Sirius felt Hermione's hands embrace him from behind. Warm and firm they sneaked under his shirt and up his chest.

"What are you thinking about?"

Lestrange.

"Nothing, love." He turned around in her embrace, cupped her face and kissed her softly. Her breath hitched and she pressed herself against him. Surprised, but not in the least complaining or questioning her eager response, he managed to shut his mind to his musings. Slowly, to tease her to show some true colours, he unbuttoned the first of her shirt buttons.

"I kind of liked these undone," he breathed into her ear.

He chuckled when she shivered and unbuttoned another one. She answered by placing a love bite at the side of his neck.

Oh, that will show tomorrow, but I don't care.

He tasted her creamy skin the half-buttoned shirt showed. When he pulled away for a second to meet her eyes, all slow, teasing foreplay withered. The look in her eyes was absolutely pining for him. Her cheeks were flushed and her breath shaky.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Whatever for?" he whispered back, cupping her cheeks.

"You asked me this morning. I don't really feel sick anymore, but I sleep a lot. But when I don't, I mean, I've spent the whole afternoon sleeping on the porch so I'm all right now, only…"

"Only what, love?"

"Only thinking about you all the time. I mean, I want you all the time. I almost started crying when you came home and Ginny was here and…"

Sirius chuckled.

Is this a positive pregnancy symptom? Let's hope.

He slid his hands under her shirt and up to her breasts. No bra. He swallowed hard.

"I want you all the time, too, and I'm not pregnant. You are just irresistible in yourself."

Her nipples contracted into hard buds immediately and she threw her head back and moaned.

I might have died and gone to muggle heaven.

When Sirius lifted her up, her legs went around his hips, pressing him to her. He had thought about carrying her to the bedroom upstairs, but that resolve went out the window when she straightened up in his arms and kissed him forcefully.

Merlin, I've missed you. I can't be without you, ever again. I get hard by being in the same room as you.

He shoved her onto the worktop and quickly undid her jeans, which she, a little unsteadily, worked herself out of. Sirius took a step back and started to undress while he watched her intently. Her breasts really were fuller, and maybe her stomach. The unhealthy skinniness had disappeared and he was certain he'd never seen anyone so sexy as his young, little wife sitting topless in his kitchen, hungrily watching his fingers undress himself. When he undid his belt, Hermione, quite unconsciously, wet her lips and he heard himself groan at the sight. In one stride he closed the space between them and pulled her flush against him, whispering between kisses and bites exactly how he felt.

"You saying that, and sitting here in front of me in those totally inadequate panties, licking your lips turns me on beyond anything. I want to lick you all over and make you wriggle and whimper in that way you do. I can't believe how lucky I am. I want to…"

He was silenced by her lips and tongue and teeth.

"Let's see if we can get beyond that anything," she panted against his lips.

"I'm an old man," he chuckled.

"Nonsense," she whispered back, arching against him when he palmed her slim back. "You're still standing, aren't you?"

"Mhm, but…"

"Just hold that thought." She slid down from the worktop, kneeled in front of him and took him in her mouth.

Ah, where have you learned that? I don't want to know. Oh…

He was still standing, but held on to the bench and squeezed his eyes shut to prolong the pleasure his little, very recently inexperienced and sexually uninterested, wife gave him.

"I'm… I can't…" he muttered between clenched teeth.

Her answer came in the form of her hands coming up to cup him, and there was no chance in hell he could control himself. The dim lights in the kitchen seemed to go out, all at once, by the violent waves of his climax. He couldn't care less about Order members, mad ancestors, possible coup d'états and fossilized Cantankerous members. Only Hermione. The fact that they all were connected in a twisted relationship eluded him more than ever.

Regaining his wits, his whole being, he realised he was actually still standing, by reasons and forces unknown to him.

Shakily he pulled her up from the floor, and against his chest.

"You are amazing, kitten. I must have done something right, at some point…" Sirius mumbled.

Hermione squirmed against him, and he bent down to bite her shoulder, collarbone, neck, jaw.

"I still want to lick you all over."

She giggled in response and headed for the kitchen door, with him hot on her heels.

"Can I please take you all the way up to my bed now?" he asked with his arms around her, in an uncomfortable, walking embrace.

"If you are quick," she answered teasingly and pressed herself against him.

The next second she found herself in his arms, and on her way up to the third floor of Grimmauld Place.

"Oh, no. I'll be slow. Wickedly slow. I'll have you beg to take you faster, and eventually I'll comply. When I've had you screaming, panting and moaning my name enough times."

Out of the corner of his eye, Sirius saw a small movement in Phineas Nigellus' portrait that hung on the walls in the stairs. Few things could interest less at the time.

Supper was late, bordering on very early Sunday breakfast.

Sirius woke up first, but still among the last in London that Sunday morning. Hermione lay curled up beside him, fast asleep. He raised his head a few inches and saw angry, dark love-bites on her left shoulder. Sirius was appalled.

