Thank you all for your reviews and support. Here comes the next chapter. Am I stalling? Perhaps. But even so, I have moved on with new chapters, but they are still un-edited in my computer.

Love, K

9. Preparing

Sirius woke early. The light from the windows of the library still had the greyness of dawn. His limbs were stiff and he was cold. He hadn't been cold while he was asleep, though. A dream of a warm body pressed to his had kept him in blissful, light sleep, even in his rather unorthodox position, half lying in the sofa, with his legs on the coffee table.

When he placed his feet on the floor, they collided with something. A pair of white sandals halfway under the table snapped him into focus. Hermione. She hadn't been a dream, she had spent the night with him, under the blanket in the old dusty sofa. He'd been so aware of her, even in sleep, how come he hadn't noticed when she left?

In the kitchen, Kreacher served Ginny another cup of tea when Sirius stumbled in.

"It's 7 o'clock, Sirius," Ginny said. "I've never seen you up this early."

"Couldn't sleep," he muttered. Where is she?

"So said your wife-to-be. You just missed her."

"Where is she?"

"It's graduation day at Hogwarts today, have you forgotten?"

He had. He had forgotten all about the things that used to be his every day life. The governor seat at Hogwarts, the tedious process of studying Phineas diaries to help Minerva, tricking Remus to come see him alone to play chess and drink, his worries for Harry being far too like himself when shunning from life and love. He felt the same energy as the day before, the combat readiness he'd felt as a young Auror with James. A determination to, if not change things, at least stand up for what was right, and be prepared to keep things that way. It was probably wrong, but somewhere in his mind he hoped the Death Eaters were on the move again. He knew the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had captured fewer than they had hoped to after the war. There was still a frightening large number in freedom, and trace mark or not, they could never be trusted. The arranged marriage he was about to enter seemed like a ticket back to being what he'd been in his heart since the age of eight; a rebel against the beliefs he was raised with. And he had missed his chance four years ago. He wouldn't go so far as to say that things would have turned out differently if he had been there, at the Battle of Hogwarts with the rest of the Order. He might have been dead, really dead. Others might have died, protecting him. Or someone who lost his or her life during that day might have been alive because of him. And now his chance might have come. This time around he wouldn't let his pride get the better of him, as it had when Bellatrix materialised in a cloud of black smoke in the Death Chamber in the Department of Mysteries. This time he would be prepared.

"Have you?" Ginny asked again.

"Hm. Yes, obviously. Bit early to leave, isn't it? And why are you up?"

"Hermione wanted an early start. Quite a lot of administration at the end of term. She hopes she won't have to spend weeks of the summer holidays at Hogwarts. And I have practice. World Cup's only two months away."

"And I'm having breakfast with England's seeker. Amazing."

Ginny blushed slightly and they spent the breakfast talking Quidditch strategy and memorable games.

When Ginny had left, Sirius climbed the stairs to the third floor. The rooms opposite his hadn't been used for ages. One had been his mother's room, two others were rarely used guest rooms. If Hermione were to have her official, permanent address at 12 Grimmauld Place, he'd better clean out at least one decent sized room for her. The few times she'd spent the night after her school days, she'd stayed in a small room on the first floor that she used to share with Ginny years before. No one used that room anymore, and Sirius knew he'd stored some old paintings, clothes and paraphernalia adorned with the viler versions of the Black family crest there. He'd thought about locking it permanently and have a wall built in front of the door, but he'd never got around to it.

He opened the door to his mother's room. It was large, had high windows and an adjoining bathroom, but he almost immediately felt sick. Even with the clear morning light from the windows, it was dark. In her later years his mother had preferred dark rooms, stayed away from the sunlight that would reveal her lost beauty. His mother had been dead for almost twenty years, but he could still pick up traces of her perfume with his acute canine sense of smell. Heavy, sweet with a tinge of… dirt? He knew he had magical powers enough to transform the room into whatever he wanted, but just the thought of having Hermione within its walls made him back out and close the door. The next room was almost as large, with the same high windows overlooking the garden. He drew his wand and started muttering transfigurations and cleaning spells. He was a little at loss on how to finish it, but took a leaf out of Tonk's book and created the same bright and welcoming atmosphere she had given Remus' old, declining cottage.

Phineas portrait was still empty. He thought about owling Minerva to make sure the old headmaster was at Hogwarts. Or perhaps Hermione and have an excuse for asking when she would be back. Somehow the absence of, on the one hand his ancestor and, on the other hand, Hermione worried him. He wanted to make sure the former wasn't up to no good, and the latter were all right.

"Sirius?" came Remus voice from the kitchen and he hurried down the last steps. Kreacher stood unoccupied by the stove and Sirius gave him a hard stare.

