A/N: WARNING: Pigheadedness ahead.

Wedlocked
Chapter 35: Unnatural Behaviour

"How'd it go?" James cried eagerly as soon as the door shut.

Hermione sighed and hung up her coat, replying, "Sirius is joining my dad's football club."

"Oh, that is going to be hilarious!" Lily grinned. "Take lots of pictures!"

"Fascinating, really," James said in a bored voice that indicated that he did not understand they were discussing sports. "But did your mum attack him with the carving knife? What happened?"

"She just got a little tipsy," Hermione said.

"A little?" Sirius snorted. "The woman practically suffocated you."

"It was only a hug," she insisted, though her shoulder and neck already ached from how tightly her mother had held her after polishing off an entire bottle of sherry singlehandedly. Martha was, thankfully, not a mean drunk, but she was prone to emotional outbursts whenever she had more than a single glass of wine. Still, she refused to let Sirius make her out to be anything but a loving and concerned mother. "The home movies were worse."

"You were adorable with your cabbage bun and enormous skirt," Sirius insisted, "running off to read in the corner."

It was a compliment, but she could not help feeling that he was making fun of her. "It's been a very long day, so if you'll excuse me." She left them in the entrance hall discussing the evening and what exactly football was as she trudged up the stairs.

Sirius took so long learning all he could about the game from Lily that Hermione was practically asleep by the time he slid under the covers beside her. "So," he whispered and pulled her close, "are you going to tell me what you were crying about?"

"M'not crying," she mumbled and groaned, feeling like this was a very boring dream.

"Not now, you're not. You were before," he pressed, "in the kitchen, after the video."

She shook her head. "Uh-uh, you'll be cross."

"I'm never cross with you," he assured her quietly. "What was it?"

His insistence drew the image of her parents into her mind, watching them dance around one another so elegantly, working separately yet united and in perfect harmony. Seeing it again only made the feeling of unease grow and tears prick at her closed eyes.

"M'never gonna have that," she muttered and cried herself into a fitful sleep.

When morning came, it weighed heavily down on her, making it hard to breathe. She had not slept well, haunted by dreams of what she could never have, a Sirius that was not real. Thinking about it, she was surprised she had grown attached enough to want a real marriage from him; his eagerness for her company in his bed would have been enough to turn anyone's head, really, but she thought herself better grounded than that. If it were not for The Bloody Amendment, she would not have fallen victim to hedonism and a pretty face. It was time to give up on ridiculous fantasies and see the reality of the husband she had. What Sirius was, she had to agree, was a good man and a brilliant lover. What he was not, she was forced to admit, was a man who loved her and would be her complement as James was to Lily, Arthur to Molly and Phillip to Martha. He would never be her other half.

'Well,' she thought, 'at least I realised it before I was stupid enough to fall in love with him.'

She had assumed that with that decision and realisation the burden would lift, but it still lay on her chest, heavy and oppressive. Sirius was still weighing down on her thoughts and body. Literally, in the case of the latter; the man was sleeping atop her like she was his pillow. They had woken in that same pose the previous morning. She assumed it was simply because she had been naked and he had fallen asleep enjoying the feel of her bare breasts, but she was fully clothed now and he lay with his ear to her heart, not his face to her breast.

"Sirius," she groaned. "Get up."

"No, I like it here," he proclaimed and made himself an immovable object atop her.

"And I wondered how I got so attached…" she mumbled under her breath with a sad smile and shake of her head.

"What was that?" he asked without moving.

"Nothing," she said. "But since I have your attention: Get off me."

"Not until you tell me what you said."

"I said I need the loo."

"Liar," he waggled a finger in the air disapprovingly. "Truth. What did you say?"

She sighed. "I said I wonder why you bother even having a pillow."

"A fine question, Mrs Black," he said and rolled over to lay with his head on his underused pillow. "I suppose it would look strange to only have the one pillow on such a big bed – appearances are ever so important. And also because you are so rarely here, I need a pillow of my very own."

"Couldn't you use this one?" she asked, throwing the pillow she had been using at him.

"Another fine question," he agreed. "I could, but then it wouldn't be yours anymore. And it wouldn't smell like you, so I would have nothing to keep me going on those tediously long nights when you are too busy to fool around in broom cupboards with me. I hate those nights." He hugged the pillow to the side of his face and inhaled deeply, luxuriating in the scent she had left on it.

"You worry me," she commented.

"We're married; I'd like it if you felt something for me, even if it's concern for my sanity."

