"Is she still sleeping?"

"I don't know – go check."

My head is burrowed beneath my plushy comforter and pillows. The two young witches whispering from my doorway should probably fuck off.

I hear one of them pad across the room, making minimal noise on the rugs. When she reaches my bedside, she decidedly climbs onto my mattress and begins making her way up to the headboard where I'm curled up.

Which one is it?

Her slender form suddenly straddles my hip from outside my blankets, and small, deft fingers begin braiding some of my hair which is sticking out.

Ginny, it's Ginny.

"Fiiiiiin," the ginger whelp trills from atop my body. She's lucky she's so light. I'd be genuinely worried about how far she'd fly if I decided to catapult her off of me.

"Finnie. Fin-noo-noo. Finnula," she continues in a sing-song voice. I hear Hermione approach more demurely, staying to one side of the bed. I grunt in response.

"You've been in bed for two days, Fin-cella," Ginny sets aside a completed braid and begins a new one, "It's Harry's birthday. Come upstairs and help us set up his party."

I allow a low growl to emerge. Two days? It's seriously Wednesday now? Fuuuuuuuuuck.

Going into demon-mode tends to take a lot out of me, it's true. It only took a couple of hours to fuck up those Death Eaters Sunday night (Monday morning? Damn), find the correct chimney, then dance myself home, but I'm not at all surprised it's meant two days recovery. I'm no scientist, but I know correlation data when I see it. Once, after a recon mission I was bullied into accepting by InterPol, I kept Sauron in my soul for over a week and was practically catatonic for another week afterwards.

Ass-kicking makes me sleepy.

Snippets of memory return to my bleary brain. Moody checked in on me, told me Viktor was going to live, and wanted to know where my gear was so he could clean it. Tonks came in once, even got me out of bed and halfway dressed while bitching about how Remus is being cold again. Apparently, his mood swings link fairly well with his transformations. I'm sure I made an extremely hilarious period-joke before climbing back into bed.

Upon further reflection, her visit also explains the reason I'm wearing panda-bear pajama shorts, a bra, and a leather jacket.

Ginny is still dithering on about all that needs to get done for the party. Hermione has started inching a hand beneath the covers, as though to whip them off me.

"-and Mum will be in the meeting with them as well, so she basically insinuated that we're on our own, and since you're a muggle you've probably got loads of experience putting up decorations using tape-"

"Wait," I croak out, silencing her, "Where are the magic-wielding adults? Why do we have to do all this shit?"

"Well," Hermione ceases trying to tug the covers away from my stalwart grip and eases her elbows onto the mattress confidentially. "Almost everyone is meeting with Dumbledore this morning. Something happened, we think," she says in a hushed tone, "Everyone's been quite a-twitter since the night you and Viktor infiltrated Malfoy Manor-" Ah, good. Someone has explained how that went to the kids without my help. This is good.

"-and a lot of the senior Order members have been behaving rather secretively. I think they know who it was who staged the attack on McNair and Nott. Mrs. Weasley has been getting extremely frustrated–"

Oh, fuck. The kids know about that already. That spread around faster than expected.

"Mum went ballistic on McGonagall last night," Ginny interrupts, tugging on my braided strands like reins, "Said that she could tell they're keeping something from the rest of the Order. That we have the right to know if we've contracted some mysterious, insane, magical mercenary…"

My stomach churns, but not unexpectedly. It was unlikely that all my new acquaintances were going to be as accepting of my murderous skill set as the hardened auror, Mad-Eye Moody. Regardless of this logic, I feel my spirits sink. Molly will be so disappointed when she finds out it was me.

And Sirius…

Fuck, Sirius is going to be so pissed. He was already super pissed when I had knocked on the door at ass-o'clock in the morning, re-clothed in that ruined, mud-stained ball gown. He's probably still pissed.

He already suspects you're lying.

Yeah, fuck. Something tells me he may not feel so adorably protective or attracted to me once he knows I have the capacity to cut people's arms off. Then put said dismembered arms in chimneys.

My racing heart hardens just a little in self-defense. I am who I am. I was forced to stay here; this is what Dumbledore said he wanted. If someone is going to be interested in me – my hand tightens just a bit around the ring he gave me, still encircling my thumb – I deserve for it to include all of me, right? Doesn't every girl deserve that?

