Chapter Six (Misha)

"…I love you."

The words echoed around the silent kitchen.

When Misha was six years old she'd been in a Muggle car accident. Her Auntie Esther had been driving and Misha was in the front seat, happy and fascinated to be in a Muggle vehicle. As they crossed an intersection, a car shot out from the left having run a red light and time had slowed down to a minute crawl. Later, Misha would learn that it took all of seven seconds for the impact to occur, but a world of events took place in that thin sliver of time. "We're going to hit him, honey, hold on," Auntie Esther had said, and Misha braced herself on the dash. An eternity ticked by as her auntie hit the brakes and the car sped forward in slow motion. And that is what time felt like now: a dead stop.

Had he really just said, "I love you?" Did he mean it? From Harry and the others, Misha knew that Sirius had a tendency to be slightly reckless and to jump ahead of himself. He escaped from Azkaban, did he not? And then defied logic by returning to Scotland to hide in a cave and watch over Harry. According to Hermione, Sirius had invited Harry to live with him just hours after they'd just met for the first time in twelve years. And Merlin knows, he was easily attached. But did he actually mean it? Or, rather, did he mean it that way?

Misha frantically searched for the proper reply. Thank you? Silence? Subject chance? The last thing she wanted to do was to say it back if she didn't really feel that way. Or worse yet, if Sirius were only teasing - but he certainly didn't look like he was teasing. Sirius stood before her trembling slightly, those fathomless grey eyes bright with emotion. Oh, Merlin, she thought, he meant it – at least on some level.

Then, suddenly, she had a plan: ambiguity. "I love you, too, Sirius," she said sweetly, planting a small kiss on the corner of his mouth. Sirius relaxed, but his eyes held a small trace of sadness. "Now, let's go have a tour of the grounds and practice your Magic," soothed Misha.

Sirius laughed, obviously relieved at the subject change. "In my dressing gown? Really?"

Oh, sweet Circe's arse. "Erm, probably not the best idea, first we'll find Winter and see what she's accomplished. And, failing that, we'll transfigure some of my father's old clothes and make the best of it. We can't have you wandering about in those filthy prison robes. Wouldn't be very subtle, would it?"

Sirius nodded in agreement and Misha wondered just how many Shrinking Charms would be required to get a pair of her father's old trousers to fit Sirius. The poor bloke was nearly emaciated and David Marrowstone was, well, slightly on the plump side to say the least. Luckily, however, the house-elf came through and provided Sirius with a form-fitting, red t-shirt and a pair of dark, Muggle jeans which hung-loosely from his narrow hips. Misha had to admit he looked sexy.

"Erm, is this shirt really meant to look this way?" Sirius asked, inspecting himself uncertainly in the mirror. The fabric clung to every inch of his almost-sunken chest and his denims dipped dangerously low, giving Misha an ample view of lovely hollow if his hip. It was almost obscene, really.

"Oh, yes, absolutely," cried Winter. She looked pointedly at Misha. "You have the perfect body for it, sir. You're handsome and thin. You'd have made a fine model in your day, and Misha would do well to take a page from your book."

Sirius' eyes widened in shock and Misha cringed. "That's enough, Winter," she hissed. "Leave him alone."

But Sirius let out a great barking laugh and pulled the surprised elf into a hearty hug. "Misha is gorgeous just the way she is, Winter, and I'm quite sure that the Azkaban Diet Plan will never be popular. The weight loss aspect might be effective, but the bit about losing your mind is a rather large downside."

"Well," huffed the prissy house-elf, extracting herself from Sirius' arms, "Winter knows very little about prisons, sir, but she does know fashion and she'll have more clothing for you by the end of the day."

"Thank you, Winter," replied Sirius solemnly.

"Is there anything else, Winter can be doing for you?" asked the elf.

Sirius' lips quirked into a smile. "Well, perhaps you can leave Misha alone about her weight."

"Harrumph," spat the elf as she curtseyed and left the room.

"It's the price one pays for having freed one's house-elves," observed Misha, futilely attempting to hide her blush.

"So why did you?" asked Sirius as they made their way out to the gardens. "Free your house-elves, I mean."

It was a gorgeous day, sunny, crisp and cool, and Misha decided to give Sirius a full tour. It also afforded them a chance to visit Buckbeak, so they first headed for the stables. Along the way, Misha continued her story. "Well, my father feels strongly that keeping house-elves is a form of slavery. My mother's side, of course, was accustomed to the practice, but my paternal grandparents, though fairly well-off, never did, so you can imagine my father's consternation when my Grandmother Lufkin died and left us a small fleet of house-elves. I was eight years old and we'd just returned from living in Boston for three years whilst he was working with the Symphony. Scotland felt new and different and all of a sudden we found ourselves with a farm and dozens upon dozens of house-elves. I thought my father would die."

"So what did you do?" asked Sirius whilst bowing to Buckbeak. With a happy wave of his wand he refilled the water trough and Summoned a bucket of rats. Smiling to himself, he began carelessly tossing them to the hippogriff. Misha soon joined him.

"Much to my mother's dismay, he freed them all," she continued, reaching for another rodent. "Of course they refused to leave, so he tried to hire them, but then they refused payment. Eventually, we trained them to raise herbs and help make potions and, well… here we are today."

Buckbeak swallowed his last rat and let out a great, satisfied belch, so Sirius and Misha led him outside to the sunshine. "He'll be safe here and we can let him roam for a bit," said Misha.

But Sirius, apparently, was still caught-up in the story of the house-elves. "So, do you pay them now?" he asked.

Misha paused. This was the question she'd been specifically dreading. "Well… sort-of…" she began hesitantly.

"How do you sort-of pay them?" laughed Sirius.

"Okay, look," whispered Misha, "you told me your secrets and now I'll tell you mine. We grow a lot of things here at Marrowstone Farm and, as you know, some of it is not quite legal. Most of it is for sick Muggles, but the elves, shall we say, have created their own economy."

"Huh?"

"House-elves will not accept pay, but they are still willing to make money. We give them twenty-percent of what they grow and they… erm… sell it for street value."

"YOUR HOUSE ELVES ARE DRUG DEALERS?' cried Sirius sounding vaguely alarmed.

"Shhhh, and no they are NOT drug dealers. They just sell it to make some money. Where do you think people around here would get it, otherwise."

"Does Dumbledore know about this?" asked Sirius.

Misha laughed. "Where do you think he gets his? Grows it himself? No, we're the gardeners and he's the Headmaster."

"I want to see where you grow things," Sirius cried. In the sunshine, the hair looked lighter, the streaks of grey more obvious, but his eyes shone wildly.

"Don't give me the puppy-dog look," Misha mock-scolded, "you'll get what you want in due time." And with that they set off for the greenhouses, hand in hand.

The pair spent the rest of the afternoon exploring the forest, meadows, and the gardens. Misha showed him the acres of flowers and herbs used for potions and aromatherapy, a great, blooming riot of color that scented the air for miles. She took him to the greenhouses where the rarer plants grew and Sirius watched as a small cadre of house-elves lovingly tended to their tasks.

"Why and, more to the point, what are they singing," Sirius asked, inclining his head toward what appeared to be a group of happy workers.

Misha cringed. "My father thought it would be amusing to each them the working songs of 19th-Century African Slaves. He thought it made a political statement."

"Hmmm," muttered Sirius, "they seem to enjoy it at any rate."

Finally, she took him to a small glad in the forest. "This is where we grow the ingredients for the Wolfsbane potion," she said brightly, pointing to a variety of plants growing on the forest floor.

Sirius looked at her in shock. "You brew Wolfsbane?" he asked curiously. Obviously, he was thinking of Remus, but Misha didn't quite want to think about that now.

"My mother taught me," she said softly. "While she hardly invented the process, she did come up with some rather unique ways of growing the ingredients. The idea was that werewolves could do it themselves in a small space," She pointed to the purple-flowered Aconite. "See how it grows closely with the Asphodel and Belladonna? They occur together naturally, each providing nutrients to the soil that helps sustain the other plants. They work together in a kind of a system. "

Sirius looked down at the bright green foliage, gently running is finger along the thin stems of a Fluxweed. "Is that why they work together in a potion, then?" he asked.

"Exactly," Misha replied. "Sometimes the werewolves for whom we brew come out and help us with the gathering. It helps increase the power of the Potion."

She paused and looked Sirius straight in the eye. "Remus is usually part of that," she added. "We're past the gathering now, but the full moon is approaching." The late afternoon sun caught the grey in Sirius' hair as he fell silent.

"I became an Animagus to help keep him company during full moons," Sirius whispered, as if in answer. He gazed off into the middle distance, lost in thought.

"And you're welcome to do so again, when he comes over to transform," Misha said softly and Sirius leaned in to kiss her gently on the lips.

"I'd like that very much," he whispered. For a brief moment, his entire face lit up, happiness coursing through his body. He reminded Misha of a young puppy wagging his tail.

And then it struck her: Sirius needed to be needed. Like his dog form, it was his instinct to protect and aid - to be part of a pack. And his predilection toward jumping into things somewhat recklessly was motivated entirely by that need. It was quite endearing, really. She kissed him more deeply before pulling away and looking into his eyes. "You're amazing, Sirius Black," she said before she could change her mind.

He began to kiss her back, tongue thrusting hungrily into her mouth and Misha fought all temptation to simply give in to the moment. But a still, small voice in the back of her head warned her that the time was not yet right. Reluctantly, she pulled back and took him by the hand. "Let's go in," she said.

The sun was low on the horizon as they put Buckbeak back in the stables and, by the time they'd accomplished a few end-of-the-day chores, it was almost dark and well-past time for dinner. Sirius claimed to be amazed that Misha knew how to cook, but she knew better. He was only giving her compliments to make her feel ease. Nevertheless, she did enjoy cooking and was relishing the chance to prepare the types of dishes that would help him put on weight and muscle. Real butter, thick cream, rich sauces… it was like a dream come true.

But after a large platter of fettuccini carbonara, a bottle of wine, and a little bit of herb, she was feeling far more relaxed and, when Sirius suddenly grabbed her by the waist and pulled her close, she had no resistance left. They were standing in the middle of the kitchen, but Misha soon lost all sense of place and time. Sirius kissed her deeply. His breath was hot as he nuzzled her neck, taking small, nipping bites at the tender flesh – and she had never wanted anyone this badly.

"Would you like dessert?" she asked weakly, as his hands skimmed lightly over the front of her t-shirt.

"I'm having it," he huffed as he licked her ear.

She dragged him into the lounge, barely making it to the sofa before he collapsed on top of her. His hands found the hem of her t-shirt and he pulled it up over her head, moaning slightly at the sight of her red, satin bra. Misha tried to remove his t-shirt, too, but he gently pinned her hands above her head and began licking her throat. Moving lower, he grazed his tongue across the top of her breasts before sucking fervently on a hardening nipple through the fabric of her bra. "You're so beautiful," he whispered.

"No, Sirius, you're beautiful." The words were out before she could stop herself and she quickly twisted around and pushed him down to the sofa. Frankly, she'd never been this aggressive with a male, but Sirius was different. Special. And this breed of lust (and love?) was almost feral. Heedless of what he might think of her, she quickly divested him of his t-shirt and proceeded to kiss the delicate hollow of his throat. His skin tasted of salt and excitement and he trembled as she traced the outline of each tattoo with her tongue. Merlin, but he was gorgeous. Her hands trailed down to his flat belly and she paused before allowing herself to wander further. Rubbing gentle circles across the heavy fabric of his denims, Misha smiled. Sirius was growing hard, making little whining noises as she fondled him beneath his clothes. "Tell me what you want, Sirius," she whispered.

"I want to see you - all of you." His eyes were dark lust as he fumbled across her back for the clasp of her bra. After a moment, he looked both desperate and frustrated, so she gently guided his hands to the front and helped him loosen the clasp. "Mmmmmm," he moaned as her breasts fell forward. He brushed the aching peaks with the calloused pads of his thumbs and Misha could not help but whimper. Instinctively, she arched her back, allowing him greater access to her breasts. He licked at her nipples, wetting them before taking one into his mouth as his fingers played gently with the other.

Misha was in heaven. Her fingers fumbled at the buckle of his belt and the fly of his jeans before wriggling out of her own. He was hard. He wanted her. For a glorious moment, that was all that mattered. Still, the angle was difficult and she was not having much success freeing him from the prison of his clothing. Finally, she resorted to sitting fully upright to get a better angle.

"Ummmmf," he grunted as she pulled her breasts away from his eager lips. He opened his mouth in disappointed protest, but was so startled by her hand on his bare cock that he could only gasp in pleasure.

"Not wearing pants, I see," Misha chuckled.

"Apparently Winter never got that detailed," panted Sirius.

Separated only by the thin, silky fabric of her knickers, the heat between them increased. Sirius bucked frantically under the ministrations of her hand, his long, deft fingers trailing over her bare skin in exploration. Gods, she was excited. Misha pressed her lips to his, kissing deeply and with desperation and he returned the kiss with equal fervor.

And then, suddenly, with a burst of sticky wetness, it was over. Sirius had come in her hand. His flush faded and he looked-up at her, crushed and dejected. "I'm so sorry," he began, "I… I haven't in…"

Misha looked him straight in the eye. "There nothing to be sorry for, Sirius. NOTHING." And there wasn't.

"But I…"

"But you had your first orgasm, in over a decade," she finished for him. "That's a huge turn-on for me. It's all I need."

"Yes, but…"

"And it means your getting better. Stronger."

Sirius looked slightly more at ease. "Why are you so good to me?" he asked softly.

Misha smiled down to him longing to say the truth: Because I think I'm falling on love with you. But somehow the words refused to come. "Because you deserve it," she said instead.

"Oh," said Sirius, still looking a little sorrowful.

"But…"

"But?"

"But no matter how recovered you might feel, I still don't think you should try sleeping alone. Are you coming to bed with me or not?"

And Misha was rewarded with a genuine smile.