She nodded slowly, brows folding together as worry began to stir in her thoughts. She turned quickly and hurried into the washroom, all too eager to escape his presence. Her reflection in the mirror did nothing to reassure her; it looked every bit as confused as she felt.

'What was that?' she asked, though the answer was plain. It truly did seem that Sirius actually liked her. That was simply unnatural. It was much easier to accept that he was playing around and having fun pretending to be a husband.

"He's just acting the git," she insisted with a stubborn shake of her head.

By the time she was wrapping her hair in a towel and her body in a dressing gown, she was entirely convinced that the man was simply enjoying playing the role. She stepped from the washroom, expecting Sirius to be back to normal. She moved to the closet, paying no mind to whether Sirius was still in bed or hugging the pillow, so she practically screamed when he slid up behind her and placed a gentle kiss at the nape of her neck. Hermione expected a joke to follow or a comment so gushing that she would know it was all a game to him, but he said nothing after the kiss. He simply walked away.

He did the same thing later that day as she stood on the landing talking to Ginny, placing a kiss on her cheek as he passed on his way to the kitchen.

"Why is he doing that?" she muttered with annoyance.

Ginny smirked. "I know."

"Yes, we all know," Hermione sighed. "He's playing the role of the good husband, but there's no one here he needs to fool."

"Shakespeare," the younger girl all but sang as she skipped down the stairs.

"The lady doth not protest too much," she grumbled to no one in particular and all but stomped down the stairs. She marched herself toward the library, throwing the door open. "Oh, hello."

"Hello," Harry said with a wide smile, too wide a smile. It was the sort of smile he wore when she caught him reading a Quidditch strategy book when he ought to have been studying. It was the smile Sirius and Remus each wore as they stood beside him. "What are you doing?"

"It's the library, Harry. I'm looking for a book," she said.

"Right. Library. Books. Good."

"Are you feeling alright?"

"Me?" Harry asked, his voice going slightly wobbly. "Yeah, fine. Great. I'm going to go." He edged around her awkwardly, sliding the door shut behind him. She could hear his feet slapping the floor as he ran down the corridor away from the library.

"Is he alright?" she questioned the two men still standing with strange smiles on their faces.

Remus nodded his head. "Yeah, he's just worried about… you know…"

"Voldemort," Sirius said quickly. "The big battle."

"And all that."

"Right," she said, glancing worriedly between the pair. They kept their eyes locked on her as she moved away from them toward the shelves. When she was beyond their sight, she swore she heard the sounds of a scuffle, harsh whispers and someone being shoved and slapped. Concerned, she poked her head out and the two men froze where they stood, the huge, false smiles pulling at their mouths after a beat.

"What's going on?" the young woman demanded.

"Nothing!" Remus said.

"You're a rubbish liar."

Sirius cleared his throat and straightened his waistcoat. "Everything's fine, pet. Just a friendly debate."

"What about?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Nothing important." His tone was final and directed at Remus more than her. He shrugged and left the room. She didn't see him again until well after lunch when he sat down on the couch beside her, so close he might as well have sat in her lap.

"Did you finish your debate?" she questioned.

"Hm? Oh, no," he shook his head. "Moony won't let it go. Worse, he's got James started on me now, too."

"What about?"

"Ah, well, that's the thing. They seem to think—They want me to—That is to say, I—" he stopped and pulled and hand through his hair. "Nothing."

Hermione frowned, confused by her husband's inability to form a coherent thought. It was not natural from her experience with him; even when inebriated he was well-spoken. Still, whenever he caught her alone, his words seemed to fail him. He spoke in odd half-sentences that never amounted to anything and inevitably ended with a shake of his head or a defeated shrug. It was so off-putting, she took to avoiding him, reading in the noisy sitting room despite how loud everyone was, staying up late so that Sirius was too tired or too drunk to attempt conversation with her in their bedroom, waking inconveniently early to escape his presence in the mornings. It was embarrassing to admit that she was sneaking around to evade him, but it was better than dealing with this new, odd behaviour.

"Hermione," Sirius said.

She froze just outside their bedroom, hand still on the knob and door slightly cracked. She thought him still asleep, but clearly she had woken him in her attempt to flee.

"She left," James told him. "Again."

Sirius groaned. "I can't manage it."

"Man up! Get your arse up, track her down and just say it!" James shouted and would probably have slapped his friend if he were capable of it.

"Easy for you to say," the man replied darkly. "You're not the one who's going to be stuck with her for the rest of your life regardless of what she says about it."

"What the hell happened to you? You used to be the king of women."

"None of them were Hermione," Sirius said with a pained laugh.

"I'll tell her then."

"Don't you dare," her husband snarled. "If I catch you anywhere near her, I'll have you painted over."

"Tosser," James spat and marched from the frame, walking through the painting nearest her and commenting quietly. "Your husband is a right bastard, just so you know."

"I'm just starting to see that," she replied in a harsh whisper, eyes stinging.

Stuck with her. That was what Sirius had said. He was stuck with her. The bastard.

She really should not have been shocked. That was precisely what she had told him when they signed the marriage contract, that he was stuck with her. However often he said the reverse, she knew that her way was correct.

"That's fine," she said to no one but herself. "If that's how he feels, then that's the sort of marriage we'll have. I can deal with that. I am an adult."

Gathering her dignity, she marched herself down the stairs into the kitchen, eating her breakfast and tasting none of it. Molly prattled on about she-didn't-care-what until Ginny sat down and started talking about something-that-mattered-very-little. The chatter filled her head, keeping her from thinking about how she might spend the next sixty years making Sirius's life a living hell. Satisfying as that would have been, she would much rather think about nothing. She avoided the man for the rest of the day and most of the night, again waking early and shimmying out from under him before he woke in the morning.

Thankfully it was the third of January, the day before they returned to Hogwarts. As Sirius sat down to breakfast, she climbed the stairs to their bedroom and started packing for the trip back. She was grateful to have a task to throw herself into so fully. Folding and arranging her clothes was as good a task as any, and it took quite a long time; Sirius had surprised her with more clothes after Christmas, and she had considerably more to find room for in her trunk than when she had left school just two weeks earlier.

She focused on the task through the evening until dinner, then again the following morning, taking every spare moment that Sirius might have tried to talk to her to steal herself away to fold and arrange and repack her trunk.

"Did I do something wrong?" Sirius asked, his face cavalier but his voice tainted with worry. "You've been avoiding me."

"No," she replied lightly, keeping her attention focused on her trunk. "I have a lot to pack. I wasn't expecting so many presents this year." She demonstrated the truth of her statement by attempting to put the last of her books into the already overflowing trunk.

"You know you can leave something behind," he offered. "There's plenty of room, and I can bring whatever you want with me when I come visit."

When, not if. He was already planning to ambush her in the corridors at night. Was it really a surprise that she had been so convinced of his feelings?

"No need," she sighed and stood back to cast a miniaturisation charm on the few items that were too large or oddly shaped to fit. With the shrunken items nestled neatly into her trunk, it looked as if she had never set foot inside Number 12, Grimmauld Place; every hanger on her side of the closet was empty, every shelf bare. There was nothing of Hermione left.

"Well, you could at least leave that damned book your mother gave you," he griped. "I'll use it as kindling."

"You will not! That was a gift from my mother! Gifts, as you once pointed out, are meant to be used. It's etiquette."

"Let's hope you'll never have to use that particular gift, shall we."

He fell silent but refused to leave the room, preferring instead to watch her rearrange the contents of her trunk so that it was perfectly balanced. She was not normally quite so fastidious about her packing, but she was trying to stall the conversation he had still not managed to have with her. She could feel how edgy he was as he built up the courage to begin.

What little remained of his cool composure and charm abandoned him the second she turned and pulled her trunk from the closet. When forced to look her in the eye, he began to stammer slightly as he had over every private conversation he had attempted the past week. "Hermione," he began, but faltered and stopped. "I— There's—"

Again he could not manage the words.

His energy found an outlet in his feet as he started to pace the room. Every time he turned, his face was set and mouth open to speak, but the second he saw her that determination fell away. She wanted to tell him it was fine, that she knew what he was trying to tell her, that she did not love him and that she did not take it personally that he did not love her. She wanted to, but she didn't, because she did take it personally. He had no right to treat as if she had no feelings. His games of make-believe hurt her because they had given her a glimmer of hope that she might actually get the real marriage she wanted. Knowing it was all a ruse pained her all the more for his callous behaviour. She wanted to make him say it. She needed to have him say it.

But he couldn't. The bastard.

"Shit," he cursed and set his eyes to staring at the painting just to the left of her head. The coward couldn't even look her in the eye. "There's something I need to tell you. I think you know what it is, but I need to say it anyway."

Making her face impassive, she nodded, "Okay."