Finnie, sweetheart, you shot a guy's dick off.

Hmm.

Thoughts for another day.

An all-too-familiar wave of apathy threatens to overwhelm me, and I find myself tempted to welcome it. Who cares what anyone thinks? The vision of Ginny and Hermione's young faces, though already war-tested, assail my hazy imagination. I imagine them in that alley with me, watching me toy with and torture those awful men. Despite how deserving my victims may have been, past and present, I know those young girls would have been terrified. Of me.

Buck the fuck up, lady. Go make a cake for Harry and stop feeling sorry for yourself. Damn.

Taking a deep breath, I sit up fast, unseating Ginny so that she nearly tumbles over the side of the bed. I flip onto my back and into a seated position. Blinking my bleary eyes, I stretch my arms out wide.

A choke of laughter from the doorway interrupts my awakening-process. I drop my arms and squint across the dim room to where Tonks is grinning behind her hand while clutching a pitcher of water.

Ginny scrabbles up to her feet, smiling down at me. Tonks approaches with exaggerated caution, so to not anger the waking beast. "Well," she starts, her hair a pale pink today, "Looks as though you won't need this poured on you after all." She sets the pitcher down upon my end table. Ginny and Hermione leave my bedside to go to my wardrobe and unceremoniously begin digging through it. Ignoring my muddled confusion, Tonks continues, "And while I'm nearly positive that your current outfit will cure Sirius of that mood he's been in-," my stomach pitches, I knew he was pissed, "-it might be best if we aim for something just a touch less scandalous."

I glance down at my lacy black bra, starkly visible against my pale skin beneath the maroon leather. I purse my lips irritatedly and begin shucking off the jacket. "I need a shower first," I grumble.

"Oh, good Godric," Tonks sighs with an eye-roll, waving her hands animatedly at the young witches who seem to be arguing over what to dress me in. "Run, girls, run! Before the uninhibited American decides to put on a show."

"Whatever," I mumble, unclasping my bra as the three of them jog back to the bedroom door to make a hasty exit.

Tonks hesitates at the doorway, but then withdraws her wand and gives it a silent flick. The pitcher of water levitates off the table, gaining height until it hovers above my head. It drips a couple of ice-cold drops making me flinch and hiss a curse.

"You have ten minutes," she announces cheerily, "If you're not upstairs by then, you'll be doused like the grumpy, pervvy uncle that you are. Best of luck."

I eye the icy sentinel with loathing as she disappears around the corner.

Thirty minutes later, I trudge up the stairs to the first floor, defiantly wearing some ridiculous furry boots that I had claimed were worth buying because they make me look part-wookie. Tonks' piss-poor idea of motivation had triggered immediately after I had emerged from my shower, and my teeth are still chattering.

I shuffle miserably towards the kitchens, where I can hear a smattering of voices. Peering around the three-step drop into the dining space, I see Hermione, Ginny, and Tonks all gathered around what looks like a cake recipe. Their intense focus implies that none of them are particularly confident in their collective baking skills.

I frown upon entering, and their welcoming smiles lift from the page to greet me. "What's wrong with this picture?" I demand petulantly. "Why is it the women are left behind to throw a party? What manner of wizarding sexism is this?"

Hermione laughs. "We offered," she tells me, "Ron and Harry will tell me about it when they get back. And Tonks," she nods to the older witch who is still studying the recipe as though trying to translate it from ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics, "is hoping you'll fill her in if Moody doesn't."

I grunt. Fat chance.

"Honestly, Fin," Ginny gives me a mischievous smirk from her position, elbows propped on the table, "We drew the short straws. No one but us was brave enough to wake your arse up."

I scoff, "I'm not that bad." I wind my way across the paneled floorboards, arms crossed against the chill of my still-drying hair.

"They tried an hour prior to your actually waking up," Tonks informs me, her head still down, "Says you waved your buggered wand at them and threatened to shoot their cocks off."

Her voice is deceptively light. Maybe she already suspects my role with the Order is more than it appears? Especially if she's been informed of that first foray into frightening the bejesus out of the dark side.

I sniff good-naturedly and grab a bowl for cereal, "Yeah. Ok, fair enough."

Hermione and Ginny begin gathering bowls and measuring tools from the various cupboards in the Grimmauld Place kitchen. I give Tonks a quick questioning look as I tuck into the cereal from my seat on the table bench, and without preamble she mutters, "You don't want me trying to cook. Magic or no magic. Just trust me." I smirk at her, milk dribbling attractively down my chin.

Hermione ventures into the pantry, where only two weeks ago I had been magically assaulted by the greatest wizard of the age. She reemerges with flour, sugar, and cocoa powder. She lifts the cocoa powder to the rest of us in the room and asks, "Does Harry like chocolate? For the cake, anyway?"

I lock eyes with Ginny, who is pouring milk into a measuring ladle, and say with complete seriousness, "I think Harry prefers carrot cake."

Ginny splashes the milk largely onto the floor, and Hermione lets out a surprised peal of laughter. Tonks smacks the arm holding my spoon so my cereal falls into my lap. "Be nice," she admonishes, but she's grinning like a devil.

I smile at Ginny, with what I hope looks like remorse, as she shakily mops up the spill with a rag. She's blushing to her hairline. "Sorry, Gin," I manage. She glares at me.

Tonks sighs as she gets up, seemingly decided the cake is no longer her problem. She casts a discerning eye around the room and withdraws her wand. With careful, deliberate strokes, she begins conjuring red and gold fairy lights along the edges of the room. With a jolt, I realize they remind me of the lights at Malfoy Manor.

"What did you mean by that?" Ginny unsteadily demands from the kitchen, clearly speaking to me. I turn to look at her, chewing the last bite of my breakfast, and try to keep my face innocent.

"Does Harry like me? As more than a sister?" Her voice vibrates with teenage anxiety, "Is that why you made that joke? Because I'm with Dean-"

I roll my eyes. Ginny nearly chokes. "WHAT DOES THAT MEAN? Am I not supposed to be with Dean? Because Harry has never shown even the slightest inclination-"

Hermione stifles a laugh. But immediately sobers with wide eyes as Ginny glares at her with a fury only capable by a true relation of Molly Weasley. The red-haired witch alternates her scowl between me and Hermione, finally settling on me, and points a threatening finger. "Dumbledore said the future isn't certain anymore, you might be wrong. Maybe I'm supposed to be with Dean."

I push my bowl away, avoiding all their gazes while muttering, "Yeah, no, it's fine, just ignore the future-woman's point of view. Sounds super logical-"

Ginny emits a frustrated groan while the fireplace across the room abruptly blazes green. Tonks, who had been hanging glittering red-and-gold streamers from the mantle, jumps back just in time for Arthur, Bill, Fleur, McGonagall, Remus, and Sirius to step through one by one.

"Good afternoon, girls," Mr. Weasley says as he brushes soot from his robe sleeve. "How can we be of assistance? Molly and Ron will be along shortly, they stopped first at the Burrow to retrieve gifts and supplies."

I sit frozen in my seat, inexplicably terrified at his nonchalance. What did they discover in their meeting with Dumbledore? McGonagall seems to be trying to catch my eye, but I feign ignorance, desperate to regain some composure while my mind jumps to every possibility.

Fleur announces "I weel 'elp with zee decorations," and begins adding traces of silver between the gold and red lights, smiling at Tonks.

But Tonks is busy pretending not to watch Remus, who isn't looking at her at all.

"Er-Bill?" Lupin inquires to the wizard standing next to him, "Would you mind terribly accompanying me upstairs? I need a hand harvesting one of the ingredients for my next month's potion." Completely awkwardly, Bill glances at Tonks, who is now scowling, before giving an uncomfortable nod. Neither bothering to spare a glance for the rest of us, he hurriedly follows the shabby wizard out the door.

Arthur has begun assisting Ginny and Hermione with the cake ingredients, and McGonagall is whispering to Tonks through thin lips. In my zoned-out state I almost miss Sirius preparing to slip out the door behind the other two wizards. I shoot out of my seat, nearly toppling the bench, and practically run after him. I ignore the eyes of the room on my back as I call after him, "Sirius!"

I clump on fuzzy-booted feet through the kitchen door. His retreating form is already halfway down the hall, so I hiss at him again, "Sirius!" He halts but doesn't turn. Shit, fuck, he must hate me. "Sirius," I whisper this time, finally catching up to him. I can hear the small plea in my voice. Goddamn, I'm pathetic.

