Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter. I do not. All I own is Antoinette, her family, and the plot. I am not making any profit whatsoever in writing this story. This is an amateur attempt.
A/N: Thanks to those five wonderful, fantabulous people who sent me reviews. You guys stick by me all the time. And of course, thanks to everyone who's taken the time to read the story.
Warning: again, there are things in this chapter that are definitely M. Perhaps more M than I've written so far.
Enjoy.
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Chapter Eight: Of Revelations
He was, to put it simply, bored.
Not surprising, since the reception had been mostly organised by his mother. The old hag, he added silently.
Thinking of his mother ― he shuddered. He usually tried not to ― brought to mind the trouble he'd had to smooth over because of her.
He'd been furious upon apparating to the restaurant a few days before and discovering that, not only had she not included his guests, but she'd taken it upon herself to give the proprietor gold in order to make sure none of his friends could snag a seat if they happened to turn up. Sirius had only found this out after offering his own bribe. And it had been a hefty weight, too.
He realised now that he should have been with his mother when she had begun organising it all, to make sure nothing like what had happened, happened. But the less time he spent in his mother's company the better had always been his motto, and he couldn't bring himself to stand in her presence without at least someone there to ground him; to stop him from leaping forward and strangling her.
He'd felt like doing that a lot lately.
Thinking of his mother inevitably led him to think about all the other nuisances she was responsible for in his life, which, inevitably, caused him to think about Antoinette.
He'd been doing that a lot lately, too.
On the pretence of reaching forward to grab the butterbeer jug, he cast a surreptitious glance her way ― and just as quickly looked back.
Fist tightening so hard around the handle he was certain it would start cracking, Sirius pored. Then drank.
All.
He shouldn't have looked to begin with. He'd known what he would find. White-gold curls pinned up, out from which hung light, airy wisps. Brilliant blue eyes encased in silver ― the very colour of her robes. A low décolletage, tempting his gaze, his mouth . . . He'd only just managed to stop himself from staring at her like an idiot as they exchanged their vows, greeted their guests, portkeyed to the restaurant, and pretty much every other activity they'd engaged in since she'd walked down the aisle and he'd had his first, arousing glimpse of her.
In that robe.
That robe was what did it for him. A man of his proclivities was usually easily pleased ― as long as the woman was passably pretty. But that robe . . . that robe didn't just easily please. It tantalised. Beckoned. Urged for him to . . .
His loins ached with the pressure of not having them sated. It seemed like he'd been in a constant, tightened, state ever since he'd first met her. And it was only going to get worse because they were married now, and soon to go on a honeymoon.
Together.
Alone.
Sharing a room.
Sharing a bed ― he groaned mentally. Shut up.
There would be no sharing of beds on this honeymoon, if Sirius could help it. In fact, they would not be sharing a bed at all. Or a room. Only a house.
But he thought of her in his bed waiting for him, naked, and nearly choked on his steak.
He wasn't going to last. Merlin help him, he wasn't going to.
Especially if he had to kiss her again.
Both times had been more or less pecks ― Sirius had participated in far more arousing kisses in the past ― but something about them had . . . she hadn't just stood there and taken it. She'd tilted her head. Closed her eyes. Offered her lips. She'd wanted him to kiss her. Despite knowing it was an act, despite acting herself, she'd wanted him to . . . that had kept him awake the last couple of nights, and that was what was jumbling his thoughts into a chaotic, unthinking whirlwind right now.
She'd wanted him to kiss her.
He pored himself another cool glass of butterbeer and gulped that down too.
Was it usually this hot, at this time of year?
Disgust he could deal with. Being hated he could deal with. But he'd never thought that she might actually desire him. As he did her.
He could not deal with that.
Just five days before he would have thought all this, his situation, would have been easier to deal with if he'd known she'd liked him in that way, but now it made it all worse. It would be much harder controlling his reactions now. Much harder not to react to her reactions.
He shuddered.
And ignored the voice in his head; the one that questioned why, precisely, he had to control them. If his instincts were right (and they usually were where most women were concerned) and she did like him like that, then what was the problem?
She was a snooty pureblood who believed werewolves and muggleborns were much lower on the food chain than 'normal' people, that's what the problem was.
Admittedly, he'd never actually heard her say anything discriminatory, but she'd hinted at it, hadn't she? And the looks on her face had been enough.
He could never be happy with someone like that. Someone who was so much like his mother. He could never stay married to someone like that. He'd fought most of his young life to get away from that stigma, and most of his adult life fighting against it. He would not be drawn, unintentionally, back into it now. He would not put up with the constant stress it would place on his temper. He was a Gryffindor and he was Sirius Black. A volatile combination. He was naturally hot-headed.
It was true, though, that he'd never felt so powerfully attracted to anyone as he did Antoinette, but that didn't mean he loved her. He didn't want to spend the rest of his life with someone he didn't love.
Which was why he couldn't act on his tantalising fantasies, which he knew could never, ever, compare to the real thing.
Ever.
He groaned, aloud, this time. Why did he persist in torturing ―?"
"Are you all right?"
It was her.
Idiot! Stop being so dramatic. Of course it's her. Besides James, who else would be sitting next to you?
He cleared his throat, smiled. "Yes. It's just an . . . ache. It'll probably go away, given time." And space.
"Is it your ankle?"
Was that concern he heard? Damn it! He didn't want to her to be concerned about him. He didn't want to know that she was capable of actual feelings. Not anymore.
He smiled. "No."
Pause. "Am I that repulsive?"
He turned sharply.
Clear blue met dark grey. He clenched a fist beneath the table to steel himself. "You know perfectly well you are currently the most beautiful woman in England, Toni."
At the sight of her startled gaze he looked at the glass in his hand, furious that he'd admitted that to her face. Now she'll think ― no, know ― that I ―
"Then why won't you look at me?"
Wasn't he? He couldn't recall . . . No, that was a lie. "I did look at you. Just now."
A delicate snort. "You know what I mean. You have hardly glanced my way . . . and people are beginning to notice."
He frowned. "Which people?"
"Do not get angry! That will attract more attention. Smile . . . if you can."
He did smile then. Witty little witch, to use his own words against him. "I suppose I deserved that."
"Oui." She didn't deign to say more.
James, sitting on his right, leaned to whisper into his ear. "She's right, you know, you were glowering. You'd think it was a funeral you were at, not your own wedding."
"Shut. Up. James. Or I'll do it for you."
"Shutting me up won't stop people from seeing, and noticing," he hissed. "Merlin, Sirius, you're supposed to be in love. Act like it."
"Does that mean I have to look at her?" Sirius whispered back.
James blinked at him. Twice.
Sirius groaned. "All right. But if I end up ravishing her on the table, it'll be your fault."
James stared, astonished. Then he grinned. Widely. "So that's why . . ."
Sirius cursed softly and looked away. He hadn't meant to admit that.
He hadn't meant to admit a lot of things tonight.
It was her. He couldn't think properly. She was taking over his thoughts.
"But just think," James smirked, waving a fork under Sirius's nose, "another half hour and you'll have her all to your ―"
"Shut. Up. James. You know that won't happen." He thought of his recent revelations about Antoinette, and amended. "I won't allow it to happen."
There was a lengthy chuckle right before Sirius heard another voice. A suspicious voice. "Are you teasing him again, James?"
"Er, course not, Lily. Wouldn't dream of it."
"You better not be."
Inwardly laughing, outwardly smirking, Sirius thought how he'd never have the problem that James had now. He'd never have a firecracker for a wife. His wife was too . . . composed. And when, exactly, had that turned into a good thing?
Speaking of which . . .
He braced his gut, turned, and smiled.
Antoinette, who'd been watching him, blinked.
He smiled again. "Enjoying the meal?"
"Oui," again.
"I'm not going to bite your head off, you know," he said, still smiling, "so you needn't look so wary."
She stared.
He picked up her hand, pressed a short kiss to her knuckles, then twined his fingers with hers. Saw her glance down and drag in a deep, deep breath.
He closed his eyes, and shuddered. He knew, now, certainly, positively, that she desired him, and couldn't quite work out how he'd never guessed before. All those little signs he'd interrupted to mean disgust or hate on her part were, in fact, want. He didn't think it could be possible, but he became hotter just thinking about it. She'd wanted him the whole time.
She was a lot better at hiding it than he was.
He recalled their first time out together, at the Leaky Cauldron, and how she'd shuddered when his fingers had brushed her nape. He thought back to a few days earlier, when she'd lied on top of him. He'd wanted to kiss her then, desperately, but had been too afraid of her rejection, of her disgust, of her hate, if he had.
He should have kissed her. He knew now that she would have kissed him back.
He sighed. No, it was best that he hadn't. I don't want her to like me, he reminded himself.
But how couldn't he have guessed? He was usually very observant. Had his disliking of her, of her character, distract him enough, affect him enough, to make him think she disliked him back? It sounded farfetched, but what else could it be?
He wasn't prone to bouts of self-consciousness. He wasn't one of those men who thought no one as beautiful as Antoinette could possibly want them. He was beautiful himself, and knew it, and gloried in it occasionally. It wasn't arrogance, it was fact.
So it must have been the other thing . . . but, he'd never behaved like that before. He'd never not known. But then, Toni was good at hiding her feelings. He'd likened her to a block of ice when he'd first met her ― until she became furious. Then she was a volcano, threatening to burst.
He picked up their joint hands, kissed her fingers again, then offered her a sip from his goblet.
Any who saw him would gag at how sickeningly loving he was being.
Remus, sitting opposite, sputtered in his drink from trying to keep in all the laughter. Sirius promised to give him a good glare later on, right now though . . .
She accepted the silver cup with a nod.
He didn't let go of it. Couldn't let go of it for some reason.
She glanced at it, then him, then it again.
He had to force his fingers to let go.
"I've said it once, and I'll say it again: I'd never thought I'd see the day when you got married, Sirius."
Sirius grinned, then both he and Antoinette turned to greet the person behind them.
A wealth of long black hair and grey eyes, just like his own, obscured his vision. A face that was as hard as it was beautiful.
"Andromeda," he greeted, pleasure at seeing his favourite cousin on his face for all to see. "You know my wife, of course."
"I'm afraid I didn't get the time nor the pleasure at the wedding. Auntie Black was a might . . ."
"Haggish?" he offered. "Battish? Slimy?"
She stifled a peal of laughter. "How about never-endingly irritating? And this must be Mrs Black."
Sirius blinked. Then shuddered. For a moment, he'd thought of his mother . . . "Yes. Antoinette."
His wife ― his wife ― extended a hand, the one that wasn't clasped in his own. "Bonsoir, Madam Tonks. Your Aunt has told me much of you."
Andromeda narrowed her eyes, but took the offered hand. "I bet she said something about how disgraceful I am to the family, and so forth."
Anoinette inclined her head. "Something like that."
Andromeda humped. "It's all a lie! She's the disgraceful one. Prone to shrieking, you know. Not healthy at all. No, Sirius is the good one. But I'm sure you know all about that, obviously."
"I do now," said his wife, and both Andromeda and Sirius blinked.
He couldn't believe she'd actually alluded to the conversation they'd . . . Damn it. She knew he wasn't a Death Eater!
"Right, well, that's your business," said Andromeda, never one to pry, though her eyes were glinting. "Speaking of which, Sirius; I was beyond shocked at having flooed into the Ministry for my dear cousin's wedding and seeing Walburga there. Whatever possessed you to invite her? I thought for sure you hated her. No, that's too mild. Despised her would be right, wouldn't it? You know, I've counted, and no less than fourteen hateful looks have been cast my way since the start of the wedding ceremony."
Highly conscious of his wife's calculatingly curious gaze, Sirius looked at what little butterbeer was left in his glass, and swirled. "I won't apologise on her behalf, but you know that. As to why she's here," he shrugged, "She invited herself. Couldn't seem to stop her."
"Hmm," was all his cousin said. The sort of "hmm" that could mean a lot of things, but mostly that she didn't believe what she'd just been told. "Well, it's been a pleasure meeting you of course," she added, looking at Antoinette. Then her eyes, mostly hidden beneath heavy lids, flitted between them. "You know, you're probably the most attractive couple I've ever seen. There's no need to look uncomfortable," she added, nodding at them. "I'd wager everyone's thinking it. How did you meet, by the way? Antoinette comes from France, doesn't she? Have you been there, Sirius? You're not one to gallivant. Oh wait . . ."
"We met at a Ministry conference." Which was true, if a little ambiguous. "How's Edward?" he asked, stealing Antoinette's glass of champagne and sipping. He needed something stronger than butterbeer.
"Ted? Oh, he's fine." She flapped a hand. "Nymphadora's just started Hogwarts, you know. Last month."
"House?"
"She's loyal and clumsy."
He shrugged. "Could have been worse. She could've ended up in Slytherin."
"Well she didn't end up in Hufflepuff, either. You just assumed she did."
Sirius frowned. "What, then―?"
"One of these days you'll deign to visit, and then you'll find out, won't you?"
Andromeda looked slightly miffed at him. Well, he supposed he hadn't visited in a while, but he'd been busy. First with Order work, now with Antoinette ― which, he reflected, was Order work, in a certain sort of way. Yes, that's it. Treat her like a job. "I suppose I will."
She smiled. "Wonderful to meet you again, Antoinette. And you, Sirius."
"Andromeda."
With a whirl of violet robes and long black hair, she left.
"She seems nice," his wife said.
Sirius shot a narrowed glance her way. "She is. The only one of my family that I actually respect." Besides Uncle Alphard, but he was dead now.
She looked down. "May I have my hand back?"
His first impulse had been to shout an emphatic, "No!" He'd promised to behave himself, after all. But they were married now, weren't they? His promise shouldn't technically hold.
He looked at her face, so beautifully heart shaped; her eyes, like pools of blue, watching, wondering . . . and couldn't do it. Couldn't make her hate him again. Even though it meant she'd continue to want him, thus adding extra trouble onto his plate.
Even though they were married, and so Sirius was safe from having her walk off, he thought he would be an absolute arse to back on their agreement now and start acting nasty towards her again. He might dislike her, but he wasn't a deliberately cruel person. Usually. Unless you were Snape.
He was also well aware that he was assigning himself to two weeks of torture because of this. After two weeks . . . after two weeks when they came back from their holiday, he would be safe. He could last two weeks.
He released her hand.
She used it to pick up a fork. He raised his brows. This was her second plate. He'd noticed that about her. That she ate. Not precisely a lot, but healthily. She didn't hold back ― and look how slim she was.
No, don't look!
He couldn't help it.
She was dipping her slice of bread into the butter sauce. She bought it, dripping, into her mouth. First one finger, then a second, followed the bread.
She licked.
He looked away and shifted in his seat, attempting to soothe the ache. Instead, hot pleasure shot through his loins and built, collected. He caught James's amused eye, and quickly looked ahead.
He caught Remus's, then Peter's.
They were all smirking.
Wonderful.
He ended up looking at his plate. A half-eaten steak and mustard cream stared back at him.
He pushed it away. He was done for n ―
Chitzzzzzz!
He blinked as the bright light of a camera flash blinded him.
Dedalus Diggle stood in front of their table ― nudged in between Remus and Peter ― holding an ancient gigantic camera. "Sorry about that," he said, not sounding it all. Then, "Oh, I beg your pardon."
Sirius responded instinctively to Dedalus's truly apologetic tone, and looked. His wife was blinking rapidly, eyes red. He swivelled to glare at the small man.
Dedalus shrunk back in alarm. "Sorry," he squeaked. "How was I to know she'd have an allergic reaction to the flash? I didn't make the camera."
"You'd best hope she'll get better soon," he growled, before turning back. Antoinette had her hands over her eyes. He knew she didn't dare rub them, or risk taking the makeup off. Resting his hands lightly over the top of hers ― starting slightly at the difference in size, texture, and tone ― he tugged. Gently. "Let me see."
Antoinette felt the long-fingered grip, the hard palms; heard the deep rumble by her ear, and knew it was her husband. It took a moment for his words to register, and when they did, she let him have his way. Still too bewildered at her body's response to the camera to think about how sincerely gentle he sounded.
"I don't know why . . ." she mumbled as he took her hands in his and placed them onto the table. Instantly, painful light ― even if it was only projected out of nearby candles ― glared into her eyes. Too many bright spots. She shut them again as sharp pain streaked to her brain. "Oh!"
"Have you ever been photographed before?"
She shook her head. "No. Only portraits."
"Hmm. There's your answer. You're not used to it. Neither was I, until I started Hogwarts. My family didn't want anything remotely muggle tarnishing their precious pureblood son. And Dedalus's camera's one of those ancient muggle ones. The lights on those are ghastly. Open your eyes."
She shook her head again. "I cannot. The pain, it is too ―"
"Trust me. It should have gone away by now." She heard him take a breath. "I want you to open your eyes and focus on mine. Are you ready?"
"I . . ." Was she ready? She didn't think so. She swore she could still feel a lingering of the pain that had shot through her before. And trust him? Why should she? Did he care?
It sounded like he did.
Well, yes, she admitted. But still . . . "I . . . Oui. All right."
"Good. On three. One . . . Two ―"
She let her eyes flutter open; instantly, instinctively, searched for his. She didn't have to search. He was right there, in front of her. They were almost nose to nose.
"Just forget the pain. Forget the light," he soothed. "Focus on me."
That wasn't hard to do. Indeed, it was probably the easiest thing she'd ever do in her life. He was so pleasing to look at, even though she wasn't seeing anything beyond his eyes, which were the most beautiful part of him as far as she was concerned. But she knew how the rest of him looked like, too. She didn't have to see . . . she just remembered. He was easy to remember. He was unforgettable.
He smiled. Her breath caught. "Good," he said. "Very good." She watched him closely. So she couldn't not notice when those beautiful eyes ― on their own accord, seemingly ― drifted to her lips. Rested. Heavy-lidded. "Very, very good."
She let her own eyes drift down to stare. Tried to catch her breath. He noticed. He blinked. He drew away, gulping.
"Don't do that!"
They stared at Dedalus, who still stood before them, camera in hand.
"That was the perfect shot! Remus, you tell them."
Remus Lupin looked taken aback at being put in the spot light. "Er, he's right. It was a perfect shot."
She blinked. Had everyone noticed that . . . whatever it was?
She looked around. Stared incredulously at the guests. Some were smirking, some were averting their eyes in embarrassment, some looked approving ― her mother's hateful cousin even lifted his glass in an acknowledgement. Her mother-in-law looked like she couldn't decide whether to vomit or cackle gleefully. Even her parents looked pleased. The only one who didn't was Helena, but since she was always a grumpy old witch, even when she slept, Antoinette didn't count her.
Well, was all she could think. Sirius must be jumping over the moon to know his ruse had worked, mustn't he? Now everyone knew ― or at least assumed they knew ― that she and he were deeply in love. The way he had looked at her . . . something tight constricted in her chest. The absolute cur! It had all been an act! He hadn't really wanted to kiss her as he'd stared at her lips. He'd been putting on a show.
As always.
She felt so disappointed that she . . . well she was furious! How dare he deliberately play with her feelings like that? He hadn't before. Before, he couldn't help being so beautifully attractive ― and she couldn't help but respond ― but it wasn't fair now that he used that beauty against her.
Please. Please God let him never find out that I . . . otherwise, he'd find a way to use that against her too. How mortifying would it be if he found out she desired him powerfully?
"You all right?" he asked, brow raised.
She shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. "Yes. Why?"
"Nothing. You just looked a touch . . . never mind."
"I have a headache." She thought that the perfect excuse.
"M'not surprised," he murmured.
She turned to stare ― and was hit with a jolt so powerful that she had to look away again.
Dieu! He was devastatingly beautiful! No matter how many times she looked, he only seemed to get more handsome, more fascinating, every time. If she could not even look at him without becoming affected . . . internally, she groaned. Drew a short, deep breath before attempting to speak. "Why are you not surprised?"
The answer did not come.
At all.
She turned to look, she couldn't help it.
And blinked.
In puzzlement.
His fist, resting next to his plate, was clenched tightly. Her eyes travelled slowly up his arm, his shoulder, his neck, his face, his closed eyes, his black ―
What?
She doubled back.
His eyes were closed, and he was breathing hard.
"Are you all right?" she had to ask.
His eyes flew open, turned to stare into hers. "Don't ―" he stopped abruptly, looked down, breathed. "Don't look like that."
She froze. Mon Dieu. Mon Dieu. Mon Dieu. Mon Dieu. Licking her lips, she asked carefully, not-caringly, "Like what?"
He blinked, stared, cleared his throat. "Well . . . well like you're angry with me."
She breathed in relief. "Oh. I'm not. Angry with you, that is."
"Oh? Good. Then."
She watched him reach forward, take her glass again, and gulp. Everything.
She frowned. Surely he wasn't angry because he thought she was angry at him? Just what was his problem?
Sirius was in a state bordering on heavy discomfort.
She didn't know.
She didn't know what she was doing, didn't realise. She had no idea just what she was inviting.
The next two weeks were going to be pure hell. He'd rather be tortured by Voldemort than have to cope with staying in the same room as her. Not to mention, just how would he explain that they weren't going to be sharing a bed? She clearly expected them to . . . consummate ― Merlin, just thinking the word made him ache ― so how would he go about it?
Do you even have to go about it? said that same little voice that questioned just about everything he did nowadays.
Yes I bloody do! he thought savagely. I don't want to stay married. I want to choose my own wife.
But will she be as lovely as Toni? Will you lust after her like you do your present wife? Remember, she's your wife. Wife! She's yours now. Legally. In the eyes of every ―
Oh, shut up.
But he couldn't help listening to his thoughts. They welled up an overwhelming feeling of protectiveness towards Antoinette. Along with an overwhelming feeling of pride that she was his. Finally.
He snorted. He was becoming demented. Talking to himself. What idiot talked to themselves?
A desperate one, apparently.
". . . tograph them while they kiss, Dedalus," Jame's voice drifted in. "That way they'll have something to show their ― ouch!"
Sirius lifted a brow at James's glare. It wasn't as if he'd deliberately let his foot collide with his best friend's shin. No, it had slipped. On a napkin. That he'd dropped. Earlier.
"Something wrong, James?" he asked innocently.
James smiled, but it was tight. "No, no, a mosquito bit me."
Sirius couldn't resist. "Must have been a rather large one, judging by your yelp of pain?"
"Yes. Almost foot-sized."
Sirius smirked.
"But," James added, and Sirius straightened, "the very unfortunate happening of the foot-sized mosquito did not distract me from what I'd been about to suggest, and that's ―"
"You're not hounding Sirius, again, are you James dear?"
"Er . . . no, Lily."
"Good. You can hold Harry, then. He's asleep, so be quiet."
Then Sirius saw, in the corner of his eye, Lily tip him a small wink.
Grinning, mentally thanking Merlin for overly suspicious over-controlling wives, Sirius turned back to his thou ―
"That's an idea!"
― and groaned. "What's an idea, Dedalus?"
"One for the future," he said, holding up his camera as best he could. "What d'you think, Mrs Black? A kiss for the camera?"
Sirius's tongue had all but formed the word "No" but before he could get it out, Frank Longbottom ― hearing Dedalus, and approving ― shouted, "Go on, Sirius!" and the rest took up from there.
He mentally glared at all the Order members present. They were the only ones out of all the guests (besides his mother) that knew he disliked his present situation ― knew it was all an act ― yet they still persisted in pushing. Some friends he had.
Glancing at Antoinette, he saw that she looked stunned and pale. "I won't push you," he murmured.
Her eyes widened, turned to his. "You do not mind?"
His own widened at hearing that. She was actually considering? He didn't think she would. Surely she didn't want him to know she desired him? His groin clenched again at remembering that. "I have to," he reminded her.
Her eyes shuttered. "Of course. What other reason could there be?"
He frowned at her, then at the little man with the violet top hat. "All right, Dedalus, get on with it."
"Sure you don't mind?" Dedalus tried.
"I wouldn't have said it if I did!" Sirius growled. "It's just . . . Toni and me prefer to keep our relationship to ourselves. We don't like being put on display." He said this for the benefit of everyone, not just Dedalus and the other Order members, who knew it was all a load of dung.
"Exactly," said Antoinette, leaning forward. "We have discussed this at length. Please Monsieur, know that I am only sitting for this picture because my husband has wished it. And this is our wedding day. We must have some sentimental remembrances of it, oui?"
Sirius was surprised. She'd actually, willingly, participated in their performance, without any nudging on his part. He grinned. "Well Dedalus. You heard my wife. Get on with it."
Yes, get on with it, Antoinette thought. That way it will be over with sooner.
Her heart thumped so erratically, she was certain Sirius could hear it.
"How would you like us?" she heard him ask.
"Why don't you do what you usually do," was the reply.
What they usually did? Ha!
"Oh, you mean like this."
Suddenly, she felt warm pressure on her right cheek. Then on her left. Sirius was cupping her face. His thumbs caressed her jaw, her neck, lightly fluttering. Gently, he urged her to face him. She did, unable to form a thought.
Her gaze went straight to his lips.
"Yes, yes, exactly like that. Then . . . well you know what comes after, Sirius."
They lifted in a small smile. "Yes, I should say I'm an expert at that."
Distantly, she heard the room chuckle. Oh please, please now. She couldn't wait another moment. She consoled herself with the thought that the kiss wouldn't last long.
Again, with his hands, he urged her up to meet his lips. She didn't need urging.
They skimmed, touched, held.
Under closed lids, her eyes widened. He wasn't stopping!
Why are you thinking about that now? You have what you want. Enjoy it!
She opened her mouth, just slightly, but it was enough for him stiffen; enough for his lips to firm harder against hers. She felt, for but a moment, the tantalising brush of tongue before, quick as anything, he ended the kiss.
He didn't pull away. He did lift his hands from her face, but not to take them away. He settled them around her instead, pulled her close.
Antoinette let herself be pulled; let her hands rest in her lap, let her head rest on his chest, too amazed at his fluctuating actions. Not understanding anything, and not really caring.
His hands were hard at the small of her back, and at her shoulder. His heart thumped wildly under her ear. She could feel he was trying not to breathe hard. Delight and pleasure suffused her. He'd been affected. Against his will. It didn't matter that it was only because he was a man and she was a woman ― he was still attracted to her.
She tried not to smile too hard ― and thanked Merlin that no one could see her face.
xxxx
It showed just how much he affected her, when she didn't even notice that the camera flash had gone off three times. Once when they were just about to kiss. The second time when they were kissing. And the third time when he was holding her.
It took the thunderous clapping and, from some, the thunderous howling, for her to finally realise. That, and Dedalus's, "Now that was lovely. Three shots. Should get them framed."
"When'll they be ready?" Sirius asked.
"Long before you get back."
"Speaking of getting somewhere . . ." Sirius stood up. A hush fell over the assembled crowd.
"It's time for us to leave." He looked down at her, grey eyes piercing. Extended a long-fingered hand. "Toni."
She placed her fingers upon his. They closed about hers, and tugged. She stood.
And had to suffer through another round of congratulations and farewells. But this time Sirius was by her side, his hand still locked with hers.
"I don't think we're up to that yet," Sirius was answering her cousin's question.
"Zat iz not what your mozzer iz zaying, Monsieur Black," Jean-François DeMal said in his heavy accent. "She iz telling uz that we can expect a babe in, oh, a year'z time."
What?
"And judging by your performas wiz ze camera jus now . . . one mus wonzer if zis marriage iz not one of nezezzity."
How dare he?
"You may inform my mother-in-law that we will decide on the matter of having children, and when, and no one else," she told him, in French. "In case you have forgotten, Jean-François, I am still only seventeen, and Sirius is twenty-two. We have plenty of time left."
Jean-François stared. Looked her up and down, and sneered. "You better watch yourself, Antoinette. These English have taken away your manners. You know better than to speak like that to your ―"
"If you finish that sentence, DeMal, I'll peel off your scrotum, boil it tomato paste, and make you eat it," a dangerous voice intruded.
Jean-François jumped.
Antoinette jumped.
Sirius shrugged at her stare. "I'm not completely heartless. The tomato paste will give it some flavour. Don't you agree, DeMal?"
Jean-François was much shorter than her husband ― shorter even than her ― and had to stare up at Sirius to look at him. He did now; took in his hard countenance, saw that he was perfectly serious, and paled.
"What is the matter, cousin? You did not know Sirius can speak French?" She felt like laughing she was so delighted. The look on his face . . .
"I want you to apologise to my wife," Sirius continued, still in French. "You have insulted her and, in doing so, have insulted me." His mouth hardened. "I'm waiting."
Jean-François licked his lip, and inclined his head. "Your pardon, Madam Black."
"Given," she sighed.
"DeMal," Sirius nodded, then ushered them onwards, leaving Jean-François behind.
xxxx
Lily stood in front of the restaurant with the other guests and waved a last goodbye to Antoinette and Sirius. She watched as the portkeys they were touching ― the bride and groom's wedding rings, in fact — whisked them away.
She sighed. "Well, that's that. Though I have to admit that it turned out a lot more . . . colourful, shall we say, than I'd imagined it was going to be."
"I'll say," James chuckled.
"Yes, about that . . ." she whipped around, mindful of the snoozing baby in her arms. Felt deep satisfaction as her husband and his equally idiotic friends seemed to shrink before her. "Why do you three keep persisting? Especially you, James. Leave him alone, would you? It isn't nice the way you keep ― stop laughing! Honestly, James. Act your age for once."
He stopped laughing. "But, but don't you get it?" he said, looking genuinely confused.
Oh Merlin, here we go . . . "Get what?"
His eyes, under gold-framed glasses, flitted between hers. He groaned. "No, you really don't get it, do you? I would have thought you'd understand, Lily, because you're a woman. You notice things better . . ."
She hated it when he hedged. "Out with it."
He sighed, raked his hair, making it even more impossibly tousled. "I've known Sirius . . . it seems like forever. I love him and know him and we've been through everything together, as Remus and Peter can attest."
The aforementioned nodded.
"So? What's your point?"
"My point is that I know him better than anyone. Better than himself sometimes. I know his character. Did you see how he's been behaving with our dear Antoinette? Acting all possessive. Soothing her hurt. Growling at everyone who so much as looks at her ― wrongly, or otherwise. Threatening that bloke's manhood . . . He's acting like me, or how I used to act when we first started going out." He grasped her shoulders, and she ― though she tried not to ― felt a flutter in her belly at the feel of his strong palms. That that could happen now . . . "Lily, he's in love with her, and doesn't even know it!"
Then he burst out laughing.
She blinked. He couldn't be right. He just couldn't be! He couldn't be more observant than she. He was too thick. At least, in these sorts of matters. No, but . . . she thought back to how Sirius had been behaving these past couple of days. "You've got a point, I suppose. Though I don't expect he's in love with her yet. But he's certainly getting there." She bit her lip. "But I'm so happy for him. Imagine, to think he feels so strongly for her, and after only two dates."
"He's been obsessing over," said Remus, hands in pockets. "Day and night. You should have heard him last night. He'd actually drunk quite a bit by the time he started raving."
"What did he say?" Lily pounced.
"That he felt horrible because she'd never want him. Ever."
"Ever. Ever. Ever. Ever. Ever. Ever. Ever. Ever. Ever," James concluded.
"What? That's ridiculous. Anyone with eyes can see ―"
"Yes," Remus said, staring at her, "but perhaps they don't, Lily."
"I suppose you might be right, dear wife, and she doesn't love him. Or at least doesn't know she loves him," James said. "That could be the reason why he's acting so primitive. I mean, I only stopped acting like that when you told me you loved me, Lily. Then I was sure of your emotions, and couldn't care less who looked at you."
"Why, thank you," she said dryly.
He blinked. "I didn't mean it like that! Of course I care about who looks at you. I just don't get the urge to murder them straight away. That only happens when they keep staring at you without stopping." He paused, frowned. Blackly. "Like that stupid berk Hadrian Blu ―"
"All right, all right," she interjected before James could start to rant.
Remus and Peter laughed, unmindful of James's glower.
xxxxxx
"Where are we?"
"Can't you guess?"
She turned to her husband. He was nothing more than a dense figure by her side. She peered through the gloom.
His brow was raised.
She humphed, and looked about her.
It was night. Dark though it was, she knew that they currently stood upon a cliff. In fact, right on its edge. She heard more than saw waves crashing into the cliff-face, could feel the salt in the air, could smell the sea.
"We're at the seaside."
"Very good. In fact, we happen to be in Greece. At Knossos. A very muggle community, but which also hosts the highest concentration of wizards in the Mediterranean."
Greece? He had taken her to Greece? "Mon Dieu . . ."
He chuckled. "If this impresses you, just wait until next week."
That caught her attention. "What is happening next week? Sirius?"
In answer he shifted next to her. She felt a fleeting press of his hand against hers, then space.
"What are we doing here exactly?" she asked, completely forgetting her previous question. Then she had a horrid thought. "Are . . . are we going to camp here?"
His chest rumbled with laughter. "How terrified you sound. But no, we're not."
She breathed. She had never been camping before and was quite sure she would not enjoy it.
"We're waiting."
She straightened. "For whom?"
She was sure he pointed. His shoulder moved, brushing her face. His spicy cologne drifted under her nose and she breathed deep. Her head whirled. "For that."
She squinted in the direction he was pointing, and could see nothing. "What?"
"You can't see it?" He sounded genuinely surprised.
"Non. All I see is black."
"You must not be used to seeing in the dark, then."
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask just how he could, when she heard something.
A very definite fwap!
Then another. And another. And another.
"It's a bird," she deduced. "A large bird."
"No . . . it's a winged horse. A Granian, to be specific."
"Oh, I should have known."
"You don't sound . . . impressed."
She almost laughed at his surly tone. As if he'd been wanting to impress her. No, he was mostly likely upset because she wasn't awed at all the trouble he went to. "We use winged horses at Beaubatons. We raise them and breed them. "
"That explains it, then." He sounded less grumpy.
The fwaps grew steadily louder. Ten seconds later, one gigantic winged horse came into view, dragging behind him a flamboyant chariot.
The driver ― an elderly man wearing the ancient chiton robes that Greek wizards had been sporting for the past couple of thousand years ― shuffled down from his place behind the horse's reins. "Yasu, Kalinihta," he greeted, and bowed. His hair was all grey curls and done up in an elaborately styled ponytail at the base of his neck.
"Good evening," Sirius said.
The man smiled, and gestured to the gold chariot. "We are very pleased to have you here at Knossos. We hope you enjoy your stay on our wonderful cliffs. It is customary for Aristocles to lead new guests for a loop about the skies. So that you may see from up high, how things are down low."
At first Antoinette had wondered whether Aristocles was the man's name, then realised it was the name of the horse.
His English was heavily accented and difficult to understand.
"I only paid to have Aristocles take us to the villa."
Antoinette turned to Sirius. He was frowning.
"Ah . . ." said the man, and blinked.
"I want us to view the grounds, the beach, and the cliffs, on our own. On foot. It's more . . . romantic that way, don't you agree?"
Personally, Antoinette did not, and didn't think the Greek man did either.
"I mean," Sirius continued, "all the potentially romantic moments would pass too fleetingly as we soar through the clouds. Not to mention, it would be damned cold. Don't you agree?"
No, no I do not agree. I do not want to walk tomorrow. I do not want to get hot. I would rather fly in the chariot.
And so what if it was cold? The colder the better. That way, they'd be forced, out of necessity, to come closer together, to share body heat. She certainly wouldn't complain . . . but he would.
Of course. That was why Sirius wanted to avoid staying in the chariot for as long as possible. That was why he had arranged for it to take them straight to the villa.
She should have guessed.
She wasn't as hurt now as she might have been even an hour ago had she figured something similar out then. No, because she now knