A.N. Hey all! This one's a bit shorter, but everything's coming together. The calm before the ol' storm. Sorry for the unpredictably long waits between chapters, life is a bit crazy. The rest is all outlined, though, so definitely on the way!

Thanks so much for reading! As always, all feedback is so much appreciated, as are follows/favorites/reviews, etc. :)

Chapter Twenty-One

"Hermione?" The tapping came again on the bathroom door. "Hermione, are you in there?"

"She can't be serious." Sirius pulled away, the water from the shower now catching him squarely in the back of the head.

"Yes, Ginny, I'm here!" Hermione reached up and nudged the shower-head further away. She looked down at Sirius. "I would say she's serious, but as we've been discussing recently, you're the only one who's technically—"

"Watch it, witch." He moved the fingers that were already inside her, apparently for emphasis, and she bit her lip. "Let's just think about who's currently—"

"Hermione, I can't find the silver knife from the potion kit downstairs, and I was wondering—"

"Go away, Ginny!" called Sirius. And then let out a mighty sigh, resting his forehead against Hermione's stomach, as footsteps failed to move immediately away from the door.

"I just want her advice for a second, on whether I should—"

Sirius seemed to decide that he would simply continue as if Ginny wasn't there. He urged Hermione's knee further to the side and recommenced doing something with his tongue that Hermione still wasn't convinced didn't involve magic.

Hermione bit back a moan and murmured, "Wait, Sirius, after she goes…"

He pulled back again to look darkly up at her, and as she brushed wet hair out of his eyes, he mouthed, "Make her go," before moving in again with his tongue.

"Ginny," Hermione managed, half on a gasp, "I'm rather—busy—can this w-wait—"

"Oh. Merlin. You animals." Then the sound of her footsteps retreating.

But Sirius was drawing back even so. Hermione looked down at him in consternation, her fingers wound through his hair. They'd just been getting to the good part.

"My knees," he informed her, "are starting to hurt."

"Oh. Oh, of course, you don't need—"

He'd wrapped a hand around her thigh to stop her moving. "Where do you think you're going? I'm not giving up, idiot, we're just—" he fumbled around at the side of the tub for his wand "—rearranging."

"Did you just call me an idi—" but then Hermione was rising a foot or two into the air to hover and her words vanished into a yelp of alarm as Sirius grinned up at her.

He gripped her legs and pulled them over his shoulders as he leaned back against the edge of the tub. "Mm, magic. And yes, I did call you an idiot." He kissed the inside of her thigh, and smirked as she wound her hands into his hair again to anchor herself. "I'm a man of many words, for you. I can even spell them. Want to see?"

Hermione figured the noises she made over the next few minutes were enough to indicate that yes, she did want to see and that, furthermore, she approved very much of his spelling methods demonstration.

When they'd finished and Hermione was sufficiently limp, he levitated her down into the tub again, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. She leaned back against him, still catching her breath, and he ran fingers through her wet hair, absently combing it out along his chest. "When do we think we can get them out?"

"Hmm?" Hot water was still pattering onto her stomach, and she was essentially melted against Sirius. It was altogether fairly difficult to think at the moment.

"Harry and Ginny. They're looking at houses, aren't they?"

That was a screeching topic shift. She tried to look up at him. "I thought you liked having Harry live with you?" She could only faintly remember his earlier complaint. "Are they being that annoying about the engagement?"

"I do. They're not. But." The hand in her hair stopped moving, and then tugged gently. "I'm realizing I want my own space with you, little witch. Something territorial. I can't help it."

Ah. Not a topic shift. She smiled. "You want to throw me over your shoulder and take me back to your cave, is that it?"

"I recognize that you're calling me a caveman. But if I had a cave," his arms came around her and lips found the side of her neck, "that's exactly what I'd mean."

She rolled over to rest her chin on his chest and blink up at him. "Well. I think it's maybe only a few months. Ginny's been mentioning neighborhoods already. So you'll have me to yourself in a bit." She paused, and smirked. "Remind me why you want me? To yourself?"

He looked confused, and then rolled his eyes. "You're still making me say it?"

She grinned, and leaned her head on his chest entreatingly.

He sighed. "Because I love you, Hermione."

"And you didn't even stutter." She shifted up to kiss him, and as she did, she felt a somewhat unexpected hardness. She raised amused eyebrows. "Already? I'm honored."

"Shut up. You've somehow confused my body into thinking it's in its twenties again."

"Did I sound like I was complaining?"

He let out a half-groan, half-laugh as she began shifting her hips efficiently. "No, no, get out of the tub. Shower sex is going to get a lot less fun if we get all pruny."

"But Ginny could be lurking in the hallway. Or Kreacher."

He had followed her out, and now he lifted her summarily onto the vanity table in the corner. "No one said anything about the hallway."

That was a fair point, so she kissed him back and wrapped her legs around him. A bit later, she managed on half a whimper, "Ginny and Harry really do have to find a house."

Sirius stopped moving and murmured against her neck, "Remind me why?" She could feel his teasing smile.

"Because-" And then he did start moving again, holding her hips hard and pressing kisses against her jaw. "-because—I—l-love—you—Sirius."

"I think you stuttered." Said with satisfaction. "Try again."

…

"Are you sure you're ready?"

Hermione was fairly sure that she was the only one who had heard Luna, apart from Dorian. The wizard was standing before the archway, the finally completed cloth hanging from his hands. His face was pale, and Luna hovered beside him.

Hermione was standing between them, Priscilla, and the audience of extra Unspeakables that had been working with them in the weeks since the Veil had started… doing things. As much as the Veil should be the frightening thing in the room, Hermione felt like Dorian and Luna were the ones she was shielding just now.

"As much as I'll ever be," said Dorian at last, or Hermione thought he did. He stepped forward, pulling out his wand, and the odd, vaporous cloth fluttered from his hand. It hung in the air above them all for a moment, undulating, and Dorian shot a look over his shoulder at Priscilla. When Hermione looked back at her too, there was nothing in her face. An intense, black-eyed focus, maybe.

Dorian swept his wand downwards, and the cloth sank into place, attaching itself to the archway with a sudden rush—as if it had been waiting for permission. There was a feeling like a sigh, then, as if some energy in the room had shifted.

Dorian stepped back, and everyone else crowded forward to look. It was the Veil. Or, at least, a Veil. The cloth fluttered just as Hermione remembered—not the clean movement of a gust of wind, but small disturbances, as if something, or someone, had just passed its other side. But why could she see through the Veil, to the stone floor on the far side? Had she somehow imagined that yawning nothingness, exaggerated that gray void in her mind?

Priscilla stepped forward. "It isn't right."

Dorian looked sideways at her. "Priscille, I—Priscille!" He grabbed at her, but before he could stop her, she had thrust her hand through the Veil.

She pulled it back and simply looked at him. "It is an echo, Dorian. An excuse. What are you thinking?"

Dorian had moved back, and almost knocked against Luna. "I don't know why it isn't working. I thought it should. I—I will have to work on this."

Priscilla's eyes were sparkling with something like outrage. "You should know why. Who else? You made it work the first time. You-"

"YES!" shouted Dorian over her, and everyone looked at him in astonishment. It was as if a mask had lifted, and he spoke now with desperation. "Yes, Priscille, I know why it worked the first time. We took a life. And I will not do so again, no matter how much you want your—your Veil."

Priscilla's face had drained, but she ignored the reactions of everyone but her brother. "We didn't kill him. You know that."

"Oh, of course. Luna did. Tell yourself that if it helps, Priscille, but it cannot change the fact that I will not build that Veil again." Had Dorian been any tenser, Hermione thought he might have started to tremble. He and Priscilla stood facing each other. Hermione didn't know what they meant—had Luna's avada kedavra somehow killed somebody, all those months ago? Hadn't those in the Veil been dead already?

Priscilla's wide, dark eyes took Dorian in for a long moment, and then she looked the rest of the group over slowly. Hermione had the feeling of a rabbit, staying very still as a large and terrible thing moved by. If she could simply stay quiet and calm, she could go right to Fenshaw in a few minutes, and dump this whole mess into the older witch's pensieve.

"I understand," said Priscilla, finally, and someone made a small, inadvertent noise. Luna, Hermione thought. "You could simply have told me, Dorian, that you felt this way. And, so. We will find a different way. We have time. You have my faith." And she tried to take his hand.

Dorian was leaning towards her, his face softening, but then he looked at Luna. He pulled his hands away and pushed them into the sleeves of his robes, as if to keep them from Priscilla, or anyone. He raised his chin. "No." Priscilla stared at him. Dorian swallowed. "No, Priscille. If this has not finished it, I will not work on this Veil anymore. I—I do not want it to work again."

"You can't mean that." Priscilla's eyes were filling with tears.