I couldn't stand it if he hated me.

I snag his black sweater sleeve with my outstretched hand, the ring on my thumb glinting in the dim light of the hallway. "Wait," I choke, "Please. Talk to me." I have no idea what I'm going to say. Truthfully, I have no idea what he knows. All I know is that he seems mad at me, and it makes my stomach hurt to think he's mad at me.

Sirius turns to face me but doesn't shake off my grip like I expect him to. His flawless features gaze down at me with zero friendliness, and dread fills my lungs. My heart races as I unwillingly study him. His hair, longer than it was even two weeks ago, is secured at the nape of his neck, wound into a simple bun away from his collar.

The hint of tattoos on his chest catch my eye, as his sweater dips into a V. I wet my lips with my tongue, suddenly hyperaware of the last time we were alone in this hallway. And the fact that I haven't seen his handsome ass in two days. I keep my eyes off his too-intense silver ones, instead staring resolutely at his collar as I force out, "Um, hi."

So. Goddamn. Awkward.

Sirius' dark, sculpted brows lift in surprise, and he responds slowly, his tone numbly disinterested, "Hi, Fin." His deep voice sends shivers up my arms, dipping between my shoulders, then vibrates down my spine. It must be remnants of the ice-shower Tonks gave me, or so I tell myself.

I stand frozen once more, unable to decide what to say next. The air between us feels thick, tense. It can't be just in my head.

When did I stop being able to function around this man? What the fuck is wrong with me?

"What did you want to talk about?" he clips, sounding irritated. I don't blame him, I'd be irritated too if some hormone-crazed muggle stalked me down a hallway then just stood there.

"Um," I mumble again, unable to ask him my real question, and still avoiding looking at his face, "Where's Harry?"

I feel, rather than see, him roll his eyes. "Dumbledore kept him," he explains in a bored voice, finally extricating his sleeve from my grip, "They're going to go recruit Horace Slughorn to teach Potions for the next school term." He shakes his head a little, as though he disagrees. "Dumbledore seemed to think Harry would be able to convince the old, fat bugger," he murmurs offhandedly.

My attention is caught by a necklace tucked under Sirius' sweater, the thin chain still visible around his throat. My gaze lowers, following the line of the chain, until I see the outline of my ring nestled between his pectorals. My ring, I think with a powerful surge of possessiveness, flitting my eyes up to finally meet his. Their silver hue conveys nothing but annoyed disinterest, but I think I can see a glint of some emotion that's anything but indifferent.

He's still wearing it. He still likes you.

One sarcastic eyebrow poised upwards, Sirius begins to turn away from me. Possessive energy still thrums in my veins, so when I snag the front of his sweater to steer him back to face me, I do so with a bit more force than is strictly necessary.

"Are you mad at me?" I whisper, finally getting to the point. My eyes search his face desperately. Sirius' cool mask slips just a little, and I finally see the hard, angry glint in his eyes before he hides it again. "No," he says lowly, clearly lying, "What reason could I have to be mad?" His tone borders on sardonic, despite his calm demeanor, "Like I told you before, you do what you need to do. It isn't any of my business."

For some reason, I feel like he's hit me. Isn't he right, though? Isn't that what I said?

Dread pools like acid in my stomach. Did he find out about what I did to those Death Eaters? Does he think I'm a monster?

Suddenly feeling a bit desolate, I retract my grip from his front. Distractedly, I smooth out the crinkles in his sweater that I made with my fist.

Quick like an asp, one of Sirius' large, warm hands finds mine and holds it tightly, keeping it pressed against him. Surprised, I flit my gaze back up to his face, which is decidedly angry now, all pretense of calm gone.

"Heaven fucking forbid," he grinds out, seemingly having changed his mind about holding his tongue, "I be able to say I told you so." My brow furrows, I'm confused. "Your little stunt," he practically spits out the word, "at Malfoy Manor nearly got you killed. And I just had to fucking sit here-," he's crowding me against the wall now, apparently fully decided to express what's on his mind, "-while you dis-a-fucking-ppear, only minutes after I rescue your reckless arse."

My heart, which had previously been feeling a bit like a raisin, swells until its bursting painfully from beneath my lungs. Sirius isn't angry because I'm a monster; he's angry because I'm a frail muggle who insisted on being in danger and didn't tell him when I left.

