Hermione was settled at the massive kitchen table in 12 Grimmauld Place, her notes interlaced across the tabletop with various maps and open tomes of ancient text. A fire crackled softly in the grate behind her, warming her back, and a kettle hung over the flames as it warmed water for tea. She was absorbed by the parchment in her hand, chewing absently on her lip as she read it. The house was finally quiet as the other four occupants were out running various Order errands. It was rarely quiet in the house – if the occupants weren't making noise, the wretched portraits certainly were – so today was a seldom seen occurrence and Hermione reveled in the few precious hours of silence to make headway on some of the cases she was working on for the Order.
Kreacher shuffled into the kitchen, his large eyes barely clearing the top of the table and regarded the concentrating witch silently.
"Miss would be having tea?" he murmured, his usual disdain for Hermione only slightly noticeable.
"Hmmm…" Hermione muttered absently, dragging her eyes away from her work to gaze upon the small, hobbled house elf at the end of the table.
Kreacher pointed to the kettle over the fire. "Miss is wanting tea?"
"Oh," Hermione said softly, just remembering she'd put the kettle on. "Yes, sorry, I forgot, I'll get it." She began to rise.
"No," Kreacher said quickly. "Kreacher will get it. It is Kreacher's job. Kreacher will serve the mud…". Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, and he reconsidered. "Kreacher will serve the girl," he amended.
Hermione sighed and shook her head, returning to her work. "Thank you, Kreacher."
She continued to read for a moment, then pulled a map closer to her to compare against the parchment in her fingers. Using a quill and a ruler she plotted some points onto the map. Kreacher quietly bumped around the kitchen fixing Hermione her tea and, to her astonishment, a plate of biscuits. She thanked him and took a sip. He remained standing at the head of the table, his bony hands folded behind his back, as her regarded her. She met his eyes.
"Yes?" she asked, sensing that he had something to say.
"The house is being very quiet today," he remarked.
"It is," she agreed slowly.
"This is a bad omen," he muttered glancing around. "Even my mistress is silent beneath her wretched covering."
Hermione sat back with a sigh and regarded him. He was wringing his hands nervously. She felt for him. Even if he was a despicable little thing full of ugly words and hate, she still cared very much for him regardless of his disdain for her. And he was right; the house felt heavy – pregnant with a sense of impending doom. And yet, Hermione was used to the oppressive feeling. Most of her life as a witch was spent fighting, hiding, and running from Lord Voldemort. She managed a smile for him.
"I think we're alright," she murmured reassuringly. "We're just not used to being the only ones home."
Kreacher stared at her a while before giving a begrudging nod. "Maybe the girl is right," he muttered. "Kreacher will make himself busy and he will feel better." He shuffled from the room, throwing a malevolent glance over his shoulder at her as he went.
Hermione shook her head with a small smile and returned to her papers as she nibbled a cookie.
The silence did not last long, and within the hour Ron, Harry, and Ginny came trooping into the front hall squabbling with each other loudly. She sighed, using her wand to gather the books and papers together on the table, then slid them into her bag that was resting at her feet.
"I'm telling you," Ron bellowed in the hall. "that man did not know his arsehole from his elbow – it was a complete waste of bloody time."
Ginny laughed and she heard Harry sigh. "Ron – mate – calm down. We had to see him either way. It's over now," he continued as he pushed through the door into the kitchen followed by the other two.
"But good God," Rom moaned. "he was a handsy bloke."
Hermione tilted her head and met their gazes as they entered. Ginny laughed again.
"Ron had a bad day," she said with a grin to Hermione. "Millber Rushbottom took quite a shine to him." She said by way of explanation as she wrenched the icebox open and rummaged around for a bottle of water. Unscrewing the cap and taking a sip, she grinned again. "Quite. A. Shine." She repeated.
Ron made a strangled noise in the back of his throat and threw an ungentlemanly gesture in Ginny's direction. "'Mione," he whined. "It was bloody awful."
She smiled. "I'm sure you're just overreacting."
Harry chuckled. "He's not."
Hermione grimaced then laughed. "Did you get anything useful from him?"
"Not a thing," Harry confirmed, taking Ginny's water bottle from her and drinking deeply.
