A/N: Thanks to the 8 lovely readers who left me a comment to drown out the trolls. it means a lot xx

Also thanks to K for the beta, and encouragement.

['Fuck-wank-bugger-shitting-arse-head-and-hole,' Sirius started to laugh, "Okay, I like him." ]

Love, Actually

Sirius had decided that he'd absolutely landed on his feet. How was it after three years of war, now he was sitting here, in this calm place? His feet were on the coffee table, his stomach was full of steak and chips all while the highly accomplished, definitely attractive, and only sometimes terrifying Hermione, passed him a beer. Amazing. Sure he was going back to fight again, but right now? This would do for now.

So what if he'd nearly cursed half the street this afternoon when the lightning had lit up the sky and had him seeing Death Eaters in all directions? It was only one little slip.

He'd not had a moment like that in weeks, not in the daylight anyway, he'd thought it was getting better. At least it had been over quickly this time, not like the last one; lost in panic for ten minutes before James had managed to bring him round. All from a bloody car backfiring outside their house. He had confessed already to Hermione that he was cracking up, losing it a bit, but he wondered what she thought now. She hadn't said a thing about it, but he could remember her calm and sure voice in his ear, calling him back to the present. He wondered if she'd let him sleep in her room again.

Maybe these days they had a cure for nervous reaction, 'extreme awareness' Dumbledore had told him, after the first episode. 'An asset' the Headmaster had said, to have his brain narrow to that pinpoint focus. It was probably the reason he'd survived through so many duels and skirmishes. But the thing was now it was happening in his daily life too; ever since Marls was killed. It wasn't useful at the moment, not when there wasn't any danger.

He looked over at Hermione then, sitting at the other end of the sofa, her wine forgotten on the coffee table as she clicked the remote at the screen on the wall. Their dash into the house through the rain had left her hair fluffy in the extreme, and Sirius found its wafting, poofy state quite charming. Ridiculous in the way that someone so obviously capable, with quite a serious personality would have such ludicrously frivolous hair.

"What?" She asked, glancing over at him.

"Nothing," he said quickly, feeling caught out looking. "I was just thinking how lucky we are that it didn't rain on your hair before we got in the car." She gave him a nonplussed eyebrow raise, and he explained, biting down his smile. "You would have fucked up the whole world by smothering me to death with that monstrosity before I could go back to Eighty-one."

"Ha-ha." She pretended to laugh as she leaned forward to pick up her wine, shaking her head a little, which only served to make her hair bounce about even more, "You just would've had to ride in the back." she returned haughtily, but then her tone turned teasing. "You've been there before, that's how I got you here. Stunned and trussed on the back seat." She gave her wand a significant look, as if to say, I'll do it again.

"I knew you wanted to get me in the back seat," he chuckled, unable to resist winding her up just a bit more.

Hermione gave him a withering look, but it didn't hold for long. "Right," she said. "Ready? Movie time."

The film opened in an airport with a voice over talking about love. Sirius was not impressed. He knew she'd said chick flick, but this seemed extreme. Then he realised it was the airport in London.

"Heathrow!" Sirius blurted out, "is that what it looks like now?" He'd never actually been inside, but the narrator's words about 'missing people' and 'coming home' were all a bit too on the nose, and he wanted a distraction.

Hermione nodded. "Pretty much, although this film is about fifteen years old, so it might be different now." Her eyes left the screen filled with hugging people, to ask. "Why do you even know about airports?"

"Asks the girl who's supposed to be clever," he murmured, surprised she hadn't made the connection. "I ride a flying motorbike, what do you think air traffic control would think of that?"

"Oh," she wrinkled her nose sheepishly, "it does seem rather obvious, now that you mention it."

Then there was an old musician on the screen swearing profusely, his hands over his face, 'Fuck-wank-bugger-shitting-arse-head-and-hole,' and Sirius started to laugh. "Okay, I like him."

Hermione smiled, "Yeah, he's hilarious."

They watched a bit longer and Sirius finished his beer, he'd drunk it so fast the dregs were still cold. There were so many characters Sirius was finding it hard to keep up. He was also finding it hard to keep his eyes on the screen. Hermione's little movements kept drawing his eye, a sip from her glass, the shifting of her hair, tucking her leg underneath her, it was distracting.