Despite the fact that, as he too-well knows, only a few days ago I had been ready to spit nails regarding this very attitude, I could not be more relieved. He doesn't hate me. If anything, he gives too much of a shit, and it drives him crazy.

I can't contain the manic grin which spreads as the feeling of relief threatens to overwhelm me. Sirius looks at me like I'm insane, so I wipe it off quickly, trying to look serious. With swift motions, he backs away from me, letting my hand go and taking angry strides down the hall. "Wait," I gasp out, caught off-guard. I shuffle my ridiculous booted feet after him, catching his wrist just before he tries to turn a corner. "Wait," I repeat, clutching him and trying to pull him back. Sirius still moves as though he intends to break my grip and continue walking away, so I lunge at him. As quickly as I can, I wrap my arms securely around his waist. He teeters, off-balance by my sudden display of desperation, and pivots one heel so that he falls gracefully against the door jam.

Sirius' handsome face is surprised, borderline shocked, as he considers me from his new position – trapped between me and the wall. A few dark locks have escaped and frame his face, highlighting an elegant ferocity that makes my heart ache. I grip handfuls of the back of his sweater and peer up at him, my front melded to his front. "I'm sorry-," I murmur, struggling to hold his gaze, his body heat searing into me like a brand, "-for disappearing. I was overwhelmed."

I feel a twinge of guilt at the continued lie but decide not to press my luck for the time being. "It doesn't change much of what I will and won't do-," I warn him, and his face sours a little despite our close proximity, "-but I like that you..." I struggle, feeling awkward and helpless. "…I really like that you give a shit." Sirius' eyes have softened, his irritable discontent dissolving into something new. I clear my throat, "About me, I mean."

Sirius lifts one hand from his side and cups my face. "You said that before," he reminds me, one side of his mouth lifting crookedly. I frown, wondering what he's getting at. Unexpectedly, his face breaks into a full breath-stealing, triumphant, white smile. "It means a lot more when you're sober, though," his voice is low.

I blush suddenly, having decided in that split second to take this a step further. His thumb drags distractingly along my cheekbone as I rest a hand on his chest. I glance down at where his ring lies, and begin tracing it through his sweater. "And, it's only fair, you should probably know-," I murmur, practically blacking out from sheer stress, "-that I give a shit, too." His frame stiffens.

He says nothing as I stare resolutely at his chest. I blush harder, and finish unnecessarily, "About you, I mean."

Still nothing. He's gone into rigor mortis. Alarmed, I glance up to gauge his reaction and am immediately ensnared.

His eyes are no longer cold in the slightest. Various shades of grey flash as quickly as his thoughts, darkening his irises to a molten, sexy steel. The heat of his stare sucks the breath right out of my lungs, rooting me to the spot with elation and panic. His jaw clenches, his eyes searching mine, and my adrenaline spikes. I feel a familiar heat pooling low in my abdomen.

Somehow I manage to rasp, "But you know that. Don't you?" I give the ring beneath his sweater a small tug.

Needing no other hint, his head lowers toward mine. "I suspected-," he practically growls. Another beautiful, arrogant smile nearly blinds me, his face only an inch away, "-but it's nice to know for sure." The tension finally overwhelms me, and my eyes flutter closed.

Finally – fucking, fucking finally – he closes the distance and covers my mouth with his. His lips surpass all expectations, tasting sweet and salty and amazing. His is scent warm and heady this close to his skin. After a frozen moment, his mouth opens, coaxing mine to open with it, sealing that connection even tighter. The ache in my core throbs once, almost painfully, and I have to bite back an embarrassing whimper.

Impatient, I press myself shamelessly against his hard heat, all finesse out the window. Sirius makes a noise of approval against my lips but keeps kissing as softly as ever, raising my body temperature with each gentle pass of his mouth against mine. My hand on his chest inches up, savoring the feel of his powerful heartbeat. I feel drunk, completely intoxicated by the wave of scents he emits- fire embers, cinnamon, evergreen, and a hint of petrol.

My fingers keep reaching until they wind around his nape and bury themselves in his dark hair. As our mouths incrementally part and re-meet – slowly, like we have as much time as we could want – my heart races with what I think is equal parts excitement and terror. His mouth feels fucking amazing, and my legs finally start to noticeably shake.

