Sorry about the delay, but I can promise it was for good reason: I have a wonderful new beta reader, better known as tricia2475, and we've been getting everything taken care of. Happy Christmas, and expect the next chapter on Christmas Eve.
Chapter Twenty-One
The next day was Christmas Eve, and it dawned with a blanket of virgin snow on the ground, as Sirius was delighted to see when he woke, as his usual routine was to go and use the loo immediately, especially as he was sharing a bed with a surprisingly timid girlfriend; a morning stiffy simply wouldn't do. When he saw the untouched snow, he darted back with glee, parting the curtains surrounding the bed he and Isolde shared, jumping atop her and tickling her sides until she woke, her eyes wide.
"Good morning to you, too, Sirius," she said, accepting a deep kiss from him with a smile. Once their lips had parted, Isolde asked, breathless, "Dare I ask what's happened?"
"Snow happened! It snowed and it's got to be more than a few centimeters and I want to go outside to play in it! Please, please, please, please," he begged, kissing her face to accent each plea.
"Of course, Puppy," she said. "I hate to think what you would do otherwise."
"Convince you, of course," Sirius said cockily, kissing her again, parting his lips and ravishing her mouth, thrusting his tongue in and out of her mouth in a suggestive pantomime. Once it became difficult for him to breathe as well, he began pressing kisses down her neck to her shoulder, leaving a tiny bite on her collarbone as her fingers twined in her hair. If this was simply snogging Sirius Black, Isolde could only imagine how good it would be to shag him.
She cleared her throat, but Isolde still sounded hoarse as she said, "I'd say you have me convinced. Shall we try to wake up 'Lene and Severus, or let them have a lie-in?"
He gave her a roguish wink. "I think that you and I can keep ourselves entertained for a bit, don't you think?"
"Not like that, we won't. Doc's home grading, Mum will be getting a few last-minute things done around the house and Matt will be home, and he'll probably want to come outside with us for a bit as well. But it could be fun to run around a bit as canines, don't you think?"she asked, shifting carefully into a jackal and licking his cheek.
He followed suit, darting after her as she ran up the stairs, barking happily as they bounded out into the snow, frolicking happily and play-fighting as dogs tend to do. Sirius, being the larger of the two, had the advantage in size and strength, but Isolde was a scrappy fighter in her Animagus form, and far more agile besides, making the game an even one. Snow tangled and matted their fur, and, to their sheer delight, the sky was ironclad, a sign that there would be more to come. It flurried a little, making Sirius seem to go gray until he shook the flakes off in horror as Isolde rolled onto her back, her barks sounding more like raucous laughter.
With a rough growl, he loped over and nipped at her ear, soothing the gentle bite with a few licks as she whined lightly, burrowing in his soft, black fur. Then, suddenly, she turned on him, pouncing like lightning and tipping him over to his back, savoring the moment before leaping off him and darting back to the house, using a charm to slide the back door open, closing it again before he got inside as well.
Isolde changed back into her normal self, wrapping a blanket around herself and lighting a fire with her wand when she felt the sudden snap of cold. Then, once she had turned on a kettle for hot chocolate, she turned back to the dog at the door, opening it slightly and saying, "Shake yourself off outside, and then you can come in. I've got some hot chocolate on and we can heat some scones Mum put in the freezer for breakfast."
Sirius changed back, shirtless and shivering, even with the Drying Charm, and Isolde shared her blanket with him once the kettle had whistled and the scones were done, bringing over two mugs of hot cocoa and a plate of scones and biscuits for them to share as they watched the fire together, curled up together on the long sofa, the firelight bouncing off the ornaments on the Christmas tree.
"Sirius," Isolde said, taking a sip from her cocoa, "do you ever miss your family?"
"I miss Reggie," he said wistfully, his eyes darkening and his voice low. "We used to have fun together, and I was never really jealous of him for being their favorite. I could slip between the cracks then. I couldn't even tell you if Mum was at all surprised when I ran away. The Potters are my family now. I couldn't hurt them, ever." He took a vicious bite of his gingerbread man, chewing it slowly.
"I always wondered who my parents were," Isolde said. "I used to imagine that they were great people—brilliant scholars or glamorous actors or daring adventurers, but then sometimes it felt like they just didn't want me because I was a burden. Or else they're dead, and I couldn't stand to think about that either. You're as much an orphan as I am, in a way. We're just lucky we both got adopted."
