Nellie sat next to the girl named Tonks at the next meeting. The bubbly Metamorphagus talked a mile a minute but Nellie couldn't help liking her; Tonks' easygoing toughness, her loud laughter, her youth, amazed her. I was younger than that when I started, she reminded herself. But then again, we all were.

"Bloody exhausting for Dumbledore, of course," Tonks was saying, her pink hair glittering oddly in the candlelight. "Heard he isn't coming today cause he's already made two trips out this week."

Nellie frowned. "I thought it was just the one, to take my report. What else was he out here doing?"

"You didn't know?" Tonks lowered her voice, her eyes wide. They were a bright sea green today. "When you sent your message out here, saying you'd been ambushed, Sirius was all set to go out after you. Mad-Eye had to get Dumbledore just to stop him barging out the door."

Nellie stared at the younger witch, struggling to hide her astonishment.

"Heard he was half mad over it." Tonks turned away and started talking across the table to Remus, leaving Nellie to sip her tea in silence.

She stared at Sirius, down at the other end of the long table. His beard was getting rather unkempt, she noticed with a pang; before Azkaban he would shave it every day, even when he didn't have to. Vanity, she had thought, until she realized the Black family patriarchs had all sported beards. Sirius caught her eye and she looked down, embarrassed.

The meeting was long and the curse wound on her stomach was starting to ache again. When they were all done, she hobbled somewhat awkwardly out of her chair, stretching out her back and biting her lip against the pain. Tonks had bounced off to talk to Remus, leaving Nellie alone with her bitter, confused thoughts.

Before she knew what she was doing, she had walked over to where Sirius stood alone. She drew in a deep, difficult breath.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly, before he could get a word in. "About the other night. I shouldn't have jumped down your throat like that." She kept her voice low, not wanting anyone around them to hear.

Sirius cocked his head to one side. He wore his hair loose today, the dark waves falling distractingly over a deep purple jacket. "What's that?"

She scowled at him.

"No, I mean it. My hearing isn't what it used to be." He stared back at her apologetically, but she could see his beard twitching.

"Fine," she snapped, with more acrimony than she really felt. "I'm sorry," she repeated, louder, and he chortled.

"Got you." He grinned wolfishly and she smirked back at him in disbelief, shaking her head. "Christ, I'm not that old."

"Could've fooled me."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Really, Nel- Nellie." He grimaced. "We should talk."

Something tightened in the pit of her stomach; excitement or dread, she wasn't sure.

"Stick around for dinner, will you? After everybody clears out I've got this whole lovely place to myself. Well, me and Kreacher."

"Alright." Whatever Molly was cooking smelled delicious anyway. A pack a day and greasy takeout wasn't doing her health any favors, and she couldn't remember the last time she'd had a good, home-cooked meal.

Sirius ushered her into a seat beside him as Molly brought out dish after dish. It felt odd, sitting wedged between him and Alastor, everybody talking, not about tails and clues and the Department of Mysteries, but their lives. Someone was having a baby, someone's children weren't doing well in school. Lives she hadn't lived. Homes she'd never had.

"Alright, Nellie?"

Sirius was looking at her and she realized she hadn't touched her food.

"Yeah, it's nothing." He raised his eyebrows. "I mean-" she shook her head vaguely "-it's just been a while since I've been with friends. Or anybody, really." She took a bite of her Yorkshire pudding. It really was delicious, the warmth filling some of the hollow space inside her. "I just don't feel like I belong here."

"I know what you mean," Sirius replied, eating his pudding as though he wasn't paying much attention to it, and she felt again that deep pang of sympathy for him.

Before, he had been the life of the Order, the one who could make anyone laugh, give a bloody good speech, throw a party to make you forget everything wrong in the world. The one you wanted fighting beside you when it came to it.

They had been so good together, she and Sirius. They had gone into battles laughing, teasing each other about their tallies of Death Eaters, grinning at one another's faces between the bolts of curses that flashed between them. Everything that didn't hit them was a beautiful joke, a giddiness that only made them feel more alive.

And what were they now? She stared at the lines of his face as he ate. Two wayward children. Adults who had never grown up.

Before too long, Molly and Tonks were whisking away the dishes, everyone standing up with a scraping of chairs and a loud clatter of voices. Nellie offered to help but Molly waved her off.