Either unbothered or unnoticing, Sirius sweeps a long arm around me, holding me tight against his front and even lifting me slightly onto my toes. His other hand – lightly calloused and radiating heat – is still at my face, up my cheekbone, across my brow, and eventually cradling the back of my head, tangled in my hair. Holding me firmly in place, his mouth breaks from mine, and he draws an audible lungful of air. He looks as dazed as I feel, but before I can form a clear, self-evaluating thought, his lips seek mine once more.

His mouth opens against mine, and my stomach flips as I try not to groan. His hands around me caress everything they can reach. I take a small nip at his lower lip, grazing it with my canines.

Sirius emits an abrupt, possibly involuntary, growl in the back of his throat, and the thrumming ache between my legs intensifies. He uses his tongue then, possessively licking just inside my lips before retreating. He repeats this a few more times, never letting my tongue catch his, teasing me and tasting me. After a minute, I sigh into his mouth, unashamedly conceding to his assault.

With a noise that sounds like half chuckle half groan, Sirius pivots twice so that my back is to the wall instead. Startled, my eyes fly open to see his molten gaze boring into mine. He inspects my face as my breath comes in soft bursts, his expression excited but conflicted. My hormone-addled mind vaguely wonders what he's looking for but is soon distracted by how sexy his mouth looks up close, swollen from kissing me. He crouches only barely, letting the hand he had behind my head fall to my ass before he suddenly lifts me.

My heart hammers in my ears, and I swear I have never been more turned on in my entire life. Instinctively, I hitch my legs around Sirius' middle, praying I haven't overestimated his deadlifting capabilities. With apparent ease, he uses the wall to prop me up and lean me back, keeping one arm wrapped around my waist. His other hand stays on my ass, apparently enjoying it there.

I hold myself to him, clutching the soft fabric of his dark sweater, practically coming out of my skin with the need to get closer. My desperation is escalating now that my aching core is pressed right against Sirius' jeans' zipper. I close my eyes and try to breathe normally as he dips his face down to the junction of my neck and shoulder. Sirius makes his way up behind my ear, softly kissing and swirling his tongue along the skin of my neck until I nearly pass out.

I really really want to make out some more, so I grip his chin and force him to face me. His breathing is just as fucked up as mine, and I take courage in that as I assault his mouth once more with my own. Sirius groans as I slip my tongue past his lips and slide it along his. My hands shake in time to my racing heart and I frame his face, trying to communicate exactly how much of a shit I give – inexplicably a lot for someone who was dragged through time only two weeks ago.

The tenor of our frantic kisses changes, they become more lengthy and poignant. With each melding and shifting, the communication becomes more about fear and hope, though still tinged at the edges with lust. Every place our bodies are touching tingles, and it's as though each touch sends a specific neurotransmitter to the pleasure-center of my brain, resulting in immediate addiction.

Sirius drags his mouth down my jaw and I sigh. I lazily watch him as he angles kisses along my collar, my heart doing flips in my chest. His hand at my ass slips along the hem of my shorts, burning like a brand, before dipping up past the material in order to palm my ass cheek through my panties. I bite my lip, fully fucking seduced, and allow a breathy moan to escape. I resubmerge one hand into his hair and use the other to wrench his face back to me yet again.

Sirius' unfocused eyes are dark and dilated. I lower my lips to place fluttering kisses along his sharp cheekbone before dipping to kiss slowly up his lightly stubbled jaw. His hand in my shorts grips my ass greedily, and a low rumble echoes from inside his chest to vibrate against mine. I feel my nipples tighten under my flannel.

My mouth reaches his ear and I bite the lobe teasingly. As I flick my tongue out to soothe the bite, I squeeze my legs, which are still wrapped around him. Squeezing him brings my thrumming core right up against a length of hardness I can feel straining against his jeans' seam. "Fin-," he groans low, and my heartbeat skips.

Abruptly Sirius curses and presses his hardness against my ache firmly, and I moan in surprise. He swallows my moan with another kiss, this one considerably less controlled. His lips spar tirelessly against mine, his tongue dipping and tasting and making me so dizzy I probably would have agreed to sit for a root canal, naked, to be broadcast live across BBC One, just so that he would not stop touching me. He breaks the kiss, and I gasp his name as he ducks immediately to continue sucking and tasting my neck and jaw. I grip Sirius' shoulders aggressively through his sweater, and he rewards me with another roll of his hips. I bite my lip, the sensation causing me to jolt and whimper in his arms.