"I do." Dorian nodded firmly, as if this might counteract the paleness in his face, or the uncertainty with which he looked around a moment later. He stepped over to Priscilla again, and wrapped his arms around her. "I do. I am sorry. I know our work meant… a lot. We must let it go. This isn't the end, though, we can-"

Priscilla pushed him away as suddenly as she had crumpled, wiping her face dry with her sleeve. She turned to Hermione and Luna, summoning up some pantomime of a cheerful smile. "Well. If that is all to be done here. We shall do other things. How goes your work, Luna? Hermione? I have been meaning to ask you about your—your fascinating work with your parents." And she reached for Hermione's arm. Hermione let herself be pulled off into a tangent. If she could defuse today's bomb, so be it.

Standing by the archway minutes later, Dorian looked very alone. He was staring up at his creation, a solemn, strange look on his face. Had she gotten a better look at him, Hermione might have called it hatred.

Luna eventually managed to extract herself from the conference of muttering Unspeakables further up in the chamber. She returned to Dorian and, from what Hermione could see past Priscilla's shoulder, simply wrapped her arms around him from the back.

He turned, and a smile broke out on his face. Then he leaned down and kissed the sandy-haired witch, with a look of such trust and abandon that Hermione felt a tug in her heart. She made sure to keep Priscilla talking. This moment wasn't for her to share.

…

Hermione clung to Sirius's fur and tried not to squeak as he bounded down the final steps faster than she would have liked. It was a lot harder to hold on with paws than with hands. Still, they'd realized they had calmed down enough about their animal pheromones now to transform with each other even when Harry and Ginny were around. And, in the days since, everyday games like this had yet to get boring. Unfamiliar sensations, unexpected views of familiar things.

Sirius trotted around the corner, heading for the kitchen, and very suddenly a human, smelling of very elegant perfume, was standing over them. And then the fur under Hermione was slipping, and she shrieked unhappily—or chittered, as it came out—and tried to hold on.

And now her claws were hooked firmly into a sweater on a broad shoulder, and a very human Sirius was looking up at the woman in front of them from where he sat on the floor. "Um, hello, Dr. Granger."

Hermione squeaked, and scrambled forward, and she landed across Sirius's legs as she reached full human form again. "Please don't transform while you're carrying me, Sirius." She looked up at her mother. "Hello, mum. You do know the party doesn't start for another hour?"

Phoebe shifted her hands from her hips. "I thought I'd help. You seem like you could use help standing, for instance." Hermione accepted the hand up, rolling her eyes. "Harry was kind enough to let me in," added Phoebe, a certain self-congratulation in her tone. Hermione was already regretting having shown her parents how to find Grimmauld Place from the outside. "Forgive me for asking, sweetheart. But. Were you just—a ferret?"

Sirius, standing up beside Hermione, barked a laugh. She narrowed her eyes at him. "An otter, mum. It's a recent skill. Quite tricky. Sirius taught me." The wizard in question smirked insufferably, but Hermione pressed on. "It's rare enough magic that it helped him escape from Azkaban, all those years back."

"Ah?" Phoebe might have been trying to smile politely, but then quick clicks sounded as Sniffles came around the corner. He began to bark furiously, dodging when Sirius reached for him. Phoebe looked down at the dog. "Is this going to turn into anyone I know?"

Hermione grinned. "No, he's just our dog."

Sirius managed to scoop Sniffles up, and shushed him with a gentle finger to the muzzle. An understanding between canine types, perhaps. "Alright, lump. Meadow time for you." He gave Hermione's mother a kind of salute. "A pleasure, Phoebe." He had been adopting this unfailingly cheerful attitude with Hermione's parents, and Hermione was fairly sure that he was enjoying how it unnerved them.

Phoebe watched him go up the stairs. "Your dog?"

"Yes."

"What is meadow time?"

"Sirius got bored walking Sniffles. So he built an Extended meadow in one of the upstairs cupboards." He'd consulted Hermione on some of the charm work, but Phoebe didn't need to know that.

"I see." Her mother frowned. "You can tell him, by the way, that Dad and I are happy to accept his help for that furniture run. If you still insist."

"That's… gracious of you. Warming up to him finally?"

Phoebe eyed her. "Admitting defeat." As Hermione lead the way to the kitchen, she thought she heard her mother add in a low tone, "For now."

—

Less than an hour to the New Year, and Hermione was squished between a noticeably tipsy Neville and Luna, and feeling just about as happy as she ever had. Dorian, who had come along with Luna, had somehow ended up next to Ginny. Hermione had been a bit concerned when he asked the redhead about her plans for her handfasting, but Ginny was only laughing and explaining that those didn't happen here. She seemed to have accepted the oddness of Luna's wizard. Granted, it was Luna. Hermione might have been imagining it, but it already seemed to her that there was a newfound lightness to Dorian, in the days since he'd stopped working on the Veil.

