"Hermione…" Sirius said for the third time.

They sat opposite each other in a corner of the old restaurant. A waiter had taken their orders and brought a bottle of Chablis. Hermione had emptied half a glass at once, but hadn't said a word, except silencing him when her tried to talk. She did so again. She watched him with the same anger simmering under the features of her face. Uneasy he held her gaze. When their food came she relaxed a little.

"This is not what it seems, is it?" she said.

He shook his head slightly.

"Are you going to answer my questions, or do I need to whiz up something in my Potions classroom?"

"I'll answer. I wanted to tell you yesterday, but Remus and Kingsley…"

"Don't blame them. You are a grown man. And I'm not asking them, I'm asking you." With unnecessary force, she spiked a piece of chicken on her fork.

"This is about the pure-bloods, right?"

He nodded.

"It's just not about you, and your pure blood-status, is it?"

He shook his head.

"So, then it's about me."

No. No more lies. Here we go. Fuck you Remus. A marriage of convenience where one of the parties doesn't even know the reasons? Hell no.

He ventured a low "Yes."

"But I've always been the least troublemaking of Harry, Ron and myself. Apart from tricking Umbridge into the Forbidden Forest, and she was fired from the Ministry after that, Harry or Ron always took the blame. Why would the Ministry care about my marital status? I don't have ancestry like you, there are no prophesies about me, and no dark wizard has ever made it their mission to kill me, like Voldemort went after Harry."

She was angry and agitated, and almost rambling, but Sirius' field of sight shrank to only see her face when she came so close to the truth.

"Well…" he began, only to be met by her hand to stop him from talking. It was her right hand, with her knife between her fingers, and he thought it best to obey. She spoke enough for both of them.

"And bringing you, kicking and screaming I presume, from the registers of deceased into this little charade doesn't make sense. You weren't among the arranged marriages originally, were you?"

"No."

"And I'm not a pure-blood. Then tell me, what are you hiding? Why are you prepared to go through with something you, admittedly, do well enough to fool that prat Eckhart, but I know you don't really want to?" She was prepared to listen now.

"First of all, I do want to go through with this, but not for the reasons I should. Or the reasons the Ministry wants. Secondly, you shouldn't disrespect yourself the way you do. Harry might be a larger person in the media, but everyone knows your part in those last days of the war. You were, and you are important and precious to our community. The Order, Hogwarts and the rest of the magic population of Britain. Finally, this New Deal has a backside, we just can't see it yet. You said yesterday that our match probably isn't the only far-fetched one, but it is. But only because the first suggestion was even worse and perhaps a clue to the real purpose of it all."

"So, who was it?"

Sirius swallowed hard, cursed Remus and Kingsley for bringing him into this, and then he blessed them for doing just that. He would keep Hermione from the grips of his demented cousin's widower, finally he would do something substantial, something that really mattered. And the safety of the young woman opposite him mattered to him. He slid along the built-in seat in the corner, so he came to sit next to her, and took her hands in his. His hesitation and closeness made her nervous.

"Lestrange."

"What? Who?"

"Rodolphus Lestrange was paired up with you." He filled her in on the blurry, written curse, Remus' suggestion to replace Lestrange with Sirius and the way Kingsley had invented a love story to get the Minister to change Hermione's suggested spouse. He spoke quickly, as if he only had the smallest amount of time to say as much as possible. An unpronounced fear at the back of his mind told him to be as honest as possible before Hermione… broke down? understood the full extent of what might have happened? stabbed him with her table knife? apparated away?

She sat very still. All colours had drained from her face. She eyes were directed towards her empty wine glass, but she didn't seem to see it. Sirius had expected a more agitated mood, a flood of questions he wouldn't have been able to answer. She seemed totally lost in herself, totally unaware of where she was. Her hands grew cold in his, and when he stroked her forearm he felt her skin sprinkled with goose bumps. When she finally faced him, her eyes were black with fear. Sirius knew little enough about Lestrange and he'd believed Hermione knew even less, apart from Lestrange being one of the Death Eaters close to Voldemort and having an unhealthy passion for torture. Hermione's behaviour hinted at more.

"I think I'm going to be sick," she mumbled in a small voice.

Sirius pulled her from her chair and headed towards the restrooms at the back of the restaurants. He followed her into a small booth and held her while she threw up. Cold sweat trickled her temples and darkened her hair. When she turned around in his embrace she shook violently, and he held her as hard as he dared, while whispering soft, idle words to her. He could still feel her scent of peaches through the vile odour of vomit. There was very little he could do for her, locked into the small cubicle with the small witch in a full-blown panic attack in his arms, but somehow he felt that this was indeed where he should be, and that he did do something that mattered. After a few minutes he felt her relax, but when he loosened his grip she tensed up again.