Then an older guy with glasses and a pretty and flirtatious young secretary came on. "Well he looks like a right twat," Sirius decided on the spot, instantly disliking everything about him.

"He definitely is in this movie." Hermione muttered.

Then suddenly it cut to a funeral, and a man was tearfully farewelling his young wife, and Sirius couldn't handle watching that, no way. He was on his feet, new deck of fags in hand. "Fag break," he grunted, and headed out the door.

Coffins … funerals … death. That's what he was going back to. He tried valiantly to keep it out of his head, he really did, focusing on the damp garden, the leaf strewn lawn, the colours all running together as his eyes blurred. He blinked hurriedly, putting his cigarette to his lips and fumbling for the lighter he'd bought. His hand shook as he thumbed the wheel, and it took a couple of strikes for it to catch. Then, as he put the newly burning flame to his cigarette and the end smouldered, his mind's eye betrayed him after all.

Sharp and clear images from three months ago; standing between James and Remus in the second row at Marlene's funeral, stiff and cold and broken as Dorcas Meadows finished her tearful eulogy. He'd been a pallbearer. He remembered taking his place beside an ornate coffin handle, silver against dark cherry wood, and seeing how full the church was for the first time as they looked down towards the exit.

Caradoc Dearborn had been in front of him, broad shoulders and scruffy blond hair, his muggle suit jacket hitching as they lifted the coffin. Sirius couldn't remember who else had helped carry Marlene down the aisle of the church. He could just remember how heavy the coffin had been, and how he'd decided then that he was never going to let himself get in so deep, have his happiness so attached to one person ever again.

The garden was boggy now, Sirius noticed as dragged on his cigarette, the hit of nicotine at the back of his throat helping bring him back to the present. All the little wildflowers near the door were heavy, the bright heads drooping under the weight of the water they had absorbed. Bright on the outside, weighed down from within, Sirius never thought he'd have so much in common with a delicate French flower.

It was still raining, but without the same intensity now, just gently misting from a light opaque sky. The air was much cooler than it had been, fresh and easy to breathe in as Sirius tried to keep himself focused. In London this drizzle would have looked depressing, he thought, imagining this view of grey sky from the window of his flat. But not here. The colours of the fields and distant hills, various contrasting vibrant greens, stone walls swallowed quietly by the mist. Then close at hand, the bright garden, its tragic metaphor-laden flowers in shades purple and pink, soft blues and sharp yellow. He was going to find it very hard to leave this place.

He went back inside feeling more collected to find Hermione smiling fondly at a wedding scene. He plonked down on the sofa, a bit closer to her than before, because she had a bag of crisps open now. He reached out a hand for some and she tilted the bag in his direction.

"So did you have a big wedding?" Sirius asked, still watching the movie, and wanting to talk about something unrelated to death and impending doom.

"Big enough," she said. "Nothing cool like that though," a smile breaking out on her face as the audience started standing up with musical instruments. "My husband has a very big family,'' she said, "so it was always going to be big."

Sirius noticed how she still called him her husband, even though it had been her 'ex-mother in law' when they were in the car. "Which family?" he asked, wondering how closely related he was to her husband. "Magical?"

She nodded, and looked momentarily uncertain. "I suppose it can't hurt to tell you," she decided after a moment. "He's a Weasley."

"Oh, bloodtraitors!" He congratulated her emphatically, with a pat to her knee. "Very well done."

"Thanks," Hermione laughed under her breath. He realised then that it had probably been insensitive to ask about him. She'd been nearly crying over divorcing that man this morning, it was strange that she could laugh about it now.

"Gid and Fab's sister married a Weasley," he said conversationally, fighting the sudden little gut punch that hit him when he remembered they were dead. Was it really only four days ago?

"That would be Molly," Hermione replied, "My husband's mum. You're wearing his eldest brother's clothes."

Sirius looked down at himself, observing the grey t-shirt and baggy shorts, surprised by this random connection. He tried to remember anything else about the family, and then it came back to him, the reason he knew Molly Prewett had married a Weasley.

