Wedlocked
Chapter 3: Sharp-Dressed Man

Hermione paused, her hand on the door. Did she really want to go in? She had not left on the best of terms yesterday, but surely it would not have tainted this morning.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door open.

"Good morning," Hermione said as brightly as she could.

Mrs Weasley gasped, dropping her skillet onto the counter with a 'clang' and running the short distance to the door. She pulled the girl into a bone-crushing hug as if Hermione had been gone for months instead of mere hours. "Oh, Hermione, dear, I was so worried when you never came home."

"Sorry, I needed some time to think," she replied into the woman's shoulder. "Didn't Remus tell you where I was?"

"Of course he did, dear. Said you needed to be alone to consider things. You do have a lot to consider," Molly agreed sympathetically. Even after an afternoon and evening of nothing, that compassionate look and tone of understanding still annoyed the girl, but Mrs Weasley moved on before it had time to ruin Hermione's whole morning.

"Would you like something to eat?"

"Do I have time for a shower?" Hermione asked. She had slept in her clothes and was looking far worse for it. The night spent crying did nothing to help her appearance either.

"Of course, dear," Molly smiled. "Go on. I'll have something ready for you when you come down."

She nodded and went up to the room she shared with Ginny. The younger girl was snoring quietly on atop a stack of new glossy bridal magazines on Hermione's bed. Seeing her friend, Hermione was very glad to have escaped to Grimmauld Place. Even with the stress of Sirius's mood shift, the night had been more pleasant than if she had been forced to listen to Ginny debate precisely what dress Hermione ought to choose. The girl was more interested in the wedding than Hermione was.

Hermione took a long, hot shower, dressed in one of the outfits she knew her mother loved and finished eating breakfast before anyone but Mrs Weasley knew she had returned from Sirius's house.

"I'm sorry, Mrs Weasley," Hermione said as she extricated herself from the woman's arms. "Sirius and I are visiting my parents today. I really have to get back."

"Oh, do come back tonight," the woman insisted. "I hate to think about you alone in that house."

The girl stopped as she pulled on her jacket, looking back at the woman in shocked disbelief. "I'm not alone. I'm with Sirius."

Where was her concern for him? He was all alone every night save the rare occasion when Harry was allowed to visit or Remus thought he needed company. For all her motherly concern, Molly could be quite cold.

"Yes, but you aren't married yet," Mrs Weasley said. "It's unseemly."

Hermione could only roll her eyes and step through the Floo Network.

For the second time in one morning, the girl was forced to pause with uncertainty when faced with a kitchen door. Standing alone in the dark kitchen of Grimmauld Place, Hermione was surprised to find herself shaking slightly with nerves. She was terrified of what she might find on the other side. Would Sirius be as calm and pleasant as he had been the previous afternoon? Or would he be the raging, bitter man who had stormed out after dinner? It was difficult to say with Sirius.

She took one more minute to steel her nerves for whatever lay beyond the door.

"Okay, Hermione," she said. "You can do this."

Her face a pleasant mask, she put her weight on the door and promptly fell over. She stumbled face first into the hall as the door was yanked open from the other side. Thankfully, her fall was stopped by the chest and arms of the man opening it.

"Hermione," Remus greeted, shocked to have the girl's face buried in his jumper. "Sirius said you had gone. What are you doing here?"

"Falling," she said, her composure severely diminished.

"Sorry," the man apologised and helped set her on her feet, taking a moment to study her. Hermione could see that he was fighting to keep that damned compassion off his face as he looked at her. "How are things?"

Hermione was unsure how to respond. She was terrified of telling her parents, dreading the mood Sirius was in, murderous from all the sympathy she was receiving and tired of listening to Ginny. Honestly, she just wanted the wedding to be over and done with so that she could get on with her life without fear of Death Eaters popping up and trying to marry and then murder her.

"They are what they are," she replied with a sad shrug. "How is Sirius?"

"He's been better," Remus admitted.

"Is it Kreacher?"

Remus's mouth pulled down into a deep frown as he studied her again. "No," said the man slowly, as if he wasn't sure whether he ought to say more. "But I think the painting is helping his mood quite a bit this morning."

"The painting?" repeated the girl.

"Your paint thinner idea," he reminded her.

"Moony?" Sirius called. "Who are you talking to?"

"Your fiancée," Remus shouted back. Hermione blinked back her surprise at how easily the word rolled off Remus's tongue, as if it were the most natural thing in the world that Hermione and Sirius were engaged.

Sirius stepped into the hall, arms folded casually and expression mild. "Welcome back," he smiled tightly. "Just in time for my 'catharsis'."

He unfolded his arms, showing the delicate paintbrush in his hand. It was the thin, fine bristled kind that ought to be used for applying final details not slathering on solvents.

"Is that the right sort of brush?" she questioned.

"It is for me," he said, turning to the raging portrait of his mother with a wicked smile on his face.

The woman's mouth was moving nonstop as she spewed her curses down on them. A silencing spell kept them from having to listen to her bigoted ranting, but it still chilled Hermione when the cold grey eyes fell on her. They looked so like Sirius's when his mood turned.

"Keep him from going overboard, would you?" Remus requested.

"I can try," she said, offering up no promises and watching him disappear into the kitchen.

Sirius had conjured a ladder by the time she turned around. He stood on the rungs, eyeing the painting critically. "Where do you think first?" he questioned, though Hermione doubted he was speaking to her. "The mouth would shut her up quicker… What do you think, Mother?"

"WORTHLESS CHILD!" the woman's voice rang out as soon as Sirius waved his wand to remove the spell.

"Yes, yes," replied the man in a bored voice. "Is that really the last thing you want to say to me?"

"DISAPPOINTMENT!" she shouted. "WASTE OF SKIN AND SPACE! YOUR BROTHER HONOURED HIS NOBLE HERITAGE!"

"If you say so," he said and dipped the brush into the paint thinner, drawing a narrow line at the top of the canvas.

"NO!" the woman shrieked.

Hermione watched, fascinated as Sirius methodically painted the canvas with the chemical, running the bristles slowly from the frame in. He was caging her in, removing the paint from around her slowly and working his way closer and closer to her body. This really was catharsis for him, tormenting the representation of his mother, the woman who had tortured him, revenging himself on her in the only way he had left.

Hermione and Remus sat on conjured chairs, sipping tea and watching the demented show like it was some strange Avant-garde art performance. It took an hour before his brushstrokes came even close to Walburga Black's face, by that time Sirius's eyes were glowing brilliantly with his revenge and her shouts had no more effect on them.

"Goodbye, Mother," Sirius said dully, painting over her nose then her mouth and finally her eyes.

He dropped the empty can of solvent down with the two others he had used to destroy the portrait and climbed down the ladder, brushing his hands off on his dirty robes and looking at his handiwork while his mother shouted her last. The thin brush had done the trick, allowing him time to watch the paint bubble up as he worked. He watched now as her mouth melted away and her eyes widened in fear and rage before they joined the rest of her portrait in blistering off the canvas.

"Feel better?" Remus ventured to ask.

Sirius kept his eyes on the portrait as the last of the paint fell away leaving only an empty, white canvas inside the ornate frame. It took some time for him to speak, but when he did his voice was quiet. "Not really, no."

Hermione didn't know what to say, but felt that she ought to say something. Time ticked past as she struggled to think of words that might help or at the very least not anger him. She looked to Remus but the man just shook his head indicating that it would be better to say nothing.

"Still," Sirius declared loudly after a few minutes, "at least we can talk at a normal volume again."

"There is that," she agreed uncertainly.

"So now that my mother is out of the way," he smirked, still watching the empty canvas, "when would you like to go deal with yours?"

"Dinner," she said with conviction. "My parents only drink in the evening, and we are all going to need something to get through this announcement."

Remus chuckled, "Very practical."

"Quite," Sirius agreed. It did not escape the girl's notice that Sirius avoided looking at her even when he was speaking to or about her.

"You'll need to change," Remus informed his friend. "You look like a mad Bohemian artist. And not in a good way."

"Git," Sirius smirked and left them to go change.

"I have to go take care of, um, some things for Dumbledore," Remus said vaguely, looking away as he spoke. "I'll be back later if you or Sirius need me."

"Professor," Hermione chided, "I hope you aren't suggesting our evening will not go well."

"Far from it," he smiled and patted her on the shoulder as he left.

Hermione sighed and stared at the mess Sirius had made in his fervour to finally remove his mother from his life. For all his methodical and patient application of solvent, he had not thought far enough in advance to protect the floors from the falling globs of melting paint. Somehow, she pictured that as being his style in all matters, thinking only as far as the end he wanted and never after – momentary joy at tormenting childhood rival but failing to realise the prank might kill said rival, revenging himself on former friend but not realising that keeping him alive would clear his name, agreeing to a marriage when he clearly hated his fiancée. Yes, that was Sirius.

"Moony!" the man shouted from upstairs. "I need your help up here!"

Hermione trudged up the stairs. "Remus left," she called from the landing.

"Dammit," he cursed.

"What's the matter?"

There was a moment of silence and she assumed he would rather not speak to her. She turned and began descending the stairs, but he finally replied. His embarrassment was evident even through the closed door, "I don't know what to wear."

"You're kidding."

"I've never had to meet anyone's parents before," he replied defensively.

A small frown pulled at her mouth at the thought that Sirius had made it to thirty-six years old without ever having a girlfriend long or serious enough to warrant meeting the girl's parents. What sort of man was she marrying?

'Now is not the time to start worrying about that,' Hermione told herself and focused on the problem at hand. Clothes. What sort would frighten her parents?

"No robes," she said flatly. "My parents are very accepting, but it would be better if they saw you looking as Muggle as possible."

She pressed her ear to his door and listened as he tore through his wardrobe for something even vaguely Muggle to wear. Compared to other wizards, Sirius tended to dress rather like a Muggle; his choice of attire was often eccentric, but it would not earn him as many strange looks as Albus Dumbledore's would. Actually, she liked Sirius's waistcoats even when they did clash horribly with whatever shirt he chose to wear beneath them.

"Do Muggles still wear buttoned shirts?" he asked.

"Yes," she said with a small laugh.

"What's so funny?" he demanded.

"Nothing," she bit her lip. "This might work a bit better if I could just come in."

She expected another long silence or for him to inform her haughtily that he did not need her help tying his laces. The amount of attention he had been paying her so far certainly didn't speak to any real trust or value of her opinions; he had called for Remus, not Hermione.

Neither silence nor rejection met her ears, instead the door flew open. Sirius stood on the other side, wrapped in a dressing gown. "As you wish," he said and allowed her entrance.

"Thank you," replied the girl uncertainly.

"Trousers," Sirius said as soon as he closed the door behind her.

"Yes, I think you will definitely want to wear some of those."

"Funny," he replied baldly. "Which ones."

Hermione followed the man's gesture and saw dozens of pairs of trousers hanging in the air, held there by magic. She was amazed he had so many and in such a wide variety. Most had to have come from Diagon Alley as only a wizard or witch could have thought that trousers would look good in such colours, but others would have looked perfectly at home in any department store in England. She took out her wand and started paring down the selection.

"No," she said, waving her wand and sending the rejected pair to the floor. "No; no; maybe; awful colour; very possible; definitely an option; never in a million years; no; no; maybe if you were going to a club but not for parents; ooh, those are nice; no; maybe; no; no; oh god, no..." It took less than two minutes for her to reduce the choices.

"Just five pairs?" Sirius balked as he collected the few options she had left him.

"Make it four," she said and pulled away another pair of trousers.

"Now what is wrong with those?" he demanded.

"They look too expensive," she said, silencing his reply with a hard look. "Sirius Black, you are intimidating enough without your clothes shouting how much money you have in the bank. My parents aren't rich and you'll frighten them if you show up in a pair of trousers that cost more than their house."

He smirked. "Intimidating?"

"Oh, shut up and put some pants on," she ordered, turning her back to let him change. "Go for khaki," she advised. "My dad wears khaki trousers and thinks very highly of anyone else who does, too."

"You realise that you've only left me one option, then?"

"Well, that makes your choice easy, doesn't it?" she replied with a triumphant smile. "Are you done yet?"

"Yes," he said. "Shirt – yes, I know I'll need one."

"You learn very quickly," she replied, turning to see him eyeing his choice of shirts. Her jaw dropped when she saw his naked torso. She was impressed that he had managed to rebuild his physique so quickly after his incarceration, but the size and density of his muscles was not what had her mouth hanging open. It was the black ink that littered his skin. "Oh god, tattoos."

Sirius looked down at his chest, "They'll be covered."

"I know, but they'll still be there. Mum will know."

His raised an eyebrow. "How could she possibly know that?"

"I don't know," Hermione hissed. "She just will! She'll know and she'll hate you for them. Why did you have to go and have tattoos?"

"Well, I'm sorry, pet, but I hadn't really considered meeting my uptight fiancée's Muggle mother at the time," he replied. "In my defence, this was a good two years before you were even born, so I think I'm allowed my lack of foresight."

Hermione elected to ignore his sarcasm. "Blue."

"What?"

"The blue shirt," she tore it from the pile of shirts on his bed. "It'll bring out your eyes. Maybe if we're very lucky, Mum will be too distracted by your face to care about any tattoos or the age gap. She goes all giggly for the butcher's son, so there's hope she'll be smitten with you, too."

"You calling me pretty?" he grinned.

"Shut up and get dressed," she snapped.