"A guest, Kreacher. I don't need to remind you of how the House of Black treats guest, do I?"

"Tea?" croaked the elf.

"Yes, please," Remus replied. "You need a honeymoon," he said next.

"Me and Kreacher?" Sirius asked.

"Don't be daft. You and your wife, after the wedding. It's tomorrow, you know. Where is she?"

"Hermione is at work. I know it's tomorrow, and we don't need a honeymoon, thank you very much. Honeymoons are for people in love, for spending the whole day naked in bed. I can't really see myself doing that with Hermione, even though the thought is appealing."

"In this eyes of the Ministry you are very much in love and all over each other. You should go away somewhere. I don't really want to know where or what you do, but you seem to get along nicely"

"We are and point taken about our alleged love story, but I doubt she'd want to hide away with me somewhere for a longer period of time."

"I'm not so sure about that…"

Sirius muttered something inaudible.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, but I don't want to go away to play happy families, I want to stay here and see what happens once all these civil marriages are beginning to be registered. I think she wants that too. She's more vigilant and watchful than most of us. We're marrying each other, but we're also marrying the Order. If the business of the Order is to be what it once was, we're part of it. Couldn't we stay here, under the pretext of creating a home together? Everyone, especially the old aristocracy, among which many were Death Eaters, knows how decrepit this house is. It was falling apart even when my mother held her last parties."

"A working holiday? A working honeymoon?"

"Yes, something like that."

"I guess, but you'd better stay here alone for a while."

"All right, but you or Kingsley has to alert us if something happens. Meanwhile we can work on my mother portrait. How do you think she would like a beard like mine? Arthur gave me this muggle permanent marker. You can write on just about everything, and the smell makes you go dizzy."

"I believe Hermione could give you some more constructive ideas, if you ask her. Have you checked your dress robes?"

"Dress robes?"

"For tomorrow."

"Oh, right. Kreacher?"

Hermione came back late. Harry and Ginny, Remus, Tonks and Teddy, and Sirius had finished a late dinner and sat around the kitchen table drinking the last of the wine. They were all relaxed and happy, and Sirius had almost forgot the commitment he was about to enter the next day. Hermione, on the other hand looked as if she'd had a long and tiresome day. She had a bundle of books and parchments under her arm, a few bouquet of withering flowers, and a heavy bag slung over her shoulder that stooped under its weight. Tonks got to her feet before anyone else had time to react and placed Hermione's work-related burden on a side-table.

"Sit down. Are you hungry?"

"I'm starving, but I have to go back. These are just my work things. I need to get my trunk with my personal stuff. If that's OK, Sirius…" she finished tentatively.

"Of course. I've cleared out a room for you. Would you like me to come with you for your trunk?"

"Oh, would you? I'd be so grateful."

"Well, let's go."

Hermione's quarters at Hogwarts were in the Gryffindor Tower, but two floors below the students' common room and dormitories. The rooms were nice, but impersonal. A photo of Harry and Ron on the desk was about the only personal thing he could see. She could of course have packed other mementos in her trunk, but somehow he doubted that.

"How do you feel?" he asked while they were walking the corridors back to the large fireplace in the entrance hall.

"Oh, I'm fine, just tired. And you?"

"I meant about tomorrow," he added and she sighed but didn't answer.

The corridors and vast rooms of Hogwarts were empty. Sirius wondered if Hermione was the last member of staff left on the premises. Even Minerva had gone into London to stay with her nephew, whose son had graduated the same morning, Remus had said earlier. Why had Hermione chosen to stay the whole day at work? How much administrative parchment work could there be? Was he a reason for her staying away?

Grimmauld Place was empty when they returned. The kitchen table was cleared, apart from two glasses and plates.

"Still hungry?" Sirius asked her.

"Famished. I could eat anything."

He rummaged through the pantry and came back to the table with some cheese, salami, olives and bread. Three empty wine bottles on the worktop sent him down to the cellar to get another bottle. Red or white? He brought one of each. When he came back, Hermione sat with her feet on another chair, her cloak tossed carelessly on the table and about to remove hairpins from her hair. She threw him a smile, which he returned while wagging the bottles for her to see.

"Definitely red," she decided and cut some cheese.

He served her and sat opposite her, watching her as she ate. The colour returned to her cheeks and her exhaustion seemed to be kept at bay.

"I didn't want to talk about tomorrow at Hogwarts. It seemed empty enough, but all the portraits and Mrs Norris and the ghosts lurking about makes it impossible to keep a private conversation. I've been thinking today." She swallowed and drew the plates of olives closer. "Mmm, lovely. Greek, right?"

"No idea. Molly always arranges food for Order meetings and then there are left-overs for days. So, what have you been thinking?"