"But you didn't choose to leave," Sirius whispered. "I did, and if anything happens to Regulus, no matter how much of a little toe-rag he might be now, I don't know if I could live with myself."
And, together over hot chocolate, scones and biscuits, two orphans mourned the loss of their first parents and celebrated the way they had found their new family.
Hermione was shaken awake by a startled looking Severus. Her eyes were dazed, his penetrating and worried. She took a long, deep breath, calming herself down for a moment as she tried to remember.
Giving her a moment to collect herself, Severus asked, "What did you dream?"
"It's all so fuzzy, really. It's dark and the floor was black and white, but I could hardly see it. Then, the statues started to attack me, and I tried to run away, but I was stopped by a bunch of flying things . . . I couldn't tell what they were. Then, someone (she didn't mention that it had been Severus as Professor Snape) shoved a potions vial down my throat, and it hurt so badly—like it was burning me from the inside out. I tried to fly away, but there was something holding me back and I was so scared, Severus. I thought I was going to die."
Hermione threw herself into his arms, shuddering and crying into his warm shoulder as he braved the tangles of her bed-head and stroked her hair, murmuring to her with his voice at its silkiest.
"I want to know what it means more than anything else. I just can't remember enough and I certainly didn't take Divination long enough to learn about dreams and symbolism," she said, calming down slowly, due in large part to the hands running through her messy hair and the soft voice caressing her ear.
"Zelda is taking her N.E.W.T. in Divination. You can simply ask her," Severus said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. Hermione pressed a hand to his chest, and he tilted her head to meet her lips with his, tender and sweet in his kiss. Severus wrapped his arms around her, running his hands under her shirt and savoring the feel of her soft skin against the calluses he had earned by brewing potions for his classmates when he needed a bit of pocket money. Her hands delved into his hair, running the strands through her fingers.
It was odd hair, really, blue-black where Sirius's was brown-black. It was long and a little limp and he had gotten himself into the habit of running his hands through it when he was thinking about something, and the oils from his hands and from potions residue made it appear greasy and slick. It was not quite fine, but nor was it coarse; he combed it often. Soft layers framed his pale face, made paler by the deep jet of his hair and the tunnels that were his eyes. There were some slight similarities between him and the boy with whom he was forming a tentative friendship, but it was the differences in the similarities that were surprising.
Sirius and Severus both had beautiful, black hair, worn a bit longer than most and nearly straight, with a light wave that seemed little more than an afterthought in their hair, though it was far more prominent in Sirius than in Severus's, so heavy and limp. Severus's hair seemed almost blue in its cold darkness, while Sirius's hair was warmer, casually elegant as it fell in his eye or across his face, and far finer in texture, though its color seemed just as deep from far away.
Their eyes were brooding and penetrating and deep, framed by dark, full lashes; both were shades of black. Severus's were pure ebony, absolute and certain in their color. There was a dark passion in them as well, something Hermione had never really seen in the eyes of the Potions Master until now. Sirius had indeterminate grey eyes, a trait of most of the Black family. They were able to shift from the palest grey of a Patronus to the deep grey of a storm, and every shade in between. They were bright and striking as were Severus's, but they were approachable—friendly in a way that Severus's weren't.
Then there was their skin: both were pale. Severus was almost seemed sallow at times, but he was almost like a statue of alabaster, nearly unblemished entirely with the exception of a few pale scars given him by his lout of a father and a small birthmark on his back. His misfortune was due to the coloring of his hair and eyes; the dark of his hair and eyes washed him out, and he was not one to go seek solace in sunlight. Sirius was a pale olive, which complemented his coloring and he enjoyed spending time outside, being a bit more of an active person. The juxtaposition between the two was no less striking than the contrast between the girls they loved.
Their hair was an easy difference to spot. Hermione was still learning to tame hers with heavy, pearlescent shampoos and conditioners that she merely left in. She rarely plaited it anymore, discovering that, after spending a night in a braid, it would only be . . . bigger when she took it out. In the end, it was much easier to tie it back with a headband or scarf, giving her a rather bohemian sort of look, especially as it was a rich, full brown, vibrant and filled with different colors that one could only see close up. Isolde had hair that looked like spun gold, vivid and bright; it almost seemed red in the right light. Hers was stick-straight, but it was full and fine, though it only just covered her shoulders.
It was their eyes that would reveal more about them than anything else. Hermione's eyes were an earthy brown, flecked around the pupil with gold and amber. They were constant and open, baring more of her secrets than she knew when she wasn't careful. Despite their warmth and comfort, they could be colder than ice when she was angry with someone, and they could flash beautifully when she was passionate. Isolde's were obviously striking: dark red, flecked with red of all shades. They could turn a near-black when she was upset or depressed, and when she was feeling alive and excited, they were a flame-like scarlet—phoenix-like. Her eyes were nearly indecipherable; who needed to learn how to decode the emotions hidden within red eyes on a daily basis? It was something she gladly used to her advantage.
Hermione was warm in her skin tone as well: pale, but not extraordinarily so. There was a pretty sprinkle of freckles across her nose that Severus enjoyed counting when he could, always careful not to miss a single one. He also loved to watch her blush; the color would run into her soft cheeks and down her neck, and it gave him more of an excuse to kiss her there. Isolde was the palest of them, though she wasn't sallow, as she too enjoyed reading and writing and doing homework outside in the sun. She was entirely unblemished but for the crescent slash on her side that she would always associate with her first full moon.
They were an odd bunch, in the end, but what family (for in their hearts, it was so) isn't? It was almost laughable to see them together: Hermione the bright Earth mother with a comforting face and gentle movements, Severus with his forbidding black and deep voice and sharp tongue, Sirius with a youthful exuberance that could put a child to shame were it not for the pale taint of sadness and anger, and Isolde, an intense near-punk with eccentricities and crazy habits that made her seem endearing instead of insane.
None of this was running through Hermione's mind or Severus's mind as they kissed, her hands in his hair and his moving over the ridge of her back. It wasn't something that was obvious to them at all, but it was there, whether they liked it or not.
Sirius left Isolde after a bit, having dozed off a while together once the conversation had lulled. He gave her cheek a kiss and went for a shower, flicking his wand to clean the breakfast things before he went. To their credit, Doc and Matt, who were eating their own breakfast in the kitchen, showed no signs of surprise, only longing on their parts that Isolde was home more often to do the dishes.
Isolde strode into the kitchen at that, pointing at the dishwasher, reminding them, "Those do dishes as well, you know. Besides, I've only another term left, and after that I'm probably out of here. I love you and all, but I can't imagine staying here for long after school ends. I will visit, though."
Matt ruffled her hair, threatening her with bodily harm and numerous phone calls if she didn't come home weekly for supper as Doc groaned. "I think I'm old, kids."
"Ah, Doc, don't get like that. At least you aren't staring down the barrel of your future," Isolde said, giving her father a one-armed hug. "It's better than living with your parents."
Matt stuck his tongue out at her before laughing. "We can't all lead charmed lives, pun intended," he said with a guffaw. He took a bite of his eggs. "You busy during the day today, Isolde?"
"I know Sirius is planning something for that snow later," she said with a grin.
"Just avoid the yellow patches," Doc advised. "There were a few raucous dogs outside this morning. I've never seen them before."
Isolde did her best to look innocent, suddenly finding great interest in the economics section of the paper.
"Could you possibly fit in a bit of time to practice for the New Year's Eve party? You know we always play it, and I know you've been working on stuff at school." Matt picked up his glass of juice once he had finished speaking, noting his little sister's blush at the mention of the dogs.
Isolde sighed dramatically. "Fine, but you're leaving your Neanderthal friends out of this for now. I can't stand them most of the time, and I can always charm them to learn the music and sound decent."
Doc raised a brow. "And are you allowed to charm them to learn the music and sound decent?"
"You know I wouldn't do anything like that if it would get me into trouble," she said sweetly, pouring herself a glass of juice from the refrigerator and murmuring, "at least not if I would get caught."
Matt, however, had clearly heard her, responding with, "What was that, little sister?"
"I said, 'I should put out the fire. It's a bit hot.'" She walked past them to the fireplace, extinguishing the blaze with her wand. "Give me a bit of credit, you dodo," Isolde hissed, walking past Matt back to her chair, taking the front pages of the paper and scanning them for any news from the Wizarding World, having learned long ago that neighbors got suspicious of owls swooping at her house every morning without fail. There was nothing so far that she could obviously identify as an attack by Death Eaters, and for that, Isolde could be grateful, slumping back in her chair for a moment before going down to her basement to get dressed, and, as it was nearly half after ten, wake Helene and Severus, a fervent prayer that they were "decent" on her lips.