"Well," Hermione said judiciously. "That's something at least; we can take him off our list then." She stood and crossed toward the trio, pausing to look at Ron. "Ronald…" she murmured, leaning in closer to him. "You're covered in glitter."
Ron went pink about the ears and Harry guffawed loudly. "Rushbottom is extremely fond of glitter." He managed between laughs.
"Sod off," Rom muttered. "I'm going to have a shower."
Hermione watched him turn and trudge off back through the kitchen door and listened as he stomped up the stairs. She heard a shrill curse as he passed by Mrs. Black's portrait and a faint muttered retort before his retreat became silent. She grinned at her remaining friends.
"I've plotted a few more points we can look into soon," she mentioned casually. "I found a connection between some old maps and a few eyewitness accounts that were recorded in a past edition of the Daily Prophet."
Harry nodded, grabbed an apple from the bowl on the table and bit into it. He opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by a flash of brilliant green light and a roaring sound that filled the kitchen. Sirius Black stepped from the hearth and into the kitchen, shrugging off his cloak as he moved.
Sirius had made a completely unexpected and unprecedented return from the Veil almost a year ago. One day he had just shown up on the doorstep of Grimmauld Place and couldn't come up with any explanation or memory as to what had transpired in the years since his departure. He had submitted himself to all sorts of medical and magical testing by the ministry in order to have his death certificate reversed, but even the Department of Mysteries couldn't come up with any logical explanation. They were reportedly doubling their investigative trials on the Veil, but nothing had come to light yet. Sirius was issued a re-birth certificate and sent on his way without any solid explanation. Theories abounded and people greeted him with some uneasiness but eventually the excitement died down and he settled back into a fairly normal routine. The only piece of information that he vehemently continued to insist upon, was that he did not age in the Veil. In fact, he was insistent that he'd aged backwards. Sirius told anyone that would listen that he was twenty-nine, not forty-nine, as the Ministry printed on his re-birth certificate. And in general, people tended to agree – Sirius looked like a very handsome early thirty-year-old man.
He was tall and trim, blessed with good genetics, skimming from wide shoulders to a narrow waist. His dark hair was typically styled on the longer side, framing his angular face, and gathering to curl over his collar at the nape of his next. Sirius seemed to sport a permanent five-o-clock shadow, giving his dark almond shaped eyes a dark edge. His lips were full and sensuous, driving many a witch crazy with longing over the years. Yes, Sirius Black was an attractive man.
He'd taken up residence at his childhood home with Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny upon his return. He fit in well, aided by the fact, in Hermione's opinion, that he'd never emotionally matured beyond the age of his own godson. His nights were a little later, his demeanor a little drunker, his humor a little darker, and his taste in the opposite sex a bit cruder than his roommates, but they were an amicable match all the same.
Sirius was agitated, that much was clear by his tense shoulders and the scowl plastered across his handsome face. He had a wrinkled bunch of papers clutched in his hand and slammed them down onto the table with a loud thump.
"Call a meeting of the Order," he snarled. "We've been fucked."
"Ah," Harry hedged, slinking toward the papers on the table. "What's up, mate?"
Sirius pointed toward the papers in disgust. "The bloody Ministry has fallen, and this is just the beginning."
Hermione's hand fluttered to her throat and she drew her lip between her teeth, moving quickly to join Harry and scan the papers he'd picked up over his shoulder.
MINISTRY OF MAGIC ANNOUNCES THE MARRIAGE ACT
In a very controversial move by the Ministry this Monday, it has been deemed necessary to bring back the long-ago abandoned act of Compulsory Bloodline Marriage. During times of low magical births throughout history, governing bodies have sometimes seen fit to enforce arranged marriages based on bloodlines to boost magical population and reduce the number of squib births.
Current Minister of Magic, Rudolph Farnakins stated that due to continued unrest in the magical community the birth rate of magical persons is declining at an alarming rate and the number of "interspecies" (i.e.: Muggle and Magical matches) marriages is on the rise; thus increasing the squib population by leaps and bounds.