"I met him!" he said suddenly, plucking at his t-shirt, as he had a vision of Molly's eldest son grinning up at him in old Edgar Bones's back garden. That party stuck in Sirius's mind for a whole other reason. It was the first time he'd gone home with Marlene. "William, right? I met him last year, Molly and her husband came to an Order thing, they brought their boys along, there were four of them, or five? I can't remember, mad little gingers though, the whole lot."

Hermione laughed, but then her face went strangely blank. "Was Molly pregnant?"

"I don't know," Sirius said, robes didn't give a lot away in that regard. "Could have been, I'd had a few drinks, it was a bit of a do, loads of people there, I just remembered William because he kept trying to sell us his brother to work as a house elf, it was a riot."

Hermione was laughing again now, "Charlie?"

Sirius really couldn't remember. "Really little thing, he would have only been four at most I reckon."

"Percy," Hermione snickered. "Well, he's never really fit in. I only asked if Molly was pregnant because Ron, my husband, was born in nineteen-eighty."

"Oh," Sirius said, as an unexpected shiver went up his spine. "That's mad."

She hummed in agreement, but held the chip bag out again rather than replying, and he took another handful.

His favourite old swearing musician was back on the screen now. It wasn't a terrible film, Sirius thought as he laughed - the musician had graffitied a poster of what was obviously a younger cooler band, with the words "We all have little pricks." in a speech bubble above their heads.

Hermione put her empty glass on the coffee table and when she sat back, she leaned against him. Sirius was surprised by this, but he didn't say anything as he'd always drawn comfort from contact with other people. The warmth from her arm radiating through his made him think of cosy common rooms, and a time when things were easier. Perhaps she was the same.

"I've had such a good day," she sighed. "Thanks for making such a mess of trying to save the world."

"No problem," he huffed quietly, torn between offence and amusement. It wasn't until about twenty minutes later, when she hadn't said another word, that he realised she'd fallen asleep. Her fluffy hair all over his shoulder, tickling the underside of his chin.

He watched the rest of the film and she still didn't wake up. Not even when his shoulders were shaking with repressed laughter as the old musician stood starkers on the screen, his well placed electric guitar the last bastion of modesty, as he lewdly thrust and danced about.

Sirius decided that Hermione was possibly having a delayed reaction to what must have been a very stressful thirty six hours. So even though it was only early, he stood up and then leaned over to slot an arm under her knees and the other behind her back. He staggered slightly as he stood upright with her held to his chest, yesterday's shoulder injury twanging sharply.

He probably could have just used his wand, but he quite liked the lack of magic in this place. Hermione didn't use her wand for much at all; other than tying him up and knocking him out, but she hadn't done either of those things today.

He carried her down the short hall into the bedroom, the big white bedspread was broken by golden stripes, the low evening sun casting its long rays through the trees, caught by the square-paned glass of the doors to the little garden. There was another spike of pain in his shoulder as he deposited her on the bed, not quite as bad as the first.

She stirred as he stood upright, the cotton of her dress pulling and bunching at the buttons as she moved, and he immediately wondered if it was a strange thing for him to have done. Carrying her to bed suddenly seemed way too intimate.

The situation was so weird, in a day and a half he'd shared more of himself with this woman than he would normally share with anyone, ever. Marlene hadn't known about his childhood until they'd been sleeping together for a few months and they had been friends for a year before that. He felt like Hermone had some magic power that dragged the truth out of him. Or maybe there was just too much overwhelming emotional shit inside him now, and he was unable to stop it spilling out.

Whatever it was, and however he perceived her, as she lifted her bleary eyelids and saw him hovering at the edge of her bed, her dress askew, and her mad hair splayed over the pillows, his thoughts drifted about as far from her compassion and wisdom as it was possible to get. She was back to being the woman who'd shuddered against him in pleasure, after his totally sporadic proposition in the buanderie. He blamed lack of food for his lack of foresight. Luckily it hadn't made this whole situation awkward, even if his mind kept flicking back there.

"Are you leaving?" Hermione asked. "You don't have too."

"It's a bit early for sleep," he said, even though he'd already wondered earlier if she'd let him sleep in here again. He hated being alone, especially at night.

She met his eyes then, "I didn't mean to sleep."

He could feel his lips trying to curl into his defensive smirk, because truthfully, something much more complicated than arousal had shot through him at her words. He swallowed, disliking the sudden feeling akin to nervousness had settled in his stomach. "Want to play cards do you?" he said, feeling ridiculous.