"Don't," she whispered hoarsely. "And take me home."

A little bewildered by what was 'home' to Hermione, he closed his eyes and thought of the library of Grimmauld Place. A second later the booth was empty.

"Kreacher," Sirius said the second the house elf arrived at his command. "A glass of water, please." He chanced a glance at the almost trace-like Hermione. "No, tea. And a blanket. There is a grey one in my room. And get me the silver box from my bathroom cabinet."

Sirius looked at her again. She had gone directly to the couch and curled up with her chin resting on her knees. Her shoulders were tense and almost level with her ears. Her body language screamed 'Don't touch me!' but he didn't care. He sat down beside her and tilted the small bundle of her towards him. Her skin was cold and clammy, and her breathing shallow. He pulled out his wand and accioed a bottle of muggle vodka from the liquor cabinet. Hermione didn't flinch when the bottle hit the table in front of them rather hard and threatened to tumble over. Waiting for the tea, he pondered his situation, or their situation.

He felt a flutter of determined energy run through him. Something he hadn't felt since his days at Hogwarts or the first war. In his first life, before Azkaban. His second, short life had been restricted in so many ways: first on the run for a year, and then hidden in this house for another. When he came back from the two blank years behind the veil, he had faced a decimated group of war-weary friends, grateful for the victory, but exhausted and grieving. He'd felt shame for not being there for them, and was pulled down in his own despair of grieving. In the course of his first evening, at a partially destroyed Hogwarts, he had to come to terms with the death of Dumbledore, Fred Weasley, Alastor Moody, Ted Tonks, Charity Burbage and Severus Snape. When Harry had told him about Snape being a double spy, Sirius had cried. He'd remembered being adolescently mean to Severus when the Order had resurrected, a whole year before Minister Fudge had acknowledged Voldemort's return. He had realized Dumbledore's vouching for Severus had been genuine, but something about his black gaze and constant frown of disdain had provoked Sirius to no end. Harry had cried too, but they had finally come to the conclusion that Severus' only love had ever been Lily, and what he did for Dumbledore was the outcome of that love, never more, never real concern about Harry and his friends, Dumbledore or anyone else. Severus own war against Voldemort had only had one victim. Lily.

But now, when dark forces seemed to whisper from the back of the stage, Sirius realized he was neither imprisoned, wanted by the authorities or dead. He had been reinstated among the living in every official registers, he'd been pardoned and presented with an Order of Merlin. He was free to act and to fight if it came to that. The anxiety-ridden witch in his arms mattered to him, more that he ever would have imagined. He could no longer deny that he cared about her, beyond regular loyalty towards another Order member. How could he not have cared, or even noticed her before? How could she, who had saved his life once, have grown up without him paying attention? Without her evil might have reigned the magic population of Britain. And she was pretty, oh so pretty. And had such soft, soft lips…

When Kreacher arrived, Sirius stirred four lumps of sugar in her tea and added a splash of milk and vodka. She frowned.

"I don't like sugar in my tea," she said weakly.

"You do today. Drink," he grumbled and wrapped the blanket around her stiff shoulders.

He watched her carefully as she sipped the tea, and spiked his own with a generous slosh of the liquor. Her hands were still shaking when she put down the empty cup, and her face started to take on that greenish tinge of nausea again. He reached for the silver box Kreacher had fetched and took out a small vial. Its content had the colour of the Mediterranean Sea, bright blue with glittering reflections of the sun.

He uncorked it and handed it to her. She watched it without interest.

"It will take the edge of your anxiety."

"It doesn't look like a pick-me-up potion."

"Well, it isn't. Technically. I found the recipe when I cleared out Regulus' room. It has a lot in common with Felix Felicis, but better for how you're feeling now. Trust me."

She gave him a tired look, as if she wanted to ask him how he could even imagine how she felt. He didn't, of course, but confided in her.

"I've found it helps after nightmares. I still sometimes wake up at three in the morning with the hissings of Azkaban's dementors in my mind, and I can think of a lot of nicer bed companions than them."

A glimpse of interest or compassion flickered in her eyes.

"Is it quick?"

"Very."

She downed it in one gulp, clenched the empty vial in her hand and put her forehead against her knees, a little ball of tense muscles. Sirius rubbed her back soothingly and counted seconds. He knew the time span exactly, from years of occasional use. The almost cramping muscles in her back grew softer, and she took deep breaths. She tilted her face to meet his eyes. Her lips were no longer white and her soft skin had its usual pale but healthy, creamy colour. She looked slightly embarrassed but ventured a small smile.

