knew the headmaster: his judgement might be skewed in some ways, but Sans could trust him to be discreet where he needed to be.

The world must be ending again, trusting Sirius to be discreet.

…Well, that's a little unfair: after all, between the disguised skeleton and his disguised dog, it hadn't been the dog accidentally launching books into the ceiling and generally drawing attention.

Sans decided to take pity on his friend and switch the topic. Theatrically hefting the envelope, he asked, "when did you find the time to write this?"

"Here and there," Sirius replied. "…Mostly last night."

Sans pushed himself up off of his chair and into his slippers, heading for the front door, and the two wizards followed him out of the dinning room. While he could teleport from wherever he wanted, giving a little nod to the proper entryway—more like exit-way, in this case—had a certain amusing appeal.

"and you had enough time?" he asked. "crossed all the 't's and dotted all the 'i's?"

Sirius smiled. "Barely, but I think I managed."

"phew. it'd be so embarrassing otherwise." Sans paused, hand resting on the handle to the front door that he wasn't actually planning on turning. With emphasis, he repeated, "it would 'b' so 'm'-barrassing other-'i's."

"Oh, get out of here, Rattles!" Sirius laughed, and made an exaggerated show of trying to shoo him out the door.

"i'm going, i'm going. yeesh, fuzz-butt." Though he couldn't resist adding: "no need to 'b' that 'm'-p-'o'-lite."

"Merlin's beard!"

With a chuckle and a half-salute goodbye, Sans vanished.

=X=X=X=

As soon as their skeletal friend was out of the house, dark curtains swept open with a distinctly indignant flare.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me."

And then the yelling began.

"Ugh, take Sans out of the picture and she's right back to shouting her head off," Sirius lamented, loud enough to be heard over her freshly invigorated ranting. His attempts to snag the flapping curtain caught nothing but empty air.

Remus was also flailing for the fabric. "Well," he remarked, between lunges, "I tend to be a lot quieter than you, so she spends most of her time asleep."

"Wha's goin' on?" asked a sleepy voice.

While Sirius continued to try and wrangle the annoying painting, Remus smiled up the stairs. "Good afternoon, Ron! I hope you slept well?"

"AND WHO IS THAT?" the painted mother shrilled. "ANOTHER HALF-BREED? A BLOOD TRAITOR? WILL YOU DIRTY MY HOME WITH A MUGGLE NEXT?"

The ex-professor sighed, even his patience running short quickly. "Slept well up until all of this yelling woke you up, I mean."

"—YOU'VE ALREADY—"

Ron stumbled down the steps, almost tripping over the too-long hem of his red pajama pants. "Who's yellin'?"

"That'd be—urg," Sirius had managed to get a grip on the edge of the curtain, but it smacked him mid-sentence as he wrestled to get it shut.

"—THAT DISGUSTING CREATURE—"

There was a snap-pop of a magical arrival, and a cracked voice called out, "Mistress!"

"'Mistress'?" echoed Ron.

Sirius groaned again, bracing himself to have to fight twice as hard to get the blasted curtains shut: the house-elf didn't like it when they forced her to shut up. But instead of further resistance, the fabric in his grip abruptly went slack. He was so startled that he actually forgot to pull the darn things closed.

And Kreacher, when Sirius turned to gape at him, looked… well, he didn't really look like Kreacher, anymore. Not as he remembered him, either from two time-travel-years ago or from all the way back in his childhood.

His ears were still large and drooped, his nose crooked, his face creased with age. But the house-elf wasn't wearing a ratty old towel or torn blanket anymore. Instead, he had on a simple black pillowcase that had plainly been at least minimally tailored to fit on rather than hang off his small frame. It was essentially a small tunic, and was tied at the waist by a cloth napkin folded longwise into a strip.

Beyond the changes in his attire, however, Kreacher just looked different.

His whole demeanor was bristling with indignation, which was an expression that should have been familiar on his wrinkly face, but was made startlingly unfamiliar because it wasn't directed at him. One of his gnarled hands was at the collar of his pillowcase-tunic, clinging to an old chain, but the other was poised to snap.

"Mistress," Kreacher repeated, still tense, "I asks, please, please don't say such things."

