Disclaimer: I really own nothing beyond the perception of the characters and the situations they are put in. And even most of that isn't mine.
For Appearances Sake
He tells her he's no good for her.
"Please. I'm not exactly one for good, whatever it may seem," she replies, not bothering to direct her gaze on his. She knows what she'll find, not a trace of acceptance and miles worth of apathetic haughtier so fake it covers the truth beneath the surface. The honesty of how strongly he feels lost and pained by her small, simple admittance. "I think I'll be taking orange for Marley, gold for me."
"Will you look at me for a minute, Pertineli?" He demands in an irritated growl.
She finds it so funny that he actually growls his words, especially since she doesn't actually know anyone with a smoother, more sensual baritone. Like melted silver over fresh gravel, a sugar-coated road to disaster. But she knows, knows so very, very well that she's already been at this too long, found she enjoys it too much to turn tail. She's been faulted with brilliance for a reason, and it's clear to her that it won't make a different. She knows it won't.
"No."
He swipes the last two gold ink jars from the shelf, and stands to block the orange, completely blocking off her directorial approach. He has the seamless talent of doing that quite often. Blocking, blocking, himself, her, approach- all of it. But she knows better than to think it's due to a fault of hers. No, it's owed to the few virtues he is wary of and many faults of his.
"Pertineli-"
"Black, we're not going out. Relax. I'm trying to buy ink, not your soul, so please kindly move it out of my way."
Really, she fancies his soul just fine, regardless of it's sooty layers and golden solidity. Because she knows better than most that behind all the dragon dung hides something that fairly shines. She's brilliant enough to recognize that much, even with his apathetic haughtier and hidden truths.
But this is more important to Sirius than it's ever been before, and she's certain that it's a compliment, despite the sting of rejection he intentionally tunes up twice as strong.
"Gladly. I just need to make sure you won't be stocking me all month long-"
"Black, you give me too much credit. Three weeks, max, I swear, and then I will let you use the loo in peace-"
"Oh, you are the witty one. I'm serious here," he smirks at the unaddressed pun, and it's an obvious credit to her that she patiently waits for him to move on, not saying a word. "I don't like you, and honestly, if you continue to ignore your own safety, I'm not doing it for you. You're an attractive bird, and I'm not one to turn that offer down, am I?"
"Hmm, I suppose warning me is only the most gentlemanly thing to do in your position, yes?"
"Well, it's not like I fancy having heartbreak on my count-"
"But we are both fully aware that you're not opposed to it, either."
He's looking at her with that considering smirk he only reserves for those individuals he thinks of respecting. The one that advertises a surprising fondness and an unexpected regard that he isn't expecting to find. She wonders absently if Marley and Sirius have ever discussed her between their quidditch matches and silent recanting of intimate misfortunes. It's that similar to the look the witch had delivered when she'd gifted Marlene a bag of sweets in first year.
She sighs and steps away from his tall frame to lean hers against the opposite display and tries again. "I'm not going into this blind, I don't even have any expectations. Just that you'll make it worth my while and keep your business out of mine."
He sizes it all it, analyses it from every angle, and she can read in those incredible, passionate eyes that he's able to spot her honesty as what it truly is. She's never been one for games, and he's learning that right now.
"Really?" he asks flatly, for final confirmation and elusions of detachment.
He's not fooling her; he's as far gone down this one as she is, even if she isn't quite capable of husked, silky murmurs. She's been faulted with brilliance and this won't make a difference. Ultimately, she knows it won't.
So she pulls her lips into a smile, for elusions of detachment and appearances sake, and tilts her head in indication.
"Really."
"Must say, Nicki, did not see those nuts on you."
"Good thing in this case, too," she tells him smartly.
The truth is, she admits that night in her four-poster, that yeah, he's no good for her. But he's smart enough, bright enough to keep up and stay with ease. There are so few people out there with that capability, that it's got her as swept up as his aristocratically handsome features and his dark, penetrating demeanour.
And gods, she won't take his soul, just her heart, and he'll take hers. It'll be a gold empire they build in the sky together, with all the rest thrown in for appearances sakes. And she can't understand how she knows, so she simply accepts it, and recognizes that it will not be an easy road at all, the one they are unknowingly setting too far off on, but she knows enough about love to know that it's not all in the how and the whys. It's all beyond that, in the horizons and risks and the temperamental nature of two kindled souls who just seem to know each other, even if they don't know much at all.
Soul mate is a frightening notion, but so long as he has that look in his eyes tomorrow, and she recognizes that it's not due to a fault of hers, they can stand out to one another and make it.