"It's an antiquated tradition, I agree. But it is a necessary act in times such as these." The Minister is quoted at the press conference today. "I beseech you to call on your sense of wizarding pride. In the darkest of times such as these, the magical world may cease to exist as we know it. Please help us to survive."
For many, this decree has been met with outrage and disgust thus far and this reporter cannot believe that we have stooped so low as to demand marriage – and children!
Our neighbors across the pond in America have already announced a refugee program for those of us whom refuse to be forced into something so demeaning.
However, there are some that are greeting this law with a sense of duty and cautious optimism, as there is no denying our population is on the decline. But whether it is due a birth rate decline or the waves of death that have been sweeping our communities as of late, in my opinion, remains to be seen.
In the simplest of terms, the Act breaks down to this:
Strictly Pureblood marriages must be applied for through the Ministry. The Ministry will determine if enough degrees of separation exist to deter squib birth.
Purebloods are encouraged to marry Halfbloods and Muggleborns, thus spreading magical blood more evenly.
Muggle marriage is expressly forbidden, as are Muggleborn/Muggleborn unions. Effective immediately.
The Act affects unwed Wizards aged 50 and younger and unwed witches aged 45 and under. Aged 18 and over.
October 1st is the deadline; 60 days from today.
A tracing spell that detects the consummation of marriage and regular medical appointments for reproductive health will be completed.
Anyone not in compliance, will be placed into a lottery and will receive a ministry sanctioned match within the first week of October.
The Ministry has taken on additional office personnel to handle the influx of marriage applications and reduce wait times during the process. They are encouraging prompt and proactive cooperation with the act to avoid compulsory matching by the Ministry.
Only time can tell if this legislation will yield any positive results or will blow up in the Ministry's faces.
Rita Skeeter
The foursome gazed at each other dumbstruck. Hermione felt nausea swirl through her. She saw Kreacher out of the corner of her eye slink away wringing his hands. The house elf had been right; doom was upon them.
Sirius strode to the crooked cabinet above the sink, flung it open, and yanked out a nearly full bottle of Fire Whiskey. He summoned five cups, bellowed for Ron, and poured the drinks sloppily. Once Ron joined them and was caught up on the situation – looking a little green in the face – they tipped back their drinks and began the tedious process of sending out their Patronus' to summon a meeting of the Order.
It was bedlam. The overfull kitchen of Grimmauld Place was in an uproar. People were yelling over top each other, some were crying, some pacing, and some were struck silent. Hermione leaned one hip against the counter swirling her second tumbler of fire whiskey languidly around her glass as she surveyed the room. Remus was feebly attempting to get the crowd under order. Hermione felt someone come to stand beside her and she turned her chin to gaze up at Sirius.
"Fucking mad," he commented, raising his chin toward the chaotic crowd, gripping his own tumbler tightly.
She nodded slowly. She hadn't had a proper moment to process the information as it pertained to her. She knew she'd have to marry – and soon – but that was as far as she got. She hadn't really considered exactly what that meant for her and her life. She was using the alcohol to numb her terror.
"Could be worse," she sighed. "It could be completely run by the Ministry. At least we'll have a chance to keep it in the Order."
Sirius curled his lip in disgust. "Worse," he scoffed.
Hermione shrugged and took a sip from her glass before angling it toward the swirling mass of people. "Got your eye on someone?"
Sirius looked down at her like she had three heads. "No, I bloody well do not!"
Hermione chuckled. "Just making small talk," she murmured.
She took a moment to let her eyes slide over the crowd. There were so many people from Hogwarts here; so many from her class. Stephen Cornfoot was yelling something across the table at Tracey Davis. Neville stood stoically with his arm around Luna as they watched the chaos. Megan Jones was busily rebuffing a clumsy advance from Wayne Hopkins. Draco stood with his arms folded across his chest and catching her eye, tipped an imaginary hat toward her. She looked away quickly and saw Ron gazing at her sheepishly while Lavender clung to his side.
She looked away. She and Ron had given it a go some time ago and it was disastrous to say the least. She was glad that she would not be marrying Ron Weasley.
She couldn't help it; she began to laugh. Her laughs that started out as quiet giggles soon turned into belly-aching-approaching-hysterical howls and she doubled over covering her mouth desperately.