Did I do this? Technically they are bruises. Anyone who'd see her naked would have me pinned down as a wife beater.

He eased himself out of bed, went to brew a pot of Molly's herbal tea, before he consulted his bathroom cabinet for potions and ointments and found small jar of Star Grass Salve. After a quick shower he went back to the bed, waiting for Hermione to wake up.

Sirius watched her sleep, trying to picture her at fifteen, coming to the cave where he hid outside Hogsmeade with a basket of elf made food. One time he'd almost asked her, or was it Harry or Ron, to bring some liquor, just about anything, but realised that he couldn't ask children that. He had ventured a weekend to Remus instead, spending most of the time drunk and under several blankets. In the cave he'd been the opposite: perpetually cold and painfully sober, watchful, bordering paranoid. He remembered not being able to really be happy about anything, but constantly worrying about Harry's participation in the Tournament. Hermione he only remembered vaguely.

He reached for the salve. It smelled like grass, with a hint of thyme. He dipped his finger into it and softly rubbed the dark bruises on Hermione's neck and shoulder. The duvet slipped down and horrified Sirius saw the same kind of tell-tale marks on Hermione's breast. He hesitated to pull the duvet down further, not knowing what marks he'd find on his wife's body.

I've never considered myself a violent lover. What happened?

Hermione stirred and stretched. He leaned in and kissed her swollen lips softly.

"Morning," she whispered and smiled.

"Morning," he answered tentatively. "Tea?"

"Yes, please, but what is that scent?"

"It's… oh, sorry, does it make you feel sick?"

"No, not at all, it smells nice, but what is it?"

Her eyes were as clear as ever when they met his, looking for honesty. Sirius had to look away.

"What? Sirius? What is it?"

"It's… I… How are you today? How do you feel?"

"I'm… fine. Why are you so weird?"

Sirius put the small jar away and took Hermione's hand, stroking her arm up to her shoulder. His fingers touched the scar Bellatrix had carved into Hermione's skin, and his thumb rested very gently under a particularly gruesome bruise.

Same bottom-of-the-gene-pool-barrel with a fancy for violence.

"Why didn't you ask me to stop last night?" he asked, still not able to meet her eyes.

"Stop what?"

"Look at you! Look what I did to you. You are all bruised. I don't dare look at more of you, afraid of what I'll see. I must have been an absolute monster with you. Why didn't you tell me?"

Smooth, Sirius. Blame it on her. 'She didn't say no, so it was all right.' That's what rapists say.

Hermione lowered her gaze to where Sirius held her.

"Oh," was all she said.

Sirius let go of her and stood up.

"Look, I'm truly sorry. I had no idea. The jar there is Star Grass, you probably know it well. For bruises and cuts. I'll leave you alone. I really didn't mean to hurt you."

He moved towards the door.

"No, don't go. Sirius, wait," He stopped, but didn't turn around.

"You come back here now. This instant." She had never used such a sharp tone with him and it worked like magic. He resumed his position on the edge of the bed.

"Now, look at me. Please."

Grimacing he did, and by some kind of miracle she looked back at him with love, compassion and worry.

"We'd been apart, and maybe our lovemaking was a bit more… desperate than before, but you didn't hurt me. Do you truly believe I wouldn't have told you if you'd hurt me? When it happened? If it happened?" She sat up, leaned in against him and pulled him into a hug, kissing her way along his neck.

Of course. But I'd just tried to picture you as a young girl, saving my life with pumpkin pies. And I've never bitten you hard enough to bruise you like that before.

Hermione eased her way up his lap and kissed him properly, and, as always when she did that, every worried thought in Sirius' mind rested their cases. He pushed down the sheets that were wedged between them to feel her naked skin against his own. He pushed her down on her back and stopped dead in his movements.

He could see imprints of his own hand on her left breast, and a row of dark marks along her ribcage on her right side. Her pelvis was bruised on both sides, and another imprint of his hand, the left this time, was shadowed around her hip. His breath caught in his throat, and he bit his lower lip to stop himself from screaming.

Very gently he reached for her hands that stroked his chest and stilled them in a soft grip.

"Look at yourself, Hermione. Please."

Hermione glanced down her body and froze.

"What… Why… No, what is this…"

"Do you need to compare these prints?" Sirius mumbled, holding his right hand and inch away from her left hip.

"No, no, of course it's your hand, but why is it all…"

"But I've told you. I'm a monster."

She used her razorblade voice again.

"Shut up! You are no such thing. If I remember correctly, and you know I'm not comfortable talking about sex, I was asking you to be… rougher. I remember you hesitating, and me forcing you more or less, so enough with the self-flagellation. Now, what is wrong with me that makes me into an unlikely haemophiliac."

"Haemo…what?"

"Muggle disease. Only effects men. The blood doesn't coagulate, some bleed to death by internal bleedings in the brain, stomach, wherever. Always terribly bruised."

"Only effects men?"

"Well, women would die once they reach puberty."

"Oh, I see."

"Probably not a pure-blood disease among the magic population."

"Does it… hurt?" Sirius gently stroked her ribcage.

"What?" Hermione pressed her fingers against her purplish pelvic bone. "No, almost not at all. But it can't be normal to…"

I have to tell her now. Right now. Pollux thinks it won't happen until after one or several childbirths, but what does he know? He's dead.

Sirius placed his fingers against Hermione's lips. She watched him surprised.

"I need to tell you about my week. It's not just the Malfoys popping in. There has been some… progress, in lack of better word, in understanding the agenda behind the Marriage Law. Quite alarming if it's true. We discussed it yesterday at the meeting. But I can't talk about it here. In bed. With you naked, it's too bloody hard. I'll make breakfast and we'll have it in the library."

Hermione looked scared.

"Is it bad?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't you tell me yesterday?" A hint of steel in her soft voice.

"Can't you guess?" Sirius gave up on hiding his fears for her and she could read him as easily as a re-read favourite book.

Without any sexual intent she pressed herself against him again.

"Just hold me a minute first. Hard."

He closed his eyes and did shat she asked.

"But… Why… Can there… When would…" Frustrated Hermione shook her head. She rested her hands on the cover of the original folder of Pollux' secret report. They sat opposite each other at the desk in the library.

"I know. I couldn't really form a proper question, either."

"But the Order knows? You've discussed it, right?"

"Yes, you are as up to date as anyone now. I know, I'm a bastard for not telling you. I just can't…" Sirius raked his hand through his hair and sighed deeply.

"Can't what?"

Sirius rose and came and stood behind Hermione. He embraced her shoulders with his large hands, but a lot gentler than usually. He bent down and kissed her on the top of her head.

"Handle the thought of losing you. Had we known this before, the risk you might be in for being pregnant I would never have touched you."

Hermione sat very still.

"You mean you regret the baby? And me?"

He didn't understand what she said.

"Do you?" she pressed on.

"Regret you?"

"Yes. Do you?"

Sirius swirled her around in the old desk chair and kneeled in front of her. She looked as scared as he felt, but suddenly he caught on.

"No. No, no, no. I'll go insane if you question that again, but I loved you before this." He palmed her stomach. "I wish we would have used protection. There are spells… I remember wondering about you not being pregnant earlier this summer, when you probably already were but we didn't know, and I thought that either one of us, or both, were unable to have children. And this tiny, tiny life in here is still not real to me. But somehow it might put you at risk if my fellow pure-bloods are up their usual demented standards. You know, when I grew up and rebelled, I used to think that they, my parents, Regulus, Bellatrix, Narcissa, were just out-dated, old-fashioned, conservative. And more or less stupid. I never really understood the real threat until the first war. And now, putting the pieces together and respect the cunning planning behind all this, acknowledge that their view on blood lines are strong enough to… do anything for, I'm scared. I'm prepared to do whatever it takes, be an Auror again, go to war, take the bloody seat in the Wizengamot as a cover, but with you in the equation, I'm so vulnerable. Even though prepared to die for our cause, I'd rather just go to the west coast of Ireland with you and hide. I won't, of course, but there you have it. I'd put you in front of the Black pride, the Order, the Good Cause, but I won't because you'd despise me for it. But you are that important to me, and if I'd known earlier about Pollux' hidden, ancient report, I wouldn't have risked you getting pregnant. At the beginning of our marriage I suddenly found myself in a win-win situation. I had complied to whatever the Ministry wanted from me, I had protected a fellow Order member, and, most of all, I had you. And before long, your love. I could live on your love on a desert island. I'd never ask for anything more."

Hermione beamed down at him.

"I love you too." She sat quiet for a minute, lost in thought. Sirius could see worry and fear in her facial lines and expression.

"Would you like me to owl Poppy for you?"

Hermione blinked, suddenly aware of his presence. She hesitated before she answered.

"No. Not now. I mean, I feel fine now, I just look horrendous." She touched a bruise where her neck met her shoulder. "And calling Poppy would put our sex life quite on display, wouldn't it?" She ventured a small, embarrassed smile.

"Poppy provides professional secrecy, I'm sure."

"I know, but still…Let's wait until tonight. I can ask her over when you go to the club."

Sirius reached for the star shaped jar on the desk.

"Then let me put on some more of this," he said.

Slowly Hermione reached for the buttons in her shirt and began undoing them slowly.

"You don't mind?" she asked teasingly while she slid out of the chair and down in his lap.

"When would I ever mind anything that involves touching you?" he whispered.

Alone in the library, the house at 12 Grimmauld Place and, as far as they themselves were concerned, all of London, Hermione unbuttoned the last button and shimmied out of her shirt. Softly Sirius rubbed the herb-smelling salve on her bruised body.

Little did they know how their twoness would soon enough be a thing of the past.