"Officially we have to do this one hundred per cent. And officially is everywhere outside this house. That woman Bendel sent me an owl, congratulating me on my impending marriage today. It seemed genuine enough."

"I agree. But speaking of this house, we'll be in house arrest here for a week."

"What?"

"Honeymoon privacy. Or a working holiday, re-decorating. Unless you'd rather go away. Scotland? France?"

"I want to be here. In London. And I won't get in you way. We could perhaps even do some decorating."

"You won't be in my way. I just don't want you to feel I'm holding you prisoner."

"Prisoner? You have the largest, private library in London." She held up her empty glass. "And probably the best wine cellar in England."

He poured her another glass.

"About tomorrow then," he said. "I've had Kreacher check my dress robes. Do you need him to iron anything for you?"

"Oh, give him a rest. I'm perfectly capable of ironing my own clothes. But I'll look the part, I promise."

I'm sure you will. The way you look now, with your feet up and your hair down and your lips red from the wine, you look good enough to eat.

"And I've already done some re-decorating. I've cleared out one of the larger rooms upstairs. You can change it if you like. I mean, this will be your house too, and you can do whatever you want to it. Do you want to see it?

Beacuse if that third button in your tight shirt pops, I don't know what to do.

"How thoughtful. Thank you. I'd rather sit here just a few more minutes. Or do you want to go to bed? Is it late?"

"Half past eleven. More wine?"

She drank in silence, and Sirius cleared away the plates. Giving Kreacher a rest definitely gave the kitchen a more unstrained atmosphere. He saw Hermione rubbing the back of her neck, and tilting her head this way and that. Not really knowing if it was for her sake or for his own he stood behind her chair and placed his hands on her shoulders, rubbing gently. She tipped her head back and grinned upside down.

"You're an angel."

If you knew what goes through my mind, you'd hardly call me an angel.

He found hard, cramped muscles and kneaded them with his thumbs. She let her head fall forward and rest on the table.

You'd call me a pervert and run away screaming.

His hands caressed her shoulders, and he wanted to slide apart her shirt and touch her skin. Her scent of peaches and tea and… something more, made his head spin.

Damn you, Remus and Tonks. Why did you have to hurry home? And is Harry still in the house, or has he gone home with Ginny?

Hermione gasped when his willing fingers found a tender bundle of muscles.

"Yes, right there. Oh…"

What am I doing? Another moan from her, and I'll just lose it.

She purred when her tense muscles gave in to his touch.

"Mm, just a little lower. Yes, just there…"

Sirius closed his eyes and tried to think of Quidditch, but could only see a cheering Hermione in the crowd. A Potions lessons with Horace Slughorn from his school days, but Hermione, in her formal teaching suit took Slughorn's place and talked about love potions. Desperately he recalled the last meeting of the Governors at Hogwarts, but somehow she slipped into that memory as well. And then a low moan, close to a sob, shattered those mental pictures as well. He held his hands still, praying she wouldn't ask for more. She didn't. Instead she took one of his hands in her and pulled it to her face, kissing it lightly.

"I could get used to these hands. You're marvellous. Thank you."

Again she'd tipped her head, leaned back and watched him upside down. He could see down her shirt, her cleavage in a plain white bra, her creamy skin slightly flushed. His hand acted on its own and let one finger slide across her lips again, begging for another kiss, then follow her jawline, and stroked the skin on her neck. Her pulse was fast, but not compared to his own. Her lips were parted and moist, and he remembered her taste. What would she do if he bent down and kissed her? He took a step back and a tiny jingle in his trouser pocket reminded him of something he had to do. He sat down beside her and held up a small gold ring. A line of seven small diamonds made it a small band of glittering reflections.

"For our twelve hour engagement. It belonged to my father's sister Lucretia. It's one of the less hideous pieces of family jewellery."

"It's beautiful."

He took her small hand in his and slid the ring on her fourth finger. His hands shook slightly.

"I should be on my knees. Do you mind?" he tried to joke. She didn't smile, just watched their hands before she let her eyes wander upwards to meet his.

"Thank you. Thank you for doing this for me." Tentatively she leaned in and kissed him chastely with closed lips.

His blood roared in his ears when he drew her to his chest and buried his shaking hands in her hair, all his focus on not crushing her to his chest or let his lips stray to the velvet skin of her neck. He kissed her back softly, holding back the waves of lust that rolled over him.

I need to get away! I can't do this! I can't have you this close and not continue kissing you. I want to taste you all over, take off every piece of clothing you have and love you.

With the last strains of self-control he had, he broke the kiss, smiled, and only leaned in for one last breath in her hair and peck on her cheek.

"I'll show you your room. Come on."

Will it be possible to turn this into an M-rated wedding night? What would it take do you think?