"No, no dear. Don't even think of it," she said airily, bustling off to the kitchen with a pile of dishes held aloft in front of her, and Nellie had again the distinct feeling that everyone was treading lightly around her.

It was coming up on Christmas, and everyone bundled up tight in travelling cloaks and heavy winter robes as they left. She could feel the gust of cold air as the door was wrenched open.

"It's bloody snowing out!" Nellie heard someone call amid shouts of disbelief and frustration.

Sirius laughed softly. "God, I miss the snow."

Their eyes met and she realized why she couldn't recognize his anymore. They were lost, trapped in some feral darkness that couldn't forget and couldn't move on.

Without warning she darted outside, ignoring Sirius' yells of protest. It was indeed snowing, wet, puffy flakes that caught in her hair and melted on her lips and eyelashes like kisses. She came back in with a handful.

"Quick, before it melts!" She was laughing, Sirius was laughing, his familiar old bark of a laugh. She threw the snow in his face with a joyful cackle.

He wiped his dripping beard, incredulous.

"I'll get you back for that," he growled, and kissed her.

His beard was wet and cold and smelled like winter and smoke. She could feel the water dripping down her chin. But his lips were warm. He pulled away, too soon.

"I'm sorry." His voice sounded thick, drunk, though she hadn't seen him drinking. "I probably shouldn't have done that."

Beads of water dripped off his beard and left dark circles on his purple suit. She gently rubbed one out with her thumb.

"S'alright." She grinned up at him. "Weren't we supposed to be talking about something?"

"Yeah. But let's light a fire, I'm freezing for some reason."

The flames in the grate cast waving shadows all around them, flickering up the dark walls of the sitting room. She rubbed her red hands before the fire, warming them where she had held the snow. Sirius sat in his massive armchair, his long legs folded. He regarded her for a moment before he cleared his throat roughly, rubbing his beared chin with his fist.

"Nellie… After I- after they arrested me- what happened to you?"

This was not the question she had been expecting. "God, Sirius. I don't know-"

She stared into the flames. If she let it all come back, what would happen? She remembered the crackle of green paint drying on her skin, the paint she had mixed in the kitchen with cornstarch and food coloring. Yellow caution tape, electric and disorienting, fluttering over their everyday things, their chair, their sink full of dirty dishes. She remembered the dazzlement of pills sliding down her throat, rattling and melting inside her, the feeling of burning into nothing and floating away. Smoke trailing up the chimney.

"I don't know how to begin." She looked up at him, her eyes pleading.

"Begin when I left," he said softly.

She drew in a deep breath, stared into the flames flickering in the grate.

"Minerva came and told me. And then someone from the Order-"

It was pitching, reeling inside her, still very much sparking and alive, deep though she'd tried to bury it. She looked up into his dark, shuttered eyes.

"No one believed me when I said you had done nothing. When I said I knew nothing. I made a big scene at the Ministry and they took the flat, everything we had-"

"But that flat was yours as much as mine," Sirius interrupted. "How is that possible?"

"Sirius-" she shook her head, as if still in disbelief "-after that night, they were rounding up Death Eaters, anybody really, as quick as they could. All that property was taken up by the Ministry, for investigation purposes."

She grimaced. "They told me I could keep the flat if I cooperated and told them what they wanted to hear. And I didn't do that. I told them the truth."

For a moment she saw in his face the young man he had been, sensitive and startled under that brash exterior. His eyes were deep and dark enough to get lost in.

"What about the Order?" he said rather thickly. "Remus? Minerva?"

She sighed. "I went to everyone I knew, trying to talk some sense into them, get them to at least push for a trial-"

She still remembered the looks of distant pity on her old friends' faces. Or, in a few cases, the thinly veiled suspicion.

"But like I said- no one believed me. I wasn't about to go begging at anyone's doorstep after that." She let out a bitter laugh. "You should have seen the papers, Sirius. For a while there it was you, me, and Voldemort. Some were even saying I drove you to it- dodgy background and all that."

"What?" he breathed. She had never seen him look more lost. "Where did you go then?"

"Nowhere, really. I tried again and again to get a job, but of course as soon as they found out who I was no one would have me. Stayed with my mum for a bit, when I was really down."

She leaned toward the flames, her chin on her fist. "Eventually I ended up in Knockturn Alley. Started making Dragonsbane for someone I knew-"

"Dragonsbane?"

She sighed, scuffing her toe in the carpet and staring hard into the fire. "Hallucinogenic potion. Very difficult to brew, easy enough to sell."

She could still smell the high, bitter stink of the smoking red vials. The horrible smell had clung to her hair and clothes constantly, no matter how many showers she took. She shook her head.

"I told myself it was just to get back on my feet, but I found out pretty quick it doesn't really work that way. And then- and then I met Ben."

Sirius stiffened in his seat, but to his credit he said nothing. She talked quickly, not wanting to hurt him more.

"Ben helped me out of there. There was nothing much romantic between us- we were both doing what we felt we ought to be doing, without our hearts really in it."

He had been tapping his foot in the air and suddenly stopped.

"We were good friends," she said softly, "but after a few years, we parted ways. That was a little after you got out."

He regarded her, his brow furrowed, for one sheer, bright moment, as though seeing her for the first time.

"Wait, you- you mean you're not married?"

"No." A silence was ringing inside her, as if a storm that had been raging in her ears for fourteen years had suddenly ceased. "I got divorced- hm- more than a year ago now."

The quiet that settled after this pronouncement was deafening. They both seemed to be holding their breath, until he spoke.

"Nellie-" His voice was hoarse and choked. "I am so, so sorry. I had no idea all this would happen to you, and I've treated you so horribly, I didn't know-"

His fist was clenched very tightly on the arm of his chair.

"Of course not," she said steadily. "How could you have?"

She reached out and laid her hand tentatively over his large fist. The delicate ridges of bone and tendon were familiar beneath her fingers. He looked up at her and in his eyes she could suddenly see it- grief, longing, love, so long out of her reach.

"I should go," she muttered.

He caught her fingers in his as she stood.

"But you'll come by again? Bloody hell, I didn't even realize you were living on your own, I assumed-" He cleared his throat and continued. "I mean, come and have dinner. Have a drink."

He looked up at her and she didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the familiar puppy-dog expression on his face.

"I'd love to. But I've got to head back now, it's getting late."

He nodded, letting go of her fingers. She almost wished he wouldn't.

"Tomorrow then?" he said with forced lightness.

"Tomorrow."

He walked her to the door. Her heart pounded wildly, frantically, her blood racing with that sudden electricity that always felt like coming home. Returning to that rare, luminous height where she could finally see clearly.

She smiled at him as she stepped out into the cold night air.

"I promise I'm not going anywhere."

They cooked dinner together almost every night from then on. He was a terrible cook, having grown up with house elves to do the work, but he had improved somewhat under her guidance.

"You've got to chop the carrots evenly so they cook right."

"How do you know all this bloody stuff?" he grumbled. His long fingers gripped the knife like some foreign object.

"My mum's a Muggle," she reminded him, rolling her eyes. She was chopping onions beside him quite efficiently, despite the fact that his elbow kept bumping hers. "All the Muggles know how to do this. It's child's stuff."

He frowned. He began chopping again, realized he was using the wrong side of the knife, and quickly flipped it over without comment. The tips of his ears were a little red. "No they don't. You're making fun of me."

"Yeah I am." She wrapped her fingers around his and he immediately stopped his whining. "Like this."

He was noticeably more cheerful now; he bore even the indignation of Order meetings at which he could do little with greater fortitude and less scowling and snapping from his ornate black chair. But sometimes in the quiet when he thought she wasn't looking she would catch him staring into nothing, his eyes blank and shuttered. He parted the curtains a few times a day just to stare gloomily out the window.

"You miss it, don't you?"

"What?" He looked back at her, his face cold and sharp in the wintry light.

"Fighting. Going on missions."

He let out his bark of a laugh. "I miss going to the bloody supermarket."

Still, for the first time in a long time she felt happy. Happy when his fingers would lace into hers under the table and make her forget that they had ever lost anything. She could swear his kisses hadn't felt this good even when she was twenty- a slippage inside her, the relief of shattering. She had always loved to break things and now there was so much more within her that a kiss could topple. Even his beard as it scratched against her cheeks was becoming familiar and welcome, and it was with a pleasure she had never anticipated that she realized, after fourteen years, he still tasted the same.

Every evening when he walked her to the door she could tell he wanted to ask her to stay, and part of her was grateful he never did. When she Disapparated in the center of her dusty, empty flat, however, another part of her felt very differently. She would turn on the creaky old heater and warm her hands and think of him, still somehow so far away.

She Apparated onto the top step, wobbling a little, as her arms were full of gold and silver tinsel. They were decorating Number Twelve for Christmas, and though they hadn't planned on dinner tonight she reckoned it would be a nice surprise. Poor man could do with a little excitement, she thought as she let herself in and set her load of tinsel down on the table with a plasticky rustle. He was nowhere in sight.

"Sirius?"

The walls swallowed her voice and she was put in mind of her nightmares from not too long ago, calling his name in an empty house, always just out of reach. She looked in the kitchen. Nothing.

"Sirius?" Her voice climbed higher and suddenly she was racing up the stairs.

What if he had done something stupid? What if someone had betrayed them yet again? What if- She burst through the door to his bedroom without knocking.

"Sirius, where are y-"

He looked up at her from hooded, swollen eyes, blinked slowly.

"Nellie, what are you doing here?"

She gasped for breath and suddenly the ground was rushing up to meet her and all she could think was thank God. His arms as they caught her were strong and familiar.

"Sit down, sit down-"

His voice reached her dimly as though from far away. He absolutely reeked of booze and cigarettes and below that the sharpness of sweat.

"You're alright," she whispered. "I thought- I couldn't find you anywhere and I thought-"

Tears were dripping onto his black t-shirt and she realized they were hers. How long had it been since she cried? His beard scratched her cheek as he pressed his lips against her ear.

"I'm not going anywhere, Nellie. I promise, I promise."

His breath was so awful she started laughing, choking on her tears.

"What's that for?" He frowned down at her but she merely shook her head.

"Merlin, you're a mess. What the hell have you been doing up here?"

"I- well."

He leaned back against the wall, not making any attempt to remove her from his lap. She settled against his shoulder and watched his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed, let her breathing slow. He was so alive, and in her relief everything felt crisp and dazzling as tinsel.

"You looked like you were crying."

"You were crying, too, might I add." He scratched his stubbly chin, his brow furrowed. "A far more unusual and terrifying event."

"You cried first," she insisted, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand.

He was silent for a while, and she didn't press him. She had never been in his room before, and she was unsurprised to see the Muggle posters stuck to the walls, the massive Gryffindor banner, now torn and threadbare, hanging over his bed. The floor was strewn with bottles of wine and Odgen's Old Firewhiskey. When he spoke again his voice was low and hoarse.

"I spent twelve years thinking of nothing but revenge. It was all that kept me going, the thought of finding Pettigrew and making him pay for the lives he'd taken. If I could just do that-"

His toe nudged one of the gleaming bottles on the ground as he twitched, restless as ever. "Well, it wouldn't change a damn thing but at least I would have done something. At least a traitor and a murderer wouldn't walk free."

She stared at the opposite wall. A tattered picture of two dark-haired boys had been stuck there between a photo of a bikini-clad woman torn out of Muggle magazine and a large Queen poster. The picture was so old the figures hardly moved, but even from here she could tell it was Sirius and James. One of the boys slowly, creakily, cuffed the other on the back of the head.

"And I waited twelve years for my chance, and I failed at that, too."

The Sirius in the picture was pulling a funny face while James laughed hysterically. Beside her she could feel the quivering of the living Sirius' chest, a delicate thrumming like some wounded animal.

He gently pushed her out of his lap and turned away, burying his face in his hands. "I killed Lily and James-" his voice broke with a crack "-I let Pettigrew go, I ruined your life-" He stopped abruptly, his back shaking.

The bottles on the floor gleamed dimly, and she could see the reflections of their bodies, bent and dark, in the curved glass surfaces. He reached out a shaky hand for the one upright bottle, propped against the leg of an ancient desk, but she stopped him.

"You've had enough," she said gently, her hand still on his wrist. "This last bit's for me."