"No," she said, with a soft laugh. "I'm dreadful at cards, can't see the point. I was just thinking that, perhaps, if you wanted to …"

Her implication was clear. He definitely wanted to, he'd be an idiot not too. "You're not going to get all cross at me again?" he asked, thinking of their nearly-argument in the car.

"I wasn't cross," she said at once. "I just don't like being told what to do."

"You were cross," he insisted, sitting on the edge of the bed next to her hip and fixing her with a stern look, even as he let his right hand land gently on her ankle, his fingers following the rise and fall of the bone. "I said don't overthink it, and you bit my head off."

"Fine, I was cross," she admitted, breaking eye contact and clearly trying very hard not to smile. His hand left her ankle to trail up the inside of her calf, and she lost the battle with her smile. "Just don't tell me what to do and everything will be just fine."

He nodded thoughtfully just for a second. Then he moved his wandering hand decisively, leaning across her body and planting it on the bed next to her waist. It sunk into the soft mattress as he leaned in, he'd thought about kissing her more than once this afternoon, and now, here she was asking him to.

Just like the first time he was taken in by the sudden need he felt as their lips met. She kissed him with an open kind of passion that seemed unexpected to him. She projected such a sense of seriousness, the freedom in her kiss surprised him. Perhaps it was just that she took kissing seriously too.

Then, as she pulled him close enough so that he was half top of her on the bed he found himself slowly losing himself to the feeling of her, needing much more than just a kiss. He climbed on the bed properly, knees either side of her hips, brushing her mad hair away as he went for her neck, she'd definitely enjoyed that earlier. A little noise of pleasure left her, and he pulled back enough to look at her face,

"You can tell me what to do if you like," he said, only half teasing. She just looked at him. He found it so strange that she could be so bossy and yet so uncertain. "Or do I have to guess again?" He pressed, flicking open the top button on her dress and leaning in to press his lips to her throat, travelling down towards her collar bone.

"How are you so confident?" She asked and he was pleased to hear her voice waiver, he was doing something right. "I remember being twenty-one," she breathed, as he moved further down, towards the open neck of her dress. "I remember what sex was like then, clumsy and kind of terrible to be honest."

Sirius sat back, wondering why she was talking when they could be doing something so much better. Had she just said that sex was terrible? He didn't understand the direction her thoughts were taking. Was she asking him why he had false confidence? Or why was he justly confident?

He suddenly felt less than confident. How ironic.

"Did you have many boyfriends before you got married?" He asked, trying to figure out what she meant, maybe she'd just been disappointed many times.

"Ha, no," she said. She touched him as she spoke, her fingers spread over his thighs, Bill Weasley's baggy shorts exposed quite a lot of leg, but her touch was too light, weirdly tentative, and ticklish. "We had a little break, around the time he finished his Auror training. We'd been together since school. I did sleep with a couple of other people, but we got back together, got married, had babies. You know."

"So that's three then?" Sirius said, capturing her ticklish fingers and holding them tight for a moment. "Or were you shagging at school?"

"No, school was …" she grimaced. "No sex at school. So yes, it is three." She looked at him with genuine concern. "Why do I feel disappointed about that?"

"You should," he told her firmly, freeing her hands. "That's not nearly a big enough sample size."

"For what experiment?" she actually looked confused, and Sirius decided they had talked enough.

"That twenty-one year olds are terrible in bed," he said, before kissing her again, but almost at once she started to laugh. So he went back to her neck instead where he could feel the vibrations of her voice through his lips as she spoke; she still sounded amused.

"That's not what I meant."

"It's what you said," he returned, flicking open another button on her dress, so that he could get his hand inside. The smooth fabric of her bra met his fingertips, and he traced her nipple, satisfied as it pulled in at his touch.

Hermione's hands had left his thighs now, and thankfully were not light and ticklish and they ran up his back, pulling him closer as she said rather teasingly. "Did I offend you?"

That made him grin. "Not really, you haven't had me yet." It was actually ridiculous that he felt the need to prove his point now. "I can help you add twenty five percent to your data collection figures if you like, skew the results?"

