Paint my skin with your lips.

1. Blonde and Copper

In all the places he could stay—well, there wasn't a choice, really—why the hell did he have to stay here? Draco grumbled something at the headmaster, making it as incoherent as possible. He wanted to curse and call him names, but that's just not-done. Dumbledore smiled apologetically; he understood. Of course he did. He always went on and on about how he felt sorry, and it would be okay, but it really wouldn't.

His parents were dead, and he was to spend the rest of his teenage-life with Sirius Black. And why? Because he was the only thing even close to family—and on the right side. That was hard to come by, these days. All his relatives were evil. His relatives were the reason his parents were not breathing anymore. So, he supposed he could do with Sirius Black.

They arrived at the doorstep ten minutes later, and Dumbledore went over the explanation—"you're never going to be alone in there," he'd said a thousand times before. "It's the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, and people will walk in and out on a regular base. Though of course; there will be times that it's just you and Sirius."

Draco knew by now. He knew what to expect—the last time he'd been inside the building, it had been quite sombre, though he'd heard it was even worse now, since it'd been unoccupied for so many years. It had been creepy before, though alive. And it had always been quite... well, homey. So when the door opened he was not in the least surprised. Not by the troll foot by the door, not by the blood-red curtain dangling against the wall for no particular reason, not by the ink on the carpet that looked suspiciously much like blood. The brewing life of the building did surprise him. Lots of voices were coming from one particular room, arguing but in the way friends argue—with laughter and an easy flow.

Someone laughed in a very doggish way, and their attention was drawn to the kitchen door, that opened, making the noises all the clearer. And out came a happy Sirius Black. He was grinning, and upon sighting them his grin grew.

"Aha, finally, I was wondering when you were coming," he took Draco's trunk from his hand—it had been hard, trying to fit his whole life in one trunk, and he hadn't managed. More stuff was to arrive at Grimmauld place the next day. "They're waiting for you in the kitchen professor," Sirius said, and then went over to the stairs, beckoning Draco to follow. "I'll show you your room, and then we'll have diner after you've settled in."

Draco thought the man was rather friendly—sure, they were sort of related, but really, that didn't mean Sirius needed to be friendly. But he was, and it made Draco want to smile. He refrained and followed him up the stairs. As Dumbledore entered the kitchen, Remus emerged. Sirius' eyes lit up and he called: "Moony, I'm over here, come up with us, will you?"

Professor Lupin smiled and joined them upstairs. He too had the whole friendly-vibe about them. It was nice and all, but it made Draco feel like they were sorry for him, and that, he did not want. So he just scowled off into the distance. He followed the two men up another set of stairs, and down a long, dark hall. Sirius murmured something about the lights always going off, and as if on cue, the candles against the walls flopped on, casting shadows on the walls.

They stopped by a heavy door and Sirius pushed it open, allowing Draco to go in first.

He said: "I know it's not really the nicest room you've ever been in, but it's definitely the nicest one in the whole entire house. And it has a pretty good view, too."

Draco scanned the room. It didn't seem all too bad. Not bad at all actually. He slowly entered, stepping onto the dark carpet. There was a wide window with green curtains—for one second Draco had forgotten that all the Black's were Slytherins, except for their last descendent. The bed was possibly huge, and ancient too, but so was everything else in the house. There was a heavy desk in the corner, and some bookcases that'd been emptied. The wood was a little scalded at some places, and Draco vaguely wondered what had happened there.

Sirius put Draco's trunk down by the end of the bed, where there was a little seat. Remus remained by the door and Draco stood a bit oddly in between them, staring out of the window. He didn't want to talk—his parents were dead. He had nothing to say.

"Now, if there's anything you want or need, please just tell us," Sirius sat, sitting down next to the trunk. "I don't want you to feel uncomfortable or anything."

Draco sighed deeply and stared at his sort-of-relative. Then he said, in a hard voice: "I'm very sorry for the inconvenience. Thank you for letting me stay here."

Sirius frowned and made a gesture for Remus to come sit next to him, which he did, with a concerned face.