She held the bottle to her lips and drank deep. The wine went down warm and sweet and left her tangled in a darkness black as his dishevelled hair. For a moment they just sat in silence, reeling alone in that dim room full of memories.

"Sirius," she said softly, and he turned. His eyes were dry and that was almost worse, to know that he couldn't cry anymore.

"You- are-" She shook her head. She wasn't nearly drunk enough to be good at this, but she took a deep breath and went on.

"D'you remember when you told me it means something, to be living our lives this way?"

It felt so odd to be saying that to the man looking back at her now, trapped in his childhood bedroom and lost in grief.

"I still believe in that. In you."

He stared back at her, his eyes blank and hollowed with pain. Where was the burning she remembered? She had lost her way to the heart of him, somehow, in all the years and the lies. She didn't know what to do other than keep talking, keep searching.

"And you haven't ruined my life. You-" She closed her eyes, tilting her head back into the rush of lightness filling her. "I tried and tried, ever since I was sixteen, to get you out of my head, and it never worked and it still doesn't work now."

He looked down and she couldn't see his expression. His hand was gripping hers tightly.

"I never moved on, Sirius, and I don't think I ever wanted to. Some people- they're just a part of you, no matter what you do."

"No matter what you do," he repeated, numbly.

She reeled, caught in the darkness of his eyes as they met hers. Waiting. I'll always be waiting for you.

And then he kissed her, sudden and sloppy, his beard scratching at her face, though his lips were warm and gentle as ever. She pulled away and he blinked at her, looking punch drunk.

"Sirius," she giggled weakly. "How long have you been drinking? I mean it, mate, get a mint or something."

"'M sorry," he mumbled, flicking his wrist and producing several peppermints out of thin air.

"No you're not."

He swirled the mints around in his mouth with a wolfish grin and shrugged and she couldn't resist kissing him again.

Just one more. It doesn't have to go anywhere. She heard his slight gasp as she nipped at his lower lip, tasted the sharpness of mint mingled with sugar and the deeper taste of him. His hands were tangled in her hair and suddenly he was pushing her back, laying her down on the carpet.

"Nel," he breathed against her neck, like a devotion, like a prayer. His kisses left her shuddering; she could feel heat building deep within her, desperate and aching. His lips found the sensitive spot just under her jaw, making her moan softly.

He growled low in her ear. "Hm. Yes. Do that again."

She laughed as his hand found her breast and squeezed, his thumb rubbing in circles over her already stiffening nipple.

"Sirius-"

He tugged at the hem of her t-shirt and she helped him, sitting up clumsily to pull it off. She was wearing her one nice bra, thank Merlin, thin and black and lacy. He swallowed thickly, staring at her.

"My bed?"

"Take me there."

He laughed, picking her up and tossing her bodily onto the bed with a creak of springs and a squeal of surprise from her. Before she could catch her breath he was on top of her, his lips trailing along her collarbone, down between the curves of her breasts, leaving wet and fervent kisses that blossomed purple in his wake. He bit her through the thin fabric of her bra with a growl of pleasure and she clutched the sheets, feeling dizzy and delicious. Her hands pushed up the hem of his shirt, caressing his warm skin still tight with muscle underneath. He sat up quickly and tugged the shirt over his head with a grunt.

He was thinner than she remembered. His ribs and collarbones stood out sharper, his intricate tattoos and the dusting of hair on his chest dark against the pallor of his skin. But he was still so beautiful.

She wrapped her legs around his waist and pushed him onto his back. He stared up at her, the ghost of a grin on his pale face, and she bent to kiss him. His lips were soft and swollen already, parting for her tongue. She pressed hungry kisses along his neck, his chest, raking his nipples with her tongue and making him whimper. He groaned in appreciation as she palmed him through his trousers.

"Please, Nel. Please, baby-"

She laughed, pressing her lips to the soft skin just below his navel. He had always been vocal; in their old flat, they'd had quite a few complaints from the neighbors. But here, in this quiet prison of a house, they could do as they pleased.

She eased him out of his trousers gently, taking her time before she brushed her lips against his tip. He was painfully hard, curving back almost to touch his stomach, his pinkish skin soft and smooth over the iron rigidity beneath. Her tongue lapped the first drops of saltiness from his head and he groaned, the muscles in his stomach twitching. When she took him in her mouth, he swore loudly, his hand gripping her shoulder tightly.