For a moment, the portrait almost seemed too shocked to reply. Unfortunately, she found her words quickly enough. "THIS IS MY HOUSE! I'LL SPEAK AS I PLEASE, YOU INSOLENT—"

"Actually," Sirius cut in, managing to get the curtain half-shut before her spellwork remembered to fight back, "it's my house now, you over-painted waste of canvas."

Remus couldn't help but ask, "'Over-painted'?"

He shrugged. "I don't know, it just sounded like a good insult." Struggling to get the other half shut as well, he groused, "Blast her cursed sticking charm—if I could, I'd just stuff her somewhere in storage and be done with it!"

Snap.

The fabric went slack again, just as unexpected as before, though this time Sirius had been caught mid-lunge. Without any force to be pulling against, he ended up falling flat on his face.

But at least he'd dragged the curtain with him, fully shutting off the portrait.

For now.

Or, apparently, for a while.

When he stood back up, he couldn't help but stare at the finally-closed curtains—and, more to the point, the very unexpected sight of new ribbons tying them firmly shut. The tidy ribbons were at both sides and right in the middle, and neither he nor Remus had conjured them.

Sirius had to wonder if he'd hit his head at some point along the way, because none of this was making sense right now.

After all, Kreacher wouldn't just… do something like that: help him like that.

"Remus," he whispered, in shock. "What have you been doing for the past few months? How the heck did this come about?"

"I still have no idea what's going on," Ron said, swallowing back a yawn.

"Thanks for the update, kid—neither do I."

Remus leaned back against the wall, with a heavy exhale. "Thank you, Kreacher. That was greatly appreciated."

The house-elf didn't seem to notice the gratitude, too deep in thought. He was tugging on one of his large ears, quietly muttering to himself in a one-side debate: conflicted about something.

"Uh…" As weird as it was, given their history, Sirius felt he should ask, "Are you—?"

Blinking back into focus, the house-elf cut him off with a decisive nod. "Kreacher will clears a space in the attic. It will be very clean, yes, and very quiet for Mistress."

"…Huh?"

"What?!" the painting exclaimed, muffled, and the curtain strained against the ribbons now tying it shut. "You would DARE—"

But Kreacher had already popped away.

And he'd taken the painting with him.

Sirius blinked at the now-empty wall, distantly noting that the wallpaper in the hall apparently hadn't always been an indistinct pattern of dark colors. The area that had been behind the portrait revealed an old-fashioned design of stylized vines and flowers, all vibrant shades of green with accents in gold.

More unexpected colors.

Maybe the whole house could look like that, someday, and not just in cleaned patches where life hadn't had a chance to wear it all away.

A perhaps-slightly-crazed laugh bubbled up his throat, and he found himself unable to stop smiling. Her portrait was moved—gone! The thought that she'd been shunted to a corner of the attic, far out of the way, was just too good.

Even Remus looked faintly stunned as he remarked, "Well. So much for that permanent sticking charm, I suppose."

"Honestly," said Sirius, turning to his friend and slapping a triumphant hand against the bare patch of wall, "Best. Christmas. Ever."

Author's Note:

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Undertale.

Squeaky clean—well done, Kreacher!

I really wanted to get one out this month given the Undertale anniversary, my own birthday, and all that very unexpected (and hilarious!) Twitter nonsense… and it's still technically in September for me, just sayin'!
I see this as an absolute win. Kinda.

Unfortunately I'm not planning on posting in October, though missing the month of Halloween is somewhat sad. I mean, c'mon, this story's got a skeleton and a werewolf and a shapeshifter… oh well. Happy Halloween about thirty days in advance, I suppose!
Anyway, the next chapter will come in November. Maybe it'll be UtV, maybe it'll be TU2ndC—we'll just see which gets written (or more written, I'll still be working on both) in the next month, and continue from there!

Next time, assuming it all goes to plan, we'll be following Sans as he makes his holiday deliveries! And nothing unexpected happens!
(Definitely nothing that I, the author, have been waiting to write for ages! No sir!)

As always, thank you so much for reading. And thanks for all the favorites, follows, and reviews!

Join the Discord if you're interested! Invite code: m3CFXnC

Stay safe out there, and I'll see ya on the flipside, everyone!