"AHEM," a voice from somewhere down the hall announces the presence of a particularly annoying, pink-haired auror with a death wish. I freeze, embarrassment and irritation breaking through the haze of pheromones, and quickly duck behind Sirius' broad shoulders in an attempt to disappear.

With absolutely no compunction whatsoever at being caught, Sirius scowls as he looks over his shoulder at the intruder. "Bugger off, cousin," he snaps, then turns back to me and leans down with nothing but sin in his eyes.

I squeal and smack him lightly on the shoulder. He lifts his head to look at me, a cheeky grin alighting his breathtakingly attractive face. I giggle and push at his shoulders, hoping he would set me down. He squeezes my ass again, in full view of Tonks, and simply shakes his head in open refusal. I sigh and call down to our unwanted guest, "I apologize, darling, was there something you needed?"

There's a smile in her voice as she calls back, "As pretty as this picture is, McGonagall needs a word with you before she heads back to Hogwarts."

I sigh again, thoroughly cock-blocked. "And Sirius," she continues, sounding farther away, "Shouldn't you be packing?" My head snaps up from its loll against the wall.

I narrow my eyes at Sirius' now exasperated expression. "Blimey, Tonks," he mutters angrily, still gazing after her. "Hey," I poke him in the middle of the chest, and his attention transfers back to me. "What the fuck is she talking about?" I raise my eyebrows.

His eyes glitter with warmth, still molten from our make-out session, and he shifts my weight so that he's simply holding me rather than balancing me against the wall in order to ravish me. "Dumbledore needs me to go East, love," he scans my face for my reaction while continuing, "He wants me to go to the forests of Albania, to make certain You-Know-Who didn't hide the diadem Horcrux there once more." My fingers feel colder as I continue to clutch his sweater, frowning. "It's not in the Room of Requirement?" I whisper, confused.

Sirius shakes his head. "We think he had Draco retrieve it before the end of the last term," he whispers back, "because it's definitely not in there."

I lift a hand to trace one of his eyebrows with my thumb. "Well that fucking sucks," I sigh. I'm disappointed. "When are you leaving? How long will you be gone?" I try not to sound too pathetic, but my hand drops once more to poke at the ring beneath his sweater.

It's his turn to sigh. "I need to leave right after Harry's party," he grimaces, my face must look shocked. He ducks and places a quick kiss on my collar, muttering defensively, "I won't be gone more than a few weeks. I'll try at worst to be back before they leave for King's Cross Station."

My temper spikes. "A month?" my voice sounds shrill. "What would you have done if I hadn't cornered you just now? Would you have left without telling me?"

Sirius ignores my tone. "I can't tell you how very, very glad I am that you did corner me," his voice is unapologetically muffled, his lips still tracing the skin of my exposed shoulder.

"Well," I huff, depression beginning to creep over me as I imagine a month without him around, "Did you at least fix your ring? So that you can talk back to me?"

Sirius lifts his head, his eyes twinkling despite his unruffled façade. He lowers me slowly to the ground, waiting until I swing my boots off of his hips to land them on the floor before fully releasing me. He stays close, one arm still around my back, but with the other hand he tugs the chain out from beneath his sweater.

He holds the ring securely between two fingers, his eyes still studying mine, when he murmurs, "Finnie, I'm safe." The ring around my thumb sears with brief heat, and I glance down to it to see the amethyst gemstone river shimmering along its middle. I take a deep breath and look back up to see Sirius gazing at me with a small smile on his lips. "Finnie," he says again, "I'm coming home." I look down expectantly at my ring which reheats, but this time settles into a brilliant, sapphire blue.

I sigh again, slightly appeased. Sirius bends over so that he can place an achingly sweet kiss upon the tip of my nose. Withdrawing, he mutters, "Go talk to McGonagall. I'll be back downstairs in a bit."

I back away from him then, and the chill of the hallway air outside our tense little bubble makes me shiver. I give him a false smile – half of my insides are melted from the residual sexual tension while the other half is frozen solid from impending depression. "Okay," I mutter, turning to walk to the kitchen.

Fuck, I am in so much trouble.