"That's it, that's it- mm- fuck, you're so beautiful like that, you don't know-" Words tumbled from his parted lips, his cheeks flushed and florid.

He stared down at her, meeting her eyes as she had her way with him slowly and deliberately. His fingers ran through her dark hair, tugging it gently, but he never pushed her; she knew he liked it when she took control. He was twitching and shuddering in her mouth before long, his eyelids fluttering open and closed.

"Baby," he panted breathlessly. "You have to stop, or I'll-"

She released him from her lips with a wet pop and he groaned, already pulling her back up to kiss him. His lashes glittered with tears and she kissed them off. The salt was sharp on her tongue, sharp as his gasps of her name.

He reached for the clasp of her bra without another word, slid the straps gently down her arms. His breath caught as he looked at her, his eyes gleaming bright in the dim light of his room.

She felt soft, liquid under his gaze. The wine was warm in her empty belly, his hands gentle as they reached up to cup her breasts. Fuller and softer than the last time he'd seen them, she remembered, and blushed in spite of herself.

"Not quite the same as fourteen years ago, is it?"

"Don't be stupid." He looked up at her, some remnant of that cocky grin she knew so well plastered across his face. When the calloused pad of his thumb brushed against her nipple her breath hitched in her throat.

"God, you're so bloody perfect."

Perfect? She was older and heavier, heavy with wasted, purposeless years, heavy with waiting. Full of ashes and empty calories.

And he was still kissing her. And he still loved her.

"I missed you," she breathed into his dark hair as he pulled her down, nuzzling his head between her breasts and kissing her everywhere he could reach. She gasped as he slid her nipple into his mouth and sucked on it, hard.

"Hm." He kissed her, his tongue gently working its way into her mouth. Mint and sugar and booze and him. He unzipped her trousers one-handed- he hadn't lost that skill in Azkaban- and she kicked them off hastily.

"I missed you, too."

She let him lay her down on her back and groaned softly as he pushed her panties aside and ran his fingers gently between her folds.

"Fourteen years, Nellie."

He rubbed her clit with his slick fingers and tremulous sparks of pleasure shot through her. His voice rasped softly in her ear. "Fourteen years without this."

He went faster. She could hear him breathing ragged in her ear, but he kept up until she was a moaning mess, her legs twitching around him as she neared that wonderful height. She keened softly as he tugged her panties down around her ankles and replaced his calloused fingers with his tongue, lapping at her swollen bud wetly and eagerly. Waves of pleasure swelled and rippled through her, leaving her shaking.

"Fu-uuck," she gasped brokenly as she came, shuddering around him, but he didn't stop. "Sirius!"

He half-laughed, half-growled, the vibrations shooting electric through her overstimulated body. When he slid two fingers inside her she nearly sobbed from the pleasure. Sharp, soaring, building. She came undone around him yet again, easily, crying out his name.

While her orgasm was still coursing through her she felt him adjusting his hips over hers, the brush of his knuckles on her sensitive skin as he angled himself just right. He slid into her with a ragged groan.

"Oh, God- fuck-"

It felt so right, she thought, as her hips bucked up to meet his. It didn't feel like it had been fourteen years. She kept her eyes on his face, his full lips parted, his brow furrowed with exertion. He went slow at first, painfully slow.

Their eyes met and she burned. Burned in every space inside her she had thought vacant, in the quiet center of that star. Her cheeks felt wet and she realized the tears were his, dripping down onto her as he rippled above her. When she gripped his shoulder she could feel his heart beating, frantic and powerful and so very much like hers.

"Nellie," he rasped. "Nellie." Again and again.

It was on the tip of her tongue. She didn't say it, just breathed his name as he filled her with wonderful liquid heat, as he collapsed on top of her with a grunt of pleasure.

He fell asleep not long after with his head nestled between her breasts, but she stayed awake, stroking out the tangles in his hair. Everything in the world could be in that little room, she thought. They need never leave, to fight a war or go grocery shopping or return to their lonely little lives.

Downstairs the gold and silver tinsel glittered in the swiftly approaching darkness, forgotten.