Unfortunately for her, their little snog had gotten to shirtless proportions, which Severus, blushing and scowling all at once, rectified immediately by putting on a shirt and darting upstairs to catch a quick breakfast. Hermione, fully aware that Isolde had indeed seen a pair of breasts (as most women have), merely went to put on a bra and choose her clothing for the day, a dopey-looking grin on her face as she said, "Zelda, I had the strangest dream last night."
Isolde nodded, but a careful smirk grew on her face. "This is why you look like you've just been taking a rather nice dose of 'shrooms, I suppose?"
Hermione shook her head, the dreamy trance shaken away. "No, and I can only imagine you know how it feels to have taken a rather nice dose of 'shrooms from Sirius?" Isolde flushed, snatching a green flannel button-down from her closet, and promptly changed its color to red, refusing to wear deep greens outside of her uniform; it made her look like bloody Christmas, for Merlin's sake. "I just had this terrible nightmare and I know you're taking Divination. Can you help me?"
"Of course I can. Just tell me everything you can remember, and I'll see what I think it means before we turn to the books, okay? Divination is more about personal interpretation than textbooks anyway."
Hermione began pouring her mind out to her friend, though the wheels of her subconscious continued to turn as she described what she could remember of the dream she'd had . . . the black and white floor, and the killer statues, and the potion that had been shoved down her throat, and the flying—the general fear of not knowing what was around the bend and whether she would live to see tomorrow after facing it. And then, suddenly, it hit her.
Hermione felt like a fool; any idiot could have recognized what it meant as Isolde started to analyze from the beginning, asking more questions about what Hermione had felt and seen and her motives and logic behind her actions. As she flashed the pictures from the dream in her mind, Hermione slowly began to recall the events of the day she, Harry and Ron had ventured beyond the trapdoor guarded by Fluffy, the three-headed dog they'd thankfully not seen hide nor hair of since.
Isolde called her out of her mind, saying, "I think I've got it just about figured out now!"
Hermione was stunned. She couldn't have known Legilimency, could she? If she did, Hermione was royally, majestically, epically fucked.
"The black and white of the floor means that you are trying to move beyond a literal interpretation of the world around you and accept the shades of gray between. Perhaps the statues surrounding you make you feel overwhelmed, which means that you're dealing with numerous problems that could very well be life-or-death in your eyes, and once you think you've escaped them, you've only found a whole different set which were portrayed in your subconscious by flying pests. You ran away from that confrontation, which is a bit surprising, as you tend to come off as rather assertive."
She paused for a moment, giving Hermione a chance to reconcile herself to the fact that Divination that was not taught by Sibyl Trelawney might actually be a worthwhile thing to learn more about.
Then Isolde continued. "Once you've evaded the new set of problems that seem to be coming your way, you'll be confronted with your greatest challenge that will be likely to attack you before you have a chance to avoid it, making you confront yourself head on, and you fear that it will cause you a great deal of pain. You make another attempt to flee, but the problem, whatever it may be, will not let you go, or perhaps you are the problem in this stage of your dream, and you cannot let it go." Isolde took a deep breath, and Hermione was a bit surprised at the general accuracy of the interpretation and the symbolism that a dream about so literal an event could have.
Hermione, after thanking Isolde, who preened for a moment in the gratitude, furrowed her brow, thinking on what such a dream could possibly mean for her to have now. She could feel stirrings that she was on the right path, and while she would have preferred more tangible evidence than a hunch, she had to start somewhere. It was a hunch that had led her to finding out that Slytherin's monster was a basilisk and that Dolores Umbridge would gladly follow her out to the forest if she thought that she would gain a promotion for finding the "weapon" Dumbledore had been building. It had been a hunch that had led them to Nicholas Flamel and the Sorcerer's Stone . . .
The ton of proverbial bricks hit Hermione Granger square in the forehead.
She flashed back to the days the three had spent discussing the Stone and its creator. When asked about the Stone, Harry had said:
"It was beautiful . . . just this deep warm red, and when I held it, it made me feel like everything was fine, and I didn't want to let it go, especially not to Quirrell or the demon-Voldemort-thing he had sticking out of the back of his head. I saw it at Gringotts as well, you know, when Hagrid was taking it to Hogwarts to be protected. It was nothing more than this grubby little package that was guarded by the most elaborate protections . . . the bank was robbed later that day, if you recall. We thought that they were going after the Stone . . ."
Hermione immediately wrote the finding in her journal, Isolde shrugging as she went upstairs. She, just as Harry and Ron would, had gotten used to her friend's bursts of research and writing and whatnot. With another amused glance back at Hermione, now sprawled across her bed wearing naught but her knickers, a bra and a shirt, Isolde went upstairs, her guitar and music box in hand.
It wasn't until Severus came down, bearing a sandwich and a tall glass of water that Hermione realized how long she must have been working. She pulled on a skirt and took the sandwich, taking a large bite after she'd inquired about the time.
"It's half-past two. Zelda and Sirius want to go out and . . . play in the snow, though from what Doc said, there were two dogs outside earlier, so we should watch our step and stay away from the yellow snow."
Hermione sniggered at Doc's unintended joke, though the way he talked about playing in the snow made it seem like a euphemism for hours upon hours of disco music at full volume or a particularly fluffy petting zoo.
"Can I take a look at that?" Severus asked, eying her Arithmancy work with interest. He reached for her book, but she clutched it to her chest, hugging it with both hands. He looked a bit hurt. "I wasn't going to steal it, you know," he snapped. "I just wanted to take a look at it. I get the feeling that there's so much you aren't telling me, and I don't know why." He crossed his arms, remembering the accusing black ink declaring him a Death Eater.
Hermione swallowed the last bite of her sandwich before resting her head on his shoulder. "It's not that I don't trust you, Severus. I love you far more than I dreamed I could love someone. I just . . . I'm private with my work, just as you are with your potions. There are some things that I need to keep to myself. Don't you understand? I know you haven't told me everything, and I don't expect you to. Just trust me when I say I love you."
Isolde and Sirius had coaxed them into a snowball fight later, Matt joining in once he realized what they were up to. The five happy youths were called in after nearly two and a half hours of non-stop combat, their cheeks flushed and their eyes alight with joy and spirit. They all got into clean, dry clothes and had a cup of tea to warm themselves up as they watched a Christmas film playing on television while Isolde fixed the tart for their dessert as lamb roasted in the oven.
After they'd eaten a huge, heavy Christmas Eve dinner of lamb and potatoes and vegetables and salad and—of course—dessert, the lot of them settled in the living room where stood the Christmas tree, a small pile of gifts already waiting. Donna feigned surprise.
"Goodness me! I believe Santa must have already come." She handed a gift to each of them, wrapped in red paper. Isolde and Matt shared a smile, knowing what was in the boxes before opening them as Sirius, Severus and Hermione looked confused.
"It's tradition," Doc said quietly. "Rosemary, my first wife, and I started it, and we saw no reason to discontinue it."
Matt, Sirius and Severus each pulled out a set of monogrammed, silk pajamas, their initials embroidered over the chest pocket. Matt's were the deep brown of his eyes, while Sirius's were a rich black. Hermione smirked as Severus opened his, finding them to be a charcoal grey. It would be nice to see him in something other than black, even if it was in the same family.
The girls each received a light, floaty sort of night gown—long, sleeveless and with an empire waist. Hermione's was a pale yellow and Isolde's, soft pink. They marveled over them for a moment before spotting the dancer-like night slippers, perfectly matching the gowns that seemed almost too pretty to sleep in.
Once Christmas Eve photographs had been taken and the Frank Sinatra record and the eggnog ran out, Doc and Donna shooed the five teenagers off to bed, not that the four Hogwarts students had much of an intention of sleeping.
Hermione and Severus disappeared immediately into the safety of their four-poster bed after a bit of suspicious whispering that made her flush and made him smirk. With a rather saucy wink, Hermione pulled Severus behind the curtains as Sirius and Isolde echoed, "Imperturbable Charm, please!"
Once sparks had enveloped the bed, signaling the casting of the necessary charms for discretion and comfort of the other party, Isolde took Sirius's hand, squeezing it with a mischievous glint in her eye once their own bed had been properly charmed.
"I think I'd like to get to know you a bit better, Puppy," she said, releasing his hand and entering their four-poster, beckoning him with a smile and a lilting finger.