"You remember the cup, the storm and that vision of you?

"Yes, it was rather memorable."

He ran a nervous hand through his hair. "Right. I tried to kill myself because of what you said."

"Because of what she said," Hermione corrected.

"Well, she was you, so it's what you said. Look, Hermione, I—I care what you think of me," he said slowly, still not watching her face as he spoke. "I care about you."

"I care about you, too," she said. It was true. He was still a good man. Could she really hold it against him for not falling in love with his fake wife? Logically, she knew he was not at fault here. She was the one who misinterpreted his seemingly-affectionate actions. He was doing his job, playing his part. She was the one who saw more than was really there.

"No, I mean that I –"

"It's time to go!" James shouted as he strode into the frame of a painting in the bedroom. "The train will not wait just because you need to comb your hair one last time. Remember what happened sixth year?"

Sirius cursed violently and glared at the portrait of his friend.

"It's fine, Sirius," Hermione soothed. "You can tell me later."

He shook his head and stomped from the room.

"Fuck. I think I just screwed up big time," James groaned and ran from the frame, shouting apologies to his friend and leaving Hermione to frown her annoyance at the empty room.

"This is all extremely inconvenient," she muttered, taking hold of her trunk and pulling it down the stairs. Sirius was cursing colourfully at his painted friend, not bothering to censor himself for anyone, even Harry.

"Are we ready to go?" Hermione asked loudly, drawing another curse from the man.

"Yes," Remus said for him, then turned to his friend. "Sirius, you can save the rest of your choice words for later. James isn't going anywhere, your wife is."

"Right," Sirius sent one last hard glare at his friend, who flinched and ran from his frame.

"Sorry!" he cried as she ran past her and disappeared into the landscape painting in the sitting room. It would take Sirius hours to find James hidden in that wilderness.

Before she could question precisely what it was Sirius was angry about or what James had done other than interrupting his friend's awkward attempt at saying goodbye, Sirius had taken hold of her arm and pulled her from the house. Tonks and Kingsley were waiting on the doorstep to accompany them to the train station.

"Wotcher," Tonks smiled, her face flushed from the winter cold and the thrill of seeing Remus again. Her heart warmed at the sight of her friend looking so happy. Hermione was glad that she and Remus were happy if no one else was. The woman took her trunk and Disapparated with it, sliding from the pavement as if she had never been there at all. Kingsley followed with Harry's trunk, then Remus, who transported Harry along with him. Each one offered a silent thumbs-up before departing, their eyes locked on to Sirius.

They all knew.

Alone again, Sirius looked as if he wanted to make yet another attempt at saying something meaningful to her. It went about as well as any of his other tries and he finally just cursed and Disapparated, his fingers gripping Hermione's, digging into her gloved hand and not loosening even after they arrive outside King's Cross. He looked to her again, shook his head slowly and started walking toward the entrance.

Harry and Remus were waiting, watching the crowd.

Sirius kept his free hand wrapped tightly around his wand as his eyes darted across every face and any sudden movements. The silvery orbs focused on a pair of lanky gingers who walked purposefully through pedestrian traffic toward them.

"You were supposed to be inside," the man said sharply.

"Calm down there, Black," Fred replied, offering him a slap on the back, which would have been friendly and playful where it not delivered with so much force.

"Told you," George said. "I told him, but would he listen to me?"

"Shut up," Fred snapped, uncharacteristically harsh with his twin. He turned his eyes to Hermione, his face contorting in something strangely close to a leer. It was a face neither Fred nor George would ever have made at her. Come to think of it, there had not been a single instance since July where Fred had not spent the first three minutes of any given conversation apologising for not being the one to marry her.

She cleared her throat to better control her voice, forcing herself to sound light and carefree. "Where's Nymphadora?"

Fred smiled that leer of a smile again. "She went on ahead. You know Nymphadora, always running off."

Hermione could feel Sirius tense as Fred used the woman's given name. The ginger might as well have thrown a Dark Mark above his head, the error was so glaringly obvious. Remus and Sirius tightened the grip on their wands and stepped closer to their charges.

"Who are you?" Remus demanded.

"Oh, got yourself another champion now?" Fred asked her, ignoring Lupin entirely. "Someone else you're going to owe a favour to? You still owe me a reward for my efforts, you know."

"Reward?" she repeated, trying to remember who she owed anything to other than Sirius for saving her. Fred grinned again, a lopsided grin, a lumpy grin, and she remembered. "Carrow."