Chapter Five (Sirius)

Sirius awoke alone in an unfamiliar bed. Years ago, before Azkaban and even before Remus, he would have been quite proud of himself. Such an occurrence would have made a nice (not to mention genuine) addition to the fiction that he'd fashioned as his reputation, but now it only felt lonely. Hell, years ago, it would have felt lonely, too, had it ever actually happened.

Sirius rolled over in the empty bed, pressing his face into Misha's pillow. Though he'd slept deeply and well, he'd secretly hoped to wake-up by her side, nuzzled in her thick, light brown hair, and knowing that she was just as contented to be there as he was. But apparently she wasn't and that didn't bode well. Sighing, he punched the pillow and flung it irritably across the room. "Damn it," he grumbled, as he heard the distant crash of something shattering. He peeked his head out of the bed-curtains and examined the shattered remains of an antique Muggle lamp. Shit.

But as he pulled his head back into the curtained shelter of Misha's bed, something smacked him gently on the forehead and he looked up to see a small, folded piece of parchment fluttering about on papery wings. The note dove again, striking him gently on the nose before rearing back for another attack. But Sirius was too quick. Catching it deftly in midair, he unfolded the note to read:

Good morning, Sirius! I woke-up around 8:00 and couldn't go back to sleep so I got up to get stuff done. I need to practice and to work-out, anyway. Obviously, you needed your sleep, so I just left you to it. Tap this parchment three times with your my wand (on the nightstand) and say, "Where the hell is Misha?" It should tell you where I am. This is a little trick my father and I use when we're both home and working around the farm.

Love,

Misha

PS. We'll work on getting you a wand later.

Sirius read the note several times, blinking in surprise. Admittedly, he was a little dismayed to see someone use the same sort of magic as they had for the Marauder's Map, but, nevertheless, he grabbed her wand from the nightstand, tapped it three times, and said, "Where the hell is Misha?" As he suspected, a simple line-map of the Marrowstone property appeared with a small, red dot labeled "Misha" hovering about in a room not too far from where he lay.

Sirius frowned down at the map for a moment, noting that, according to the damned thing, Misha appeared to be the only one home. "That can't be right," he muttered and tapped that parchment again asking, "Where the hell is Sirius Black?" Predictably, his dot appeared in the room labeled "Misha's bedroom."

"Ah," he thought to himself, "so it's not quite that advanced, after all." Nevertheless, he remained mildly impressed as he pulled on his borrowed dressing gown, shoved Misha's wand into the pocket, and started down the hallway. Secretly, he was also thrilled that Misha trusted him enough to give him her wand. She was obviously a friend or a fool, and he hoped mightily for the former.

Sirius followed the map to the ground floor where Misha's dot seemed to be residing and opened the door without knocking. The room was large and empty, with nothing but a Muggle TV (presumably run by magic) and several unknown devices. Yet there in the center was Misha, arse on the air and wearing some sort of bizarre Muggle outfit that Sirius could only surmise was intended for exercise. "Oh," she said, flattening out her body and then turning to face Sirius, "you startled me."

Sirius just blinked in shock, trying not to think about her arse.

Misha smiled weakly. "That one was for you, I guess. It's called 'Downward facing dog.' " She burbled a squeaky little laugh and then turned beet red.

Sirius had no idea what to say. Assuming she'd entirely lost her mind, he simply nodded blankly.

"It's yoga, Sirius," chuckled Misha, noting his look of shock. "You know, strength building exercise? Bringing mind and body together?"

"Erm, yeah." How could she just walk about the house in those little bits of spandex? Sirius was so fixated on that thought that he entirely forgot to be hungry.

"Sirius? Have you been listening to a thing I've said?" Misha stood before him wearing an expression that wavered between irritation and amusement.

"Erm… upside-down dog?" he offered.

Misha snorted. "Whatever. You amuse yourself for a few minutes and I'll go take a shower before breakfast." She turned and trotted out of the room. "We have a lot to do today…" she called over her shoulder.

And Sirius was left alone in the great empty room with the Muggle television and the strange devices. We walked over to the telly and began half-heartedly pushing buttons. Nothing happened so he just wandered about inspecting the odd-looking equipment. Amongst other things there was a bicycle set in a metal frame. Sirius tapped his finger on the seat wondering what possible use such a thing could be. "It doesn't even go anywhere," he muttered under his breath.

Bored, he ambled out of the room and began to explore the rest of the house. To his untrained eye it seemed to be mostly Magic with a plethora of strange, Muggle artifacts that the Marrowstones actually seemed to use. He peaked into what had to be the conservatory or music room and noted the large grand piano, extensive musical library, and incomprehensible Muggle recording equipment. Misha's violin sat in a case on a table and posters proclaiming such things as, "Paris Opera performs Fidelio, David Marrowstone conducting" or "Composition #45 in F minor, a new work by David Marrowstone, premiers June 8th, 1992, at Royal Albert Hall."

Well, thought Sirius, to himself, the bloke really is famous and, yet, he believes in my innocence. Nevertheless, he wandered out into the library and spent the next few minutes poking about their extensive collection of books. There were Magical treatises and histories, Muggle novels and non-fiction, unknown tomes in myriad dead languages, and even the complete works of Shakespeare. Apparently, someone liked to read. Sprinkled in amongst these were photography books and large, colorful fashion retrospectives. Mostly, however, there were Potions books, hrbal guides, and dusty volumes on music history.

Remus had loved to read. Despite their reputation for constant sex, the two had often spent long evenings curled-up by the fire simply reading and cuddling and… No, Sirius could not stand to even think about that now, but the niggling thought still lingered in the back of his mind: love and attraction had to stem from friendship and trust. There was no other way. Remus, the one and only person he'd ever truly loved (and fully made love with) had first been a friend. So why was he having feelings for someone he'd just met? It made no sense whatsoever. To clear his mind he began to open cupboards, rifling through stacks of manuscripts and magazines and ancient, yellowing, letters.

"We don't get rid of much here, obviously," came a voice behind him. Misha. Why was that girl always sneaking about? He pulled opened a drawer of fashion show programmes and inspected them curiously. "My mother was very into the fashion world," she said. "She considered it art."

Sirius gazed at a twelve-page booklet filled with pictures of women's shoes. "And what do you think?" he asked her.

Misha shrugged. "Oh, fashion is art on some level, but it's a tough world and it's not my thing, really. Music is my father's thing, but I'm not quite good enough for that, either. Politics was both their things, but I'm not quite at their level, I suppose." For a moment, she looked rather wistful.

"So what is your thing?" he asked her kindly.

She gazed at him for a moment and then said, "Breakfast! And then getting you a wand. Come on, now; let's not waste time."

Forty minutes, seven pancakes, three eggs, and several cups of espresso later, Sirius was sated and ready to face the day. "So, what is this nonsense about a wand?" he questioned.

Misha took another sip of coffee and sighed. "Stay back, love," she said as she tossed a bit of Floo Powder into the fireplace. "Aberforth Dumbledore," she cried. The fire flamed green and she leaned in further. "Abe? Aberforth?" she screamed into the fire. "Where are you?"

"What?" came a quavery, disgruntled voice. "Oh, it's you, the little goat killer," sighed Aberforth. Despite knowing full well, that no one on the other side could actually see all the say through into the Marrowstones' kitchen, Sirius shrank back and transformed into Padfoot.

Misha frowned at the flames. "I didn't kill Major General Stanley, sir, you allowed him to get worms and…"

"Well, he's still dead, is he not?" shouted the old man's head.

"Yes, yes he is - and I apologize. We'll pay you back in kids when the time comes, I promise."

"See that you do. Now what do you want?"

Misha shoved her head further into the flames and lowered her voice. "I need to speak to Fletcher. Be honest now, is he there?" she asked.

"Of course he's here," grumbled Aberforth. "Where else would he be at eleven in the morning, but here, poorly disguised as a hag and getting drunk on my Knut? Let me get him for you," he sighed, wandering away from the fireplace.

Taking advantage of the old man's absence, Sirius quickly transformed back to his human self. "What in Merlin's name is going on?" he demanded.

Misha shot him a strange look, "Okay, Sirius, you need a wand, right? Rumors are circulating that your wand is available for a price."

"What the hell? Why would anyone…" he began, but Misha cut him off.

"People are fascinated with what they perceive as criminal life. They pay small fortunes for bits of Dark memorabilia and criminal artifacts."

Sirius' face fell. So, he was reduced to the status of a freak show, now, was he?

Misha smiled sadly. "Well, I have to be honest with you here, love. I can get you a wand like yours but…" she trailed off, unsure of how to complete the sentence without reminding him of a painful event.

"But they snapped my wand," Sirius finished for her. "Right in front of me, too." Honestly, it had been one of the most awful experiences of his life. It was like a death sentence for Magic, reducing him to nothing. His wand had been a virtual part of him; it was his identity, what made him a true Wizard. Or so he had thought. He was so consumed by these thoughts that he nearly forgot to transform back into Padfoot.

"Quick, Dung's coming," hissed Misha, and just as Padfoot was laying down at her feet, a bulbous nose and a pair of blood-shot eyes appeared in the fireplace.

"Whatya want, babe?" Mundungus asked with an intoxicated leer.

Padfoot let out a low growl which Misha silenced with a glare. "Hey, I have a deal for you. I found a buyer for Black's wand," she said.

Mundungus ceased leering and suddenly began to look interested. "Who?" he asked. "A real collector? Someone famous? Muggle? Magical? The Mob? He voice rose higher in pitch with each excited question.

Misha signed. "None of your damn business, actually, but I found one and I'll give you fifty percent."

Fletcher grunted his disapproval and Padfoot growled again.

"Bloody robbery," grunted Dung. "Seventy-thirty and I get to know who it is."

Misha shook her head. "Sixty-forty and I deliver. Buyer wants it kept secret for personal reasons. Now that's it or we walk."

Mundungus fell silent, thinking about the offer. "How much is he offering?"

"How do you know it's a he?" laughed Misha. "Black was considered quite handsome and lots of collectors are women." She turned and winked at Padfoot who buried his head between his forepaws. Could she really think he was handsome?

Fletcher said nothing. "How much? I won't go under one-thousand Galleons."

"One-thousand? Are you mental?" snorted Misha. "It's not even Black's real wand!"

Mundungus ran a hand through his thinning ginger hair. "Yeah it is. Absolutely genuine: twelve inches, yew, dragon heartstring with a double row of stars carved into the handle."

Misha looked at Padfoot who have a small, stunned nod. Could this really be my wand? wondered Sirius from deep within the dog.

"Whatever," said Misha. "As long as the buyer thinks it's the genuine article, we're golden. So, what do you say, six-hundred Galleons and I take my cut off the top?"

"Eight-hundred."

"Seven-hundred and I deliver."

"Deal. Now give me the money."

"Give me the wand," demanded Misha, "or do you not have it?"

Padfoot crept closer to the fireplace, teeth barred.

"You can trust me, I promise," grunted Fletcher, but before Misha could answer, Padfoot began to bark menacingly. "What in bloody hell is that thing?" asked Mundungus fearfully.

"It's what happens to you if you attempt to screw me on this, Fletcher," Misha replied, carding her fingers through Padfoot's soft fur. Instinctively, Sirius trembled at the touch and pushed himself closer to Misha, but he never ceased his angry barking.

"I have the money, right here," she continued, reaching into the pocket of her robes and producing a small bag, "Four-hundred and twenty Galleons is your share. I'll hand it through, but if I don't get that wand by owl within twenty-minutes, I swear I'll come after you with this dog and rip your bloody throat out." She held the bag up, shaking it slightly until Mundungus nodded and reached through to grab the bag.

Naturally, Sirius snapped violently at his fingers.

"Deal?" asked Misha, smirking at Mundungus' frightened yelp.

"Deal." And with a muffled pop, Mundungus Fletcher disappeared from the fireplace.

Sirius transformed back still trembling with adrenaline. A strange silence passed over the room as he contemplated the situation. Misha had seemed so confident just then. So in control. She was obviously very clever and streetwise (especially for a Hufflepuff) and, when in the right situation, all traces of awkwardness disappeared. But the real question still lingered and it took Sirius nearly five minutes to work to the courage to say it. "You… you just paid a criminal over four-hundred galleons for my wand," he said breathlessly. "Why the hell did you do that?"

Misha slipped her hand into his. "Well, I'm sorry to day this but, most likely, it's a replica of your wand and I should remind you that technically you are a criminal, too." She moved closer, her face inches away from his. "And, please note, Mr. Black, I'm not afraid of you, either."

Sirius untangled his fingers from hers and reached around to pull her closer. "Point taken, but that doesn't answer the why," he whispered. His lips were millimeters from hers now and her scent - lavender and lemon grass and something slightly spicy – was overwhelming. His stomach lurched and, for the first time in over a decade, he felt a stirring in his loins.

"Social justice?" she breathed against his mouth.

Sirius kissed her gently on the lips. "That's good enough for me," he growled, hoping fervently that there were other, more personal reasons involved as well. But none of that mattered now because she was kissing him back, her fingers threading through his long, grey-streaked hair.

"Merlin, you're gorgeous," she breathed. And suddenly he wanted to answer. To tell her that she was the one that was beautiful and that he'd never seen anyone so lovely in his life. He wanted to hold her. To touch her. To…

Smack! A large, brown owl dropped a package on his head.

"Oh," huffed Misha, pulling away with an expression of what looked like reluctance. "That was fast."

She tossed the package to him and, though he caught it midair, his hands trembled as he tore open the layers of brown paper. First up was a note, short simple and to the point:

Here's the wand. No dogs!!!

Sirius laughed as he handed this to Misha, but his smile faded as he continued to unwrap the wand. Beneath the traditional heavy, brown mailing parchment, lay more layers of protective, tissue-thin film. These Sirius carefully unwrapped as well. And, then, there it was. A wand. His wand?

Sirius picked it up carefully, rolling it in the palm of his hand and holding it to his face for closer examination. It felt like his wand. He gripped it lightly, allowing the weight to settle in his hand. Even after almost thirteen years, the weight felt familiar: heavy and laden with magic. Tentatively, he raised his arm and, with slight a flick of his wrist made small circles in the air. Gold and scarlet sparks shot out of the end of the wand, hovering in space before fading into the silence of the room.

"It works," he gasped. "It actually works!!"

"Aguamenti!" A jet of cool, clear water sprayed itself all over Misha's bare feet. She jumped at the sudden cold, but laughed along with Sirius. Apparently, his joy was contagious.

"Accio espresso!" His coffee cup came sailing across the room, its contents spilling as it flew.

"Scourgify!" The trail of coffee disappeared.

Euphoria filled him. This was real. His Magic had returned and he felt complete, strong and invulnerable and fully Wizard once again. "Misha," he began. He meant to say 'thank you,' to promise to pay her back or at least to giver her the password to his vault so she could get the gold for herself, but as soon as he opened his mouth, different words came tumbling out.

"…I love you!" he finished breathlessly.

PLEASE feel free to review. It makes me very happy,