"If you would like any help getting your dowry ready," he was saying to Ginny, beaming, "I've got quite a lot of metalwork experience." He showed her his intricate wand. "I'd be delighted to-"

Whatever he would be delighted to do was interrupted as George plopped onto the ottoman in front of his sister. "Alright. Let's see the stone."

Ginny held out her hand to him, and George examined the ring on her finger. "Very shiny. I approve. I'm taking bets, by the way," and he looked up to address all of them, "on when tonight Mum is going to start crying over how beautiful a couple the two of you are. I, at least, am not sentimental about it. I know you're just two dripping sacks of hormones. Love is a filthy, filthy thing." And he patted Ginny's hand sweetly.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Harry and I are very dignified, thank you. I practically feel like we're the old married couple already. And—" she shot a mischievous glance at Hermione "—let's just say that Harry and I might be getting married, but we're not the ones in our honeymoon phase."

Hermione turned red as Luna, Neville, and George all looked at her appraisingly. Ron, on Harry's far side, had turned the color of a tomato as well and seemed to be staring at his shoes.

George was oblivious and grinning, though, as he leaned back towards Ginny. "So that's how it is, is it? I've been dying to know, spill. Are they loud? I bet they're loud."

"Judging from the once or twice they've been really loud, I think they must use silencing charms a lot."

"Do you ever hear barking?"

Hermione put her head in her hands. "George, Ginny…"

Even Harry had begun to chuckle, and Hermione couldn't exactly blame him for wanting a little bit of revenge. "The real problem," he told George, "is just realizing that it's not safe to go through any closed doors. Basically anywhere in the house. I walked in on them in the pantry, once."

"Harry, we were only kissing."

"Tell that to Kreacher. I'm not the only one that was forced to revisit the tattoo on Sirius's ribcage."

George was actually rubbing his hands together. "Sirius has a tattoo on his ribcage?"

"The Marauders' motto," said Hermione through her hands. "He keeps it glamoured out of sight sometimes."

George's eyes had widened. "And he never told me?" He stood up and started to head off. "Sirius! Sirius, you've been hiding from me the fact-"

"Why does he hide it?" asked Neville, who seemed to be taking pity and steering her into safer waters, though he also seemed quite honestly curious about Sirius.

"He gets in moods sometimes where he feels like it's childish. That's my theory, anyway."

"See?" said Ginny. "It's like this all the time. She theorizes about him. He broods over her. That is," she grinned, "when they're not going at it like rabbits."

"Merlin, Ginny," said Ron in a strangled voice, standing up. "Could you—not? Some of us are trying to keep our dinner down." He waved a hand at Hermione. "No offense, 'Mione. It's just-"

She was already nodding. "None taken. I get it." And she shot Ginny a solid glare before heading after Ron on his escape route across the library and into the far corner of the party.

She caught up with him and tugged at his arm. He turned, looking surprised.

"Ron. I'm—I wanted to say I'm sorry. That things have been so tense, with us. I miss," Hermione blinked up at him, "um, just being able to talk. I'm sorry the Sirius stuff was getting rubbed in your face, I hated that." He still looked so stiff. She cast about for an olive branch. "Would—would you and Gabby like to come to dinner soon? I'd like to meet her. Properly." She'd let go of his arm.

Ron looked at her for a minute, and then sighed. With a tentativeness that made Hermione sad, somewhere deep down, he pulled her in against his chest for a hug. "That would be nice. Thanks, 'Mione."

"Are we good?" She asked it quietly, into his shirt.

"I think we'll be good." A pause. "I just—I really don't want mental images of you and Sirius Black-"

She snorted. "I get it, Ron. If I'm ever told any details of your sex life with Gabby I might have someone Obliviate me."

He nodded. And then he sighed again. "Bollocks. Mum's looking at us. Your mum, too. We'd better split before they get excited. Owl me about the dinner, though, yeah?"

Hermione smiled up at him. "Yeah."

He went one way, and she fled in the other, towards the dessert table. Then she stood lurking by a bookcase eating her éclair, just taking in the party. Her parents and Ron's had clustered, as per usual, but it was good at least for them to have friends. Bill and Fleur were talking with them; Gabrielle had stayed in Paris to celebrate the New Year with her parents.

On the other side of the room, Hagrid was taking up two thirds of one couch while Andromeda squeezed chummily beside him. They were watching Sirius guide Teddy on a miniature broomstick along a somewhat worrying route around and under tables and eventually in front of the hearth.

There, Victoire, who had been ensconced in toy blocks, became awed at the sight of Teddy's broomstick. When it was indicated to her that she couldn't fit on the broomstick, at least not until Teddy was done with it, she began clinging to Sirius's leg in a pleading protest.

Teddy, meanwhile, began trying to zoom off on his own, so that Sirius had to seize the tail end of the broom.

Hermione almost choked snickering on a bit of éclair as she watched. There was a look of pure panic on Sirius's face for a moment or two, while one toddler tried to climb his leg and the other tried to pull him over. Andromeda looked like she was going to go rescue him, but Hermione was startled out of paying attention by a familiar throat-clearing by her shoulder.

She turned to look at her mother. Phoebe was also watching the scene at the hearth, with the air of someone just happening to wander by for a casual chat.

"Where's your little dog?"

"Probably under one of the couches." Hermione pointed. "That one, I think. He's timid."

"Mm. Whose did you say it was, again? Is it all of yours?"

Hermione blinked at her. "What do you mean?"

She raised innocent eyebrows. "What's going to happen to it when Harry and Ginny get married? Aren't they moving?"

"Oh. It's—he's technically my dog. He'll stay with me."

"You decided to get a dog and keep it in someone else's house?"

Hermione frowned at her. They both knew her mother was poking. "Sirius gave me the dog. So clearly, he was fine with it being in his house."

"He gave you a dog."

"Yes."

Phoebe's mouth flattened as she watched the circus by the fireplace continue. "Have you ever heard the trope," she said after a few moments, "that couples get a dog as a test run for having a baby?"

Hermione turned red. "What are you trying to say?" She could hardly bring herself to articulate the question. "That Sirius has some—some secret plot to, what, start a family? Don't you think I'd sort of have to be in on that, by definition? Or do you—what do you mean?"

Phoebe sniffed. "I wasn't implying anything." She waited. "You're using proper protection, and all that?"

"Jesus Christ, mother. Yes. I'm not going to be springing any surprise grandchildren on you."

Phoebe rolled her eyes, and straightened Hermione's necklace. "You're being overly dramatic, sweetheart. I just want to make sure you know—what you want. And what you're doing." She patted some of Hermione's hair into place. "Now. Where has your father gotten off to?" And she marched off.

Hermione was left confused, irritated, and—eventually—watching Sirius by the fire again. He was sitting with Hagrid, now, drinking firewhiskey. Babysitting duties had apparently been handed off to Fleur. He caught Hermione looking at him and lifted his arm invitingly. She walked over to the couch and settled into the warm space against him, his arm coming around her shoulders. Hagrid still seemed somewhat bemused by their relationship, but he was making the best of it, eyes twinkling with as much friendliness as ever.

As the clock neared midnight, Hermione thought about what her mother had been saying. She was sure Phoebe had been trying to spook her back to reality, but, in the glow of this setting, it was only having the opposite effect. She felt warm and fluttery tucked under Sirius's arm, and she didn't even feel particularly guilty when, as everyone began the countdown of the final seconds, her parents saw her decide to stay next to Sirius and ignore their gestures urging her over to them.

Sirius kissed her as the clock chimed midnight, and it was a sweet and gentle kiss by their standards. "Happy New Year, kitten."

She touched the tip of his nose with her finger, which always made him look a little bit taken aback. Which was adorable. She didn't know why she was blushing. "Happy New Year."

Then she did go to hug her parents, and she avoided her mother's eyes.

And so what if she enjoyed seeing Sirius like this, in the whole family, or with Teddy and Victoire? Approving of the fact that Sirius would in theory make a good dad was simply that—admiration for his good character. A simple personality endorsement. Couldn't she notice that he was kind, or gentle, or—or how sweet it was that holding Teddy made him stand straighter with a protective kind of pride? Why was that bothering her mother more than Sirius's motorcycle? It didn't have anything to do with what stage their relationship was at, or—or whatever else Phoebe might have been trying to stir up. Nosy feeling-stirrer.

And it was all completely unrelated to the fervor with which Hermione pulled Sirius up the stairs and into her bed when all the guests had left. Not that he put up any resistance. He only made a point, as usual, to pick Sniffles up and put him in the hallway before he pushed Hermione back down into the bed.

"There are some things, Hermione, that a small dog can't unsee."