"I'm sorry," she gasped out, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes as she clutched Sirius' arm. "I'm sorry," she repeated.
Wrapping an arm around her shoulder deftly, he guided her out a side door into the back garden.
"Come on, love," he murmured tugging her over to a bench as her howls of laughter quickly turned into howling tears.
He sat beside her, gently pushing her head between knees and encouraging her to take slow deep breaths. Rubbing small circles on her back, Sirius waited out her sobbing patiently until she was able to sit up again. She sat there for a long time, hiccupping and staring up at the stars.
"Better?" he asked finally.
She glanced at him and nodded. A small giggle escaped.
"Oh boy," he grinned down at her and she slapped a hand over her mouth again.
"It's ok," she assured him as she gulped a deep breath. "I was just thinking that Lavender is going to move in here. She's awful." She added with another giggle.
Sirius rolled his eyes. "Great."
Hermione fell into silence again.
"What would you say to me?" Sirius asked suddenly.
Hermione looked over to him. "Say to you about what?"
"What if you and I got hitched?" he asked furrowing his brow.
Hermione's mouth fell open with an audible pop and she stared at him. He reached over with his index finger and lifted her chin closed.
"It would cause the least disruption in our lives. We already live together," he muttered.
Hermione pondered that. "You're Harry's Godfather,"
"You're Harry's best friend," he countered. "It's my job to protect you."
"I…I can't have sex with you." she blurted.
Sirius stared at her for a long moment before answering slowly. "I've never had any complaints,"
"That's not what…I mean...I'm sure…oh for Merlin's sake!" she stammered and dropped her face into her hands.
Sirius chuckled. "I think we can get through the mechanics of it, Hermione." He took a deep breath and chose his next words carefully. "I've never loved a woman, and to be honest I can't even promise that I'm the settling down kind of guy. But those decisions were stripped from me today, so I'd like to marry someone I at least like. I like you, Hermione. We've lived together awhile so I'm pretty confident that we won't kill each other." Hermione peeked up between her fingers at him. Encouraged, Sirius went on. "We don't know how long this will last. In six months, they may repeal it and life can get on again. But right now, it seems like we're entering some dangerous times and I'd really like to have an ally by my side. And I'd like to be your ally too, Hermione."
She lifted her head and stared at him. "So, you want to marry me."
Sirius shrugged. "In a manner of speaking," he paused. "Who else would you choose?"
He had a point, she thought. There was no one, not a single soul, in her kitchen right now she'd marry of her own free will. She ran her hands through her curls in agitation. "What in God's name are we going to tell Harry?"
"The truth," Sirius replied at once. "We're not having some torrid affair Hermione; we're two consenting adults making an informed decision based on the resources we have available."
She stared at him and sighed. She couldn't argue his logic. "Alright." she acquiesced throwing her hands up.
By the time Hermione and Sirius returned to the kitchen, it had cleared out quite a bit. Harry and Ginny sat beside Remus scanning a length of parchment. Ron stood reading over their shoulder. Thankfully, Lavender was gone. Molly stood near the hearth wringing her hands, listening to something Tonks was saying to her. Arthur sat staring into the fire with his back to Remus. Hermione heard some low murmured conversations that seemed to be drifting toward the front door. Ron noticed them first.
"Where have you lot been?" he asked.
"The garden," Sirius answered nonchalantly, crossing to pick up the fire whiskey bottle from the table and take a slug straight from the bottle. "It was crowded. Needed a bit of air. What'd we miss?"
He handed the bottle to Hermione without glancing her way and she took it gratefully to swig from it.
"We've got a lot of the group worked out," Lupin said gesturing vaguely at the parchment in Harry's fingers. "We've got to get you two sorted, though." he added absently.
"About that," Sirius began, pausing to take the bottle back from Hermione. He met her eyes and winked. "We've worked that out. Hermione and I are going to get married."
The room went dead silent and Sirius close his eyes and took a deep pull on the bottle.
"You...you what?" Remus asked, bracing his hands against table.
Ginny's fingers flew to her lips and her eyes widened at the pair.