He was struggling to maintain his train of thought, the thrill of wanting her was taking over, he'd pulled the neck of her dress aside completely, it was off her shoulder and he pushed her bra strap that way too, so that he could free her breast and take her nipple in his mouth.

"I mean, if it's for science," she said, with a surprised intake of breath, which made him smile against her skin.

"For the fair representation of competent men everywhere," he murmured, after he'd released her nipple. She gave another little breathless sound of amusement. He climbed off her then, and lay on the bed beside her, so he could run his hand up under her dress, across her hip, between her legs.

Hermione pulled him in to kiss her again, more urgently this time. Her fingers dug into his hair as she shifted on the bed, her legs falling open to his touch. Their messy kiss didn't last long, she turned her face away to draw in a deep breath as he found the right spot, just like earlier it seemed easy to please her.

He got another gasp as he slid his fingers lower, pushing inside her for the first time. He couldn't deny that he got off on it, the power trip, watching her come undone, knowing that there was nothing else in that busy brain, just him and what he was doing to her. It only took him a few minutes before she cried out and her back arched and he felt the tension of her release tightening around his fingers.

His own need was ridiculously urgent by this point, so much so that he put his newly freed hand inside his shorts at once, just trying to take the edge off, assuming she'd need a moment. But then suddenly she was there, on her hands and knees beside him, batting his hand out of the way so she could take him in her mouth.

He tried to stifle the groan that left him as she drew him in, tight and hot and sliding down his length, but he couldn't. Then she flipped her curtain of hair up out of the way with her arm, letting it fall over her other shoulder, like she knew he wanted to watch as her head bobbed up and down. She was right; her dress was still half hanging off and her cheeks were flushed from her own orgasam, he couldn't drag his eyes away.

Sirius liked to think that he had excellent stamina … Not today apparently. The view of her stretched lips, slick and sliding over and over, and those flushed cheeks hollowing with the pressure, had him wound tighter than he could remember being in a very long time. Then her tongue fluttered as she drew back and there were spots in his vision, his head swimming as everything narrowed to that powerful building pleasure racing through him. He grabbed her shoulder in warning, because it was rising so quickly inside him, that amazing moment right before the rush. She didn't pull off at his warning, and the pulse of his orgasam hit the back of her throat a few moments later.

She sat back then, wiping her mouth and smiling rather proudly. She was still pink in the face, her wild hair lit dramatically by the last of the day's sunlight coming in the glass doors. She hitched her dress back onto her shoulder but didn't bother with the buttons as she observed him for a moment.

He was in no state to talk. His brain was complete mush, he gave her what was probably quite a dopey grin, and she smiled back, which caused that complicated feeling he'd had when she asked him to stay to zap through his chest again. Then she climbed from the bed and left the room without a word. He closed his eyes. It's normal to feel fond of someone when they suck you off, he told himself firmly. Perfectly acceptable reaction.

When Hermione returned she had a big glass of water, and to his delight, his packet of cigarettes. She threw these on the bed next to him and then drank half the water. Then, to his astonishment she pulled off her dress and her disarranged underwear, so that she stood completely nude before him, the setting sun making her look like some kind of golden skinned faerie with her untamed hair still loose and wafting. He knew he was staring. She didn't seem to notice, because she dug her little pyjamas out from under her pillow, and wiggled into them before she even looked at him.

He continued to stare, not quite sure why he found this so captivating, it was just a body after all, he'd seen plenty of those in his life. "What?" She said, no doubt perplexed by his gormless gaping. "I just had your dick in my mouth, I didn't think getting changed would be a big deal."

He blinked, completely taken aback by her crassness, and finding himself feeling even more fond of her for it. "No, it's not … just –," then he laughed, mostly at his ludicrous self. "It's too early to tell you I love you right?" He joked, still chuckling at the absurdity of it all. "Like a day and a half… you heal me, feed me, suck my soul out through my cock, bring me smokes, and then shimmy around like a little private show..."

She started to laugh too. "You're ridiculous," she said.

He picked up the packet of cigarettes, and shook one free. "You told me that after last time," he said as he rolled off the bed and opened the door to the garden.

"Doesn't make it less true," Hermione replied, as she got into bed and picked up her book. She looked a bit too pleased with herself, Sirius thought.

A/N: 10 points to anyone who gets my Snape joke. Couldn't resist. xx