CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: STEALING KISSES

Two weeks later (July 31st, 2009)

Sirius sat up in the dark of his cell. He'd been there for entirely too long. There was no window in the cell, so he had no idea if it was night or day, or how many days he'd been there. He estimated it to be a couple of months, but knew he was probably way off. If he was right, that meant that his youngest daughter had already been brought into the world. Once again, a baby of his, one he desperately wanted, was living without him. But this time, he truly didn't have even a vague clue as to where she was or who she was with. But he had faith in his other daughter. He held hope that whether he was there or not, she would keep things going and keep track of her sister. She might even be taking care of her sister. There was no doubt in Sirius's mind that Michelle would fall apart and have no idea what to do without him. She was needy and clingy that way. What would she do when she figured out she had to take care of their baby herself? Sirius shuddered to think. He hoped she wouldn't do something stupid like..

Remus walked under the shadows of Hogwarts, Hermione just a few steps ahead of him in the night. They hadn't been to visit Sirius's grave since he was buried, but decided to now. Hermione was still insistent that there was something weird about going there, but Remus had long ago decided that she was still in disbelief and mourning. He couldn't blame her. He missed Sirius, and although he was grateful to be taking care of his daughters, he wanted his friend back. Life seemed a lot more fun when Sirius was around to make sure Remus wasn't serious all the time.

The clouds over the moon shifted as they reached the tombstone. The two of them were bathed in soft moonlight from a nearly-full moon. Remus felt grateful once again that a cure for werewolves was found a few years back. He no longer had to dread 'that time of the month'. It was starting to feel too feminine to him.

Remus moved up next to Hermione and stared down at the marble bearing his friend's name. He heard Hermione try to stifle her tears. It wasn't working as well as she wanted. She bent down and laid a deep red rose at the base, in a pile of the Whomping Willow's leaves, and, tracing over her daddy's name, began to tell him what all had happened since he'd been gone. A hint of her diamonds and sapphires caught light, swinging wildly from the golden chain around her milky white neck. Brown hair fell subtly around tear-stained cheeks. She was the perfect picture of injured innocence. Remus knew better than to think that she was innocent, in fact, she had faced and prevailed over way more than he ever had, but still, she looked so delicate and young, squatting by her father's stone, crying. To think that the bitter, spiteful world would ever put someone so beautiful through so much pain and trials was incomprehensible to him. He turned away from her, wanting to leave her alone in her grief.

"Hermione," he spoke gently, "I'm gonna go home, Hon."

"Okay," he heard her whisper behind him before he started off for the gates.

Harry had been watching the two of them since they got there. Apparently, they all still thought along the same lines. It was Harry's birthday, and he had figured on visiting those he loved who weren't able to be around to celebrate with him. He'd already been to Godric's Hollow to visit his parents, and had was just about ready to visit with his godfather when he saw Hermione and Remus approaching. Not really wanting to talk to either of them, he had retreated behind the enormous trunk of the tree, ready to wait until they left to talk to Sirius. But when he peaked around the tree again, he saw Remus's retreating back, and Hermione still kneeling at Sirius's grave, crying quietly and wiping her eyes. Feeling drawn to her, he stepped out of the shadows and called her name as softly as possible. She turned around, fear mingling with the tears in her eyes. Then recognition and welcome was painted over them.

"Hey, Harry. Happy Birthday." She smiled in spite of herself as he slid onto the ground next to her.

"Thanks." He was uncomfortable sitting there with her, so vulnerable, so open to him, but still felt that there was no place in the world he'd rather be. It was so easy for him to both remember and forget that she was his ex-wife, and the mother of his two children. In a split second, he could forget that he was twenty-nine anything instead of sixteen, and be swept away in his feeling for her. He could be gone from this second, where they were both growing older and far more distant, and return to the times when they were happily infatuated with each other, with much less on their minds. And although as far as he knew, something like that could never happen, he enjoyed the feeling for the brief moment in time it existed. He looked over to her, and watched her lips make a slight curve at him.

Her eyes met his, and without warning for either one of them, he kissed her.

The concern he'd had that he might be taking advantage of her vulnerability by kissing her evaporated as her lips parted under his, allowing him to take more. Her hands slipped around his neck, pulling him closer until they collapsed on the grassy knoll to the side of the grave. Hermione's body was twisting erotically underneath Harry's as he deepened the kiss. His hands fritted over her curves, touching only gently, not aggressively, as he wanted to, for fear of scaring her. She was kissing him back, and this time, he could feel it, her mind and heart were in tune. She knew what she was doing, and wanted to. That little piece of knowledge sent shots of pleasure through Harry's body. He had thought it wasn't possible, but for a fleeting instant, he remembered, more vividly than before, them being teenagers, full of passion and free of binds. Being adults, in some ways, was so much better.

They separated, but only to take a few deep breaths. They were both breathing heavily, Harry's hands on either side of Hermione's head, supporting him. He looked into her eyes, and saw the same sexy, come - here - baby smile in them he had seen on her lips earlier. He lowered his head back to hers, and resumed kissing her all over again.

From high in one of the towers of the school, an old man had pulled back the curtains and was watching the pair below him, chuckling to himself. "You said they'd work it out, Sirius. You were right." he said into thin air.

"Dumbledore, why are you talking to my dead great-great-grandson?" a portrait on the wall asked.

"Because," he pulled the curtain back so the man in the portrait could see the couple out on the grounds, "that would be your great-great-great-granddaughter snogging the famous Harry Potter."

The portrait moaned. "I could have done without seeing that." he whined.

"Sirius said they'd make up, they always do, and look how very right he was. Too bad he's not here to give them static for it." Dumbledore said as he eyed the two of them. "He's probably tossing and turning down in that grave of his." Dumbledore giggled at them again, pulled the curtains down, extinguished the candles, and fell into bed, exhausted but satisfied that he hadn't messed everything up beyond repair. Harry still loved Hermione, and so it seemed, Hermione was being reminded that she loved him back.