"We're just...going to get married. It'll be simple. We already live together. It just makes the most sense." Hermione interjected awkwardly.
"Um," Ron began. "I don't think that's..."
"I think it's bloody brilliant." Harry said evenly as he looked at the couple.
"You do?" Ron spluttered. "But...but...they…he's so...I mean, you know, that they'll have sex?!"
Harry glanced back at Ron with a grimace. "They're adults." he muttered. "But this way they can protect each other."
The room fell into an uncomfortable silence and Sirius took another swig, blindly handing the bottle back to Hermione.
"He's so old," Ron blurted. Ginny reached over and slapped him on the back of the head.
Sirius glared daggers at him.
"Shut up, Ronald." Hermione snapped.
"He's only twenty-nine by his calculations," Tonks interjected softly. "Hermione's nineteen. That's not so bad."
Hermione shot her a thankful smile and Sirius puffed out his chest appreciatively.
"Right," he agreed. "So, it's settled. Hermione and I will go down to the Ministry in a few weeks and file the paperwork. Not a big deal."
"Not a big deal," Harry agreed quietly catching his Godfather's eye. "You'll be a good husband to her." It was not a suggestion.
"Of course," Sirius agreed uncomfortably.
After that unwieldly conversation, the remaining people in the kitchen dispersed quickly and Hermione and Sirius were left alone to stand in the tense silence. Kreacher sidled into the room and looked at the pair.
"Kreacher warned the girl," he murmured. "He warned the girl that doom was upon her. Sirius Black is doom."
Sirius kicked a booted foot in the little elf's direction. "Get out! Go find something to do!" he thundered.
"Stop," Hermione cried, slapping at his arm. "Leave him alone!"
Kreacher tossed her a triumphant look and scuttled out of the kitchen.
Hermione and Sirius stared at each other for a long time in the flickering firelight. Sirius felt as if he should say something – anything – to ease Hermione's mind. And yet, the words wouldn't come. So, he stood staring down at her, watching the way the shadows danced across the smooth skin of her young face. Tentatively, he raised his hand and brushed his long fingers down the length of her jaw. She shivered.
"Sorry," he murmured dropping his hand back to his side.
Hermione swallowed and shook her head softly, causing her curls to fall over her eye. "It's ok,"
Sirius smiled. She looked so young and yet so beautiful in this moment. It was a startling realization; he'd never looked at Hermione in any sort of romantic light. And she was certainly beautiful, he thought. Not in the way he usually responded to, but beautiful all the same. Maybe more so. Hermione was not his type. She was bossy and demanding. An unbearable know-it-all, really, and entirely too talkative. But he acquiesced to himself, terribly clever and funny. She was kind. And loyal. Compassionate. Perhaps she wasn't pretty in the most traditional of definitions, but she was indeed beautiful.
The disobedient brunette mop that sat astride her head was the loveliest blend of chestnut and mahogany, even if it was the wildest head of curls he'd ever seen. Her ocher eyes were a large attractive almond shape and even Sirius could recognize the intelligence that lurked within them.
Her figure was pleasing, he supposed. The witch never wore anything form fitting so his imagination could only run wild with what might be beneath those oversized tunics and leggings she favored. He imagined that she was very curvy in all the right places, now that he thought about it. He had to stop thinking about it or this would be an awkward situation soon.
Sirius suppressed the urge to touch her again, balling his hands into fists at his sides.
"I'm going to bed," she announced suddenly and hurried away from Sirius.
He watched her go warily, wondering if he'd scared her off with his touch. Perhaps this was a disastrous idea, he mused, as he settled himself at the table with the fire whiskey before him. He took a swig and propped his whiskered chin in his hand to stare into the fire.
Hermione slipped into her room, closed the door, and pressed her back against it as she struggled to catch her breath. Sirius' touch had sent alarm bells ringing in her head and a swirling warmth rolling deep in her belly. As she moved further into her room and began changing for bed, she let her mind wander over their predicament.
She'd had a schoolgirl on Sirius, of course – who among her girlfriends hadn't? But she'd worked very hard to put those thoughts out of her mind when he'd returned and moved into her home. His home. Their home? She shook her head and slid into her large four poster bed, pulling the covers up to her chin as she relaxed back into her large mound of feather pillows.