"Thank you. I'd like to see that recipe some day." She wriggled her toes in her open toe sandals and reached down to undo the buckle. It proved impossible with the vial still in her hand, and Sirius pulled her feet into his lap and undid the tiny fastening straps. Thus, she faced him properly. He placed his hands on her slim ankles and searched her eyes. Her feet were cold, but grew warmer in his hands. Reluctantly she met his gaze.

"Now. Tell me."

She swallowed hard and shook her head.

"Please, Hermione."

He saw that his words would have sent her into another panic attack, if she hadn't taken his brother's unknown potion, but he pressed on.

"Yesterday Remus said that some old Death Eaters think it was you who killed Bellatrix and that would explain this conspiracy. But it was Molly, wasn't it? You saw her, didn't you?"

She mumbled something he didn't catch, and he asked her to repeat it.

"I wish I had killed him. I tried."

"Rodolphus?"

She nodded.

"So, you've met him?"

She nodded again. He repeated his plea.

"Honey, please tell me."

She looked everywhere in the room, except at him. Then she sighed and closed her eyes. After a minute of silence, she let the blanket slide from her shoulders and shimmied out of the white cardigan. Sirius abided, slightly confused. She leaned towards him and held out her left arm. The soft skin on the inside of her upper arm was scarred with the word 'Mudblood.'

"Lestrange?" Sirius asked softly, but she shook her head.

"Bellatrix." She swallowed hard again and fiddled with the empty vial. Sirius stroke the marred skin with the pad of his thumb, but found no words.

"When we… When Harry, Ron and I were searching for the Horcruxes we were…" She broke off and straightened up. "I'm sorry Sirius, but I need some space if I'm going to tell you. You'll need it too," she concluded in a whisper. She pulled her feet out of his lap and thus broke all physical contact with him.

"You've asked me trust you twice today, and I will trust you now. Because I'm afraid, and I can't marry you, even if it's only technically, unless you know. And it might shed some light on why Les…" Her voice broke. "Why he's come out of the shadows in this New Deal."

Sirius nodded and wanted desperately to pull her to him. His fingers ached from the lack of contact with her.

"We were caught by snatchers and brought to Malfoy Manor. Harry and Ron were locked in the dungeons with Luna and Mr Ollivander. Bellatrix kept me though. She carved what she found appropriate into my skin. I screamed, and that seemed to give her an idea. You could almost see the light bulb light up in her mind. She… Well, she called Les… She called her husband, giggled giddily and said she had something for him. A screamer. Me."

Sirius understood where her story was heading and swallowed the taste of bile in the back of his throat.

"Evidently, he liked women who screamed, and he… Well, he stripped me, and beat me." She took another deep breath. "And raped me. Somehow I caught a glimpse of his wand in the inside pocket of his jacket, snatched it and hexed him. I aimed for his… Well, I must have missed because he just hit me hard enough to break my jaw and… continued. Several times. Until I lost my voice. And my…" She reached for the vodka, poured it shakily into her teacup and drank.

"Afterwards… I don't really know. Bellatrix dragged me back to the room where she'd been holding me before, threw my clothes at me and decided she wanted to 'decorate' my body some more. Like a mad tattoo artist on crack. Then Harry and the others appeared, with the help of that sweet little elf, and we apparated to Shell Cottage. Bill and Fleur's place, you know." She was trying to distract him, to get as far away from the subject as possible, and he complied and nodded.

"Yes, I know."

They sat in silence, and Sirius reached for her hand. She flinched, but he held a firm grip around her fingers.

"I'm not him," he said when she stopped fidgeting.

"I know, but I'm revolting. I've felt befouled ever since. I can never be anything to anyone. I've tried, I've been with Ron, with Victor and Oliver, but I've always felt I've tainted them. And I have, of course, been a total disappointment to them. Harry is the only man who can touch me without bringing me back to that room. Somehow I think he knows, but I don't know how and we've never talked about it. But later he was different with me. Still close, but more… tender perhaps. Or worried."

Sirius attention picked up when she said this. He'd always been curious about whether Harry and Hermione ever had been close, intimate. Now he banned those thoughts from his mind and focused on Hermione.

"You said you trust me," he said. Do I…? Does my touch take you back to Les… that room?"

She shook her head.

"Actually no, but I feel like a contagious disease, tainting everyone who touches me." She tried to pull her hand out of his grip, but he retorted with pulling her close.

"Don't you ever say so again, sweetie. You can't take the blame for his crime. I wish I'd been there. I would have killed him. And Bellatrix."

Tentatively she rested her head against his chest, and he encircled her with his arms, breathing deep into her hair and kissing her temple.

"Did you ever tell anyone? Harry? Ginny?"

"I told Luna. She could see something had happened. Asked about nargles."

"What are nargels?"

"No idea. Some creature she and her father believe in. I think it's a negative thing, she asked if I'd been infested with nargles when we shared a room at Bill and Fleur's and I just broke down and told her. Luna is special. She's not a hothead like Ginny, or obsessed with honour like Ron or Harry. She took my story for what is was, except that she added the influence of creatures and forces I've never heard of and sincerely doubt exist. But she saw that I was hurting and she predicted it would pass. She grew up in a world of conspiracies. She wasn't shocked, even surprised that something bad, something ghastly had happened to me. She is so much here and now, she doesn't live in neither the past or the future. It's admirable."

Sirius stayed silent. He wanted to assure her that nothing she had said had changed the way he saw her, the way he felt about her, but, somehow, he felt she was still telling him her story, and he shouldn't steer her off track. She didn't continue though, and he asked quietly.

"Anyone else?"

"Yes. Poppy. Madame Pomfrey. I went to her the day after the Battle of Hogwarts, after you had returned. I was terrified he'd made me pregnant, and maybe he had, I bled for weeks, but Poppy calmed me and… Well, healed me. She was horrified and offered to obliviate my memory, but for some reason I didn't want to. Ron and I had finally… got together, and I was too terrified to loose that. And I also thought that if she were to oblivate me, I would not recognize Les… Lestrange for what he was if I ever met him again. Now I regret that. I wish she'd taken away a week's worth of memories and allowed me to… live."

After a minute's silence Sirius spoke.

"Would you like me to take those memories away from you? I used to be pretty good with memory charms."

She sobbed into his chest.

"No, it wouldn't work. The memory of him has spread too much. There hasn't been a day since his… Since his abuse that hasn't been tainted with the memory of… I thought about it at Teddy's first birthday, at Ginny's World Cup match, when Harry was appointed Head Auror, during Christmas here. I wouldn't want to loose all those memories too. You'd end up with an adrenaline-stuffed 17-year old at you hands, paranoid and with her whole life in a tiny bead-embroidered handbag, and I'm not that person any more. Everyone expects me to be this half-person, most often quiet, sometimes chatty when I've been drinking or within a very small group of friends. I'm not so different from some of the others. The war, our losses, the price we all had to pay. Many of us are a mess, emotionally."

"You're every bit that courageous 17-year-old, and the even younger witch who saved my life on the back of Buckbeak. And you are the most compassionate woman I know. Remus was right when he taught at Hogwarts. You are the brightest witch of your age, and I'll be damned if I can't make you see that. But most importantly, let's go through with this marriage. I need you to be safe, no matter what lies we'll have to come up with. I told Remus yesterday I'll take you to the west coast of Ireland, and I'm still prepared to do that. Or anywhere else in the world." He tugged her hair softly.

"No," she mumbled, and Sirius wondered which of his statements she objected to.

"No to what, love?"

"To leave London, leave England. We can't do that if… well, when we don't know what is going on. Could you live with yourself in another country and not knowing about Harry and Remus? Tonks and Teddy? Kingsley?"

"Of course not. But I wouldn't want you in the line of fire."

"I've been there before. You have too."

"But you weren't a target before."

She shuddered.

A knock on the door startled them. Remus' voice called for them.

"Yes, in here," Sirius said, and his oldest, living friend came into view. He watched the pair on the couch with some surprise, but didn't say anything.

"Remus, please sit. There is some fire whiskey in the cabinet if you don't want vodka."

"I'm fine without. Molly's come over with food and most of her family. Dinner in five minutes. Where have you been all day? We thought the visit to the Ministry would take an hour, tops."

"Oh, we've been there, and here. We have some news for you." Sirius could feel Hermione tense up against him, and he rubbed her back reassuringly. He would never betray her confidence.

"Via Phineas Nigellus' portrait actually," he lied. "Apparently he has another portrait at the Lestrange castle and had to listen to Rodolphus' rage for hours on end. Lestrange is very upset about the switch in the marital registers, so you must have been right yesterday. The rumour that Hermione killed Bellatrix is what has sent him on this path of revenge. Since we stopped it early, we'll never know how he would have forced Hermione to agree, but as long as we thwarted his plans I don't really care."

OK, dear readers, that's it for tonight. Drop me a line, review or PM and I'll reward you tomorrow with a new chapter. What's the best line in the dialogue? Best twist or turn of the plot?

Kia