Sirius, feeling the blood rush out of his head, followed quickly, as would most other men in his situation. Isolde looked like a walking contradiction: her nightdress innocent and sweet while her eyes were tempting and dark—seductive in their own way as her lips curved into a slow smirk it seemed only Slytherins could pull off.
She drew him in for a languorous kiss, her hands twining in his hair as his carefully skirted her bum. When Isolde made no protest, instead pulling him closer as best she could, Sirius swiftly pressed himself into her, grinding their hips together. Isolde gasped.
"Merlin, that's not—"
He gave her a roguish smile before responding. "You better believe it, love."
"Right," she said, feeling embarrassed at her gaffe and the shattering of her temptress alter ego.
Sirius cupped her chin before nipping lightly at her lips. "Philomel, you're in charge right now. We only do what you feel comfortable with for now. I respect that. I don't want to cock this up, you know."
Isolde smiled before cupping him gently, one hand stroking him carefully. He closed his eyes, swallowing hard and whispering, "Just a little harder, Zelda. It's all right."
"Does it feel good?"
"Yes," he moaned, removing her hand and kissing it. Despite the obvious bulge of his pajama pants, Sirius looked her evenly in the eyes. "What can I do for you?" he purred.
Isolde shrugged. "I hadn't thought about it. But I trust you."
His hands went to her shoulders, taking the straps of the nightgown in his hands and sliding them carefully down her arms, baring her body to his hungry eyes. Her breasts were soft handfuls—anything larger wouldn't have looked right—and her skin was unmarred with the exception of the scar that traced down her side from her first full moon. He motioned for her to lay back and relax, bending his head to ghost kisses up and down the line of her scar, ignoring (though making plans for) her breasts.
Once he felt her scar had been worshipped long enough, Sirius pressed a path of kisses north, his hair tickling lightly as he took a nipple in his mouth, his fingers playing with the other. Isolde had, in the past, half-heartedly tweaked at them when she was in the bath, but it had never brought her pleasure the way this was, her eyes slipping closed and her breath shallow and quick. He kept the assault up, switching between the two before sliding a hand down her stomach and into her knickers as she twisted beneath him, her hands clutching his back and his hair.
He found her clit quickly, stroking it as best he could as she mewled and gasped beneath him, and Sirius felt a surge of love unlike any other thus far. He'd never waited for a girl before, and he almost liked the game—the thrill of the chase was still there. Sirius smiled as he felt Isolde shudder and gasp as climax rushed over her, her lips barely parted and ready for the kiss he would bestow upon them, bringing her eyes open as she sighed against him. His finger slipped into her center once more, and Sirius sucked it with deliberation he rarely showed when it came to anything but her. He was a man devoted.
She pushed him back, rolling her eyes as his never left her chest. Breasts, she decided, were the key to power. Carefully, whilst contemplating this line of thought half-heartedly, she unbuttoned his shirt, nibbling at his nipples for a moment (a first for him, and he rather liked it) before making her way to the unknown beneath his pajama pants. Just as carefully as she had with his shirt, she pushed his trousers down, her eyes widening at the way his cock sprang out at her, making her chuckle softly before she was defending herself and placating Sirius as she said, "I wasn't expecting it, was all. It's certainly nothing to do with you, love."
Sirius nodded before settling back against the headboard, Isolde positioning herself next to him. She leaned over him, wrapping a hand around his cock, weeping from the tip, spreading it around the tip of him and over her hand as she brought it down his length and back up, watching as Sirius's entire body seemed to flex. Her hand moved a bit more before her head fell to the head of his cock, soft lips covering the head.
"Philomel," he breathed, watching as her head sank carefully before drawing back up; her hands worked the rest of him. Isolde was deliberately slow, keeping the sweet torture up until he could no longer stand it before allowing him the pleasure of coming, his seed swallowed primly before she wiped her mouth and cleaned them both with an easy charm. It was an inexpert job, but it wasn't anything he noticed, so distracted was he, being post-orgasm and shocked by Isolde's . . . enthusiasm.
Once Sirius had recovered and regained his polysyllabic vocabulary, he turned to Isolde, who was now properly dressed, in amazement. "How the bloody hell did you learn that, Isolde? Not that I mind, you know." He pulled her to his chest, exhausted.
"Helene's talent as a swot does have an up-side, Sirius," she said, yawning a little before pecking at his lips and falling asleep beside him.