What a spectacular mess they were in, she thought. At nineteen she'd be a married woman. And of all the eligible wizards in the world she was going to marry Sirius Black, a former Prisoner at Azkaban and her best friend's godfather. She'd seen the women he brought home and they were nothing like her. He favored willowy, blonde, wispy little things. And frankly, she thought peevishly, daft little things as well.
In fact, she remembered once meeting one of his playthings in the kitchen in the middle of the night. She was barley decent, prancing about in panties and one of Sirius' shirts. Her long blonde hair had been becomingly tangled and her giant blue doe eyes had been distinctly blank and dull looking. She'd been settled in a shirtless Sirius' lap when Hermione had entered the kitchen, the pair of them indulging in a midnight snack of ice cream. Sirius had laughed, the girl had blushed prettily, and Hermione had clambered right back the way she'd come. She'd been embarrassed and a little jealous when she'd gotten back to her room.
Hermione let out a quiet huff and pulled a pillow down over her face. She was suddenly furious. She was furious with herself for the silly crush she obviously still harbored for Sirius, furious with Sirius for no good reason, and beyond furious with the ministry for putting her in this situation. She let the fury wash over her until it exhausted her, and she rolled over praying for sleep.
As Sirius climbed the stairs and made his way down the hall toward his room, he cursed the ministry in his head. When he reached the closed door of Hermione's room Sirius paused. He placed his palm flat against the wood grain and sighed. He didn't want to ruin the witch's life, but he had a sinking feeling that that was exactly what was going to happen. He dropped his hand and made his way to his room, closing the door softly behind him.
Sleep did not come easily for anyone that night in Grimmauld Place.
The next morning Sirius followed Harry down to the kitchen. He was hungover and surly, clad only in plaid pajama pants with his hair scooped into a haphazard bun at the nape of his neck. He was complaining loudly to Harry about the ungodliness of the hour when they pushed through the swinging door into the kitchen. Sirius stopped midsentence and stared.
Hermione was on tiptoe reaching into a high cupboard. She was wearing some sort of black athletic outfit that might have well been painted on. Full, round breasts strained against the elastic neckline which skimmed down a flat tummy and flared over generous hips. Her bare arms were pleasingly muscular. The pants – thank Merlin for those pants! – hugged an absolute gift of an arse. Plump and thick, it sat perkily like an upside-down heart. Thick thighs faded to shapely calves, which dwindled to delicate ankles, ending in petite pedicured bare feet.
She glanced over and smiled bemusedly. "You're up early,"
Sirius nodded not daring to speak.
Hermione carried the tin of tea she'd retrieved from the cupboard to the counter and went about making a mug. "Tea?" she offered.
"Sure," Harry said, glancing over at Sirius. He gathered just what Sirius was staring at and gave him a solid wallop to the backside of his head. "Tea, Sirius?"
Sirius grunted and cupped the back of his head. "Sure. Tea. Thanks." He rubbed the back of his skull and gave Harry a dirty look before moving toward the table. "Why are you up so early, Hermione?"
Hermione turned to give him a confused look. "I'm always up this early." She finished making the three mugs of tea and carried two over. Setting them on the table before the two men, she added: "I like to do yoga in the garden first thing."
Sirius cleared his throat. "Yoga?"
Hermione narrowed her eyes and smiled. "Yeah, it's a type of stretching exer…"
"I know what yoga is." Sirius cut her off. "I didn't know you practiced it."
Hermione shrugged. "You sleep late."
Sirius nodded absently. "Yeah. Well. Enjoy." He muttered as he picked up the mug and took a sip.
She smiled again, took her mug, and walked out the side door into the garden. Sirius glanced sideways at Harry, then scrambled up to look out the window over the sink. He watched Hermione unroll her mat and begin by touching her toes; presenting her arse in his direction. He groaned and gulped the hot tea thoughtlessly, burned his mouth, and cursed loudly dropping the mug to shatter in the sink.
Harry laughed merrily. "Oi, Sirius, you're fucked." Harry raised his mug in a toast toward Sirius and sipped it.