"No inconvenience," professor Lupin said—and Draco immediately felt the tension between the two of them. He inwardly grinned as there hands brushed together, and Sirius gave it an almost invisible squeeze. "You should not feel like a burden. We're happy to have you here."

On the outside Draco scowled in disbelief. He wanted to yell at them. How could they be serious? Honestly, they barely knew him. Sirius' Godson hated him. His father and Sirius went to Hogwarts together, and didn't get along. He was part of the big evil family Sirius had wanted so desperately to get away from. They couldn't be okay with this.

Sirius noticed the pained look and tried to communicate with Remus without using words. How do we fix this?

"Draco, we have no problem with you being here—we really don't," he tried to lock eyes with the boy but he was still staring out of the window. "But there is something you need to know..."

The blonde turned to the both of them, hands tucked into his pockets of the black jeans he wore. What could it possibly be?

"We..." Sirius trailed off, now definitely grabbing Remus' hand. He even put it in his own lap. Draco thought he might know what this was about. "Okay so," Sirius inhaled deeply and Remus smiled. "Remus and I are in love," deeper intake and he tensed out a bit. "And we sorta..." nothing.

"Seriously, you really don't need to tell me if you feel uncomfortable about this." Draco said, feeling embarrassed. They didn't look sure whether they should be telling him or not.

Remus' cheeks were burning up a bit, and Draco looked at his feet. Sirius struggled and decided to squeeze Remus' hand to mush.

"No, it's actually quite crucial," he said, after a long silence. "Remus lives with me, and well... the others don't know. But since you're going to stay with me too, I think it's only normal that we'd tell you."

Remus nodded, smiling, and Draco looked up at them again.

"And we'd really appreciate it, if you wouldn't tell the others." Remus said.

And although Draco was quite surprised by the revelation, he felt, for the first time, that he was part of something. Because here they were, confiding in him. And though he was broken by the loss of his parents, and wondered how he'd get through, he knew they would both try to make it as easy as possible for him.

"Thank you." He said softly, hoping they wouldn't hear, but they did.

"No problem," Sirius got up, pulling Remus with him. They walked to the door, Sirius lightly touching Draco's shoulder as they passed. "Just make yourself comfortable, and join us in the kitchen when you've unpacked."

He nodded. They both gave him a smile, and then left, leaving Draco behind in his new room.


Draco checked his appearance in the old mirror next to the wardrobe. All in all he was very happy he hadn't gotten a room where a portrait of one of the older relatives hung—they were nags, he knew. And since he was aware that Sirius' mother and his own grandfather had been friends, he was happy that there wasn't a portrait of him either. He liked his grandfather; of course he did—but not that much that he wanted to practically live in the same room with him. No. He was very happy indeed that his room was portrait-less.

He glanced into the mirror one last time, debating whether he should stay this way, or change. He was still wearing his tight black jeans, and a black shirt. Ah, to hell with it, he thought, and strode out the door. He hoped most people would have left by now.

Passing through the old hallway by himself was a bit odd—it had a Hogwarts-y feeling, but scarier. Some of the frames were empty, and luckily those that were present were all sleeping. Draco recognised some of his own relatives too, and it made him even happier that they were off to dreamland already—he didn't quite feel like talking to any of them. Definitely not when they were just paintings.

By the time he'd reached the kitchen, he'd already tucked his hands in his pockets again. He approached the door cautiously, and then gave a quick knock, before he might chicken out. The voices inside stilled, and then Sirius called: "come in."

Draco pushed the door open, being greeted by a lot of people. Half of them he didn't know. He recognised the Weasleys—all of them, YUCK?!—Granger, professor Lupin, and Nymphadora Tonks—he disliked her a lot. Potter appeared to be missing. There were some others, but they were just getting out of their seats, pushing past him with a curt nod. He remained standing, feeling a bit awkward.

"So, have you unpacked already?" Sirius asked, and pulled a chair out next to his own. "Come sit down. How is the room?"

Draco glanced around a bit—he really couldn't help it, this whole house gave him creeps. He didn't feel like the Malfoy his father had taught him to be. He just felt like a normal, scared, teenage-boy. So he sat down, trying to ignore the stares the Weasley's and Granger were giving him.

"It's great, thank you," he murmured. "You were right about the view. And thanks for not giving me a room with the dead relatives hanging on the wall."

Sirius laughed, patting him on the shoulder.

"I know what you mean, they're absolutely dreadful!" Sirius grinned—he'd been in the family most of his live, he could remember all the relatives. So could Draco, sadly enough.

"Indeed," Draco said, now smiling slightly. He'd been able to talk with his father about this a lot—they used to make fun of the ancient family, since they both detested the load of them. Lucius only went along with it because his father had made him. "And the speeches," he sighed exasperatedly. "They're endless!"

"Oh yes! Have you've ever been given the gay-speech?" Sirius asked, eyes big like saucers.

Misses Weasley, who was by the sink, turned around in surprise.

"Plenty of times," Draco laughed—apparently his father used to have a thing for guys. And everyone was afraid it'd rub off on him. "It's the worst. Seriously, I think their point is to make you afraid of gay people. I always get sick when they start about the actual sex-part. The way they make it sound you apparently chose to split your body right into two pieces."

Sirius howled with laughter—Draco's straight face made it all the funnier.

"Oh yes, I remember the time when they told me that when you had sex with someone of the same gender, you died. I told them that I'd shagged a guy once, and I was still alive. You should've seen their faces!"

"I tried that with aunt Bellatrix—she locked me up in the basement." Draco said, and now he couldn't hide a smile. There were few things Bellatrix didn't lock him up in the basement for.

Sirius nodded grimly.

"She does that a lot. Last time she tried it with me I broke her noise."

"So that's where the bump in her noise is from! You're a brave man, no one dares to go against aunt Bellatrix. She's a bit fearful."

"I wanted out, she tried to chain me to the basement-wall. I had no choice." Sirius ended, and the kitchen turned quiet again.

Draco smiled a bit, and stared at the door, trying to not focus on all the people. He knew everyone was staring at him—he could feel their eyes on his back. But what on earth could he do about it?

He noticed that Misses Weasley was getting out plates, and that she'd taken her frying pan off the fire, though no one else seemed to realise it. He coughed and said: "would you like me to set the table?"

She smiled and said in a small voice: "thank you dear." He got off his chair and closed his eyes for a while—back home the house-elves always did these sorts of things. Unless his mother wasn't home—then Lucius would cook and Draco would set the table. He shook his head and took the plates, a bit too roughly, from her hands. He couldn't think about his dad. He was depressed enough as it was.

When he put a plate in front of Ron, he frowned—the redhead was staring frantically at his face. Raising an eyebrow he felt like complaining, but restrained. After all, they were letting him stay here, and his mother had just made food for all of them—including Draco—he should try and be a little nice, at the least. He put the plates down one by one, striking his fingers over the Black's crest. It wasn't much different from the Malfoy's. And he could still remember how their own crest used to feel, engraved in the fine white glass. Even the forks held the Black's crest. Made of fine silver, apparently, he studied one of the knives, and Sirius raised an eyebrow.

"Aren't they clean?" Molly asked, seeing as Draco had paused.

The blonde looked up, surprised, as if he'd forgotten all about them.

"Oh, no, no. It's..." he sighed and put the knife down. "It's clean."

"You were inspecting the silverware?" Arthur questioned—Draco thought he sounded angry. Though he probably was, reflecting his feelings of hate towards Lucius, on the blonde in front of him.

"No, I..." he couldn't think of anything that wouldn't make him sound like a sentimental bitch.

"The crest resembles theirs," Sirius said, and leaned over to study his own cutlery. "That's it, right?"

He didn't sound malicious or accusing. Just interested.

"Yeah," Draco put down the last knife. "The younger one always wore it around his neck," Draco trailed off a bit, more talking to himself as he sat down. "I just never noticed how alike it was."

Remus' eyes widened. Molly frowned in confusion—so did Arthur.

"Regulus?" Sirius questioned softly.

Draco looked up, nodding slightly, before looking down again. Soon they were all eating, an odd silence cast around them. Draco knew it was because he was present in the room, but he'd rather not think about it. He'd rather not think about anything, really. He just ate food, marvelling in how truly delicious it was. He could feel Ron glaring at him but kept his eyes fixed on his plate, slowly eating away his potatoes.

Molly looked at the pale boy in concern—he was quite slim, underfed, if you'd ask her. Her youngest son kept on glancing maliciously at the blonde, and she motioned for him to stop. The boy had been through enough, and even though the Malfoys weren't the nicest family, Weasleys don't kick people when they're down. Not even Malfoys.

She was concerned though. The blonde didn't speak—his parents had just died, what could he possible have to say—didn't look, made no eye-contact. Just sat and started eating his green beans. Did he even like those? Molly started on an inner frenzy and then said: "now, if you don't like green beans, Sweetheart, please don't feel forced to eat them."

Draco looked up at her, trying to smile.

"Oh, I didn't mean to make you feel like I'm not enjoying them. They're very good." He said politely—meaning it too, and ate some more to prove his point.

She smiled and starting eating herself. She still glanced at him occasionally, but he seemed okay for a young boy who'd just lost his parents. Soon Remus and Arthur started a discussion about the ministry, Fred and George went on about the shop, and Ginny tried to bribe Ron into conversation with her and Hermione—apparently they'd gotten into some sort of row. Draco noticed Sirius wasn't really talkative either. Every now and then he'd agree with Remus' statements, but that was about it. Though when he saw Draco look at him, he did wink. And it made Draco believe that the man truly understood him.


It was certain: Draco was loosing it. He was actually playing chess with Ronald fucking Weasley! Oh. He must be out of his mind. Not to be crude, but him and the redhead did not get along. They didn't even like each other—but they both liked chess, obviously. And Ron had listened to his mother, and had decided to be nice to the blonde. But this was not good. They weren't saying anything, and Draco could feel the two girls sending concerned glances at them—even Molly seemed to think it wasn't a good idea. Draco knew that it was only a matter of time before one of them would say something and the other would explode. Maybe that explained why they weren't saying a word.

"Knight to E5." Ron ordered, and Draco watched as the piece moved to strike his Pawn.

"Tss, you keep on destroying my pieces." Draco complained lightly, forgetting for a second who he was talking to.

"That's sorta the idea of chess." Ron said, and would Draco have looked up, he would've seen the boy grinning.

"I said I liked chess. This does not mean I'm good at it—nor does it mean that I know how it works. Last time I saw a chessboard, my mother was throwing it at my father's head. Apparently we'd run out of vases. Rook to D7?" He doubted a bit, and Ron snorted at his earlier remark.

"Your parents sure loved each other then?"

"No, they really didn't," he stared intently as his Rook moved across the board. "But they were good people, so it doesn't matter."

"Of course they were." Ron snorted again—this time obviously in disbelief, and that was it.

Draco tried his best to be polite. He sat up straight, pushing himself to his feet. He could take a lot, anything Ron could've said would have been fine, but not about his parents.

"You know what, just play by yourself, you stupid oaf. If you think I'm going to buy your crappy nice-act, just so you can insult my parents, you're wrong. I knew you were low, ginger, but insulting death people is pathetic, even for you." He walked over to the corner, and placed himself in the large chair, feeling that if he'd leave before they did, they were bound to talk about his behaviour—he didn't like being talked about when he didn't know what they were saying.

Ron stared at him in amazement, but he just pulled his knees to his chest, and stared defiantly out of the window—no, he was not about to acknowledge Ron's presence.

But when the boy left the house with his siblings two hours later—distinctly ignoring Draco—the blonde couldn't help but notice the beautiful coppery glance his hair seemed to get when he walked through a puddle of moonlight. Not that Draco mentioned this, of course. No, he bid Remus and Sirius goodnight and went up to his new room, willing himself not to think about that hair—and any parts that came attached to it.

AN: God. I feel pathetic. Who on earth writes such crap. Me, apparently. (Deep sigh) So, review éh. So I know if I should put up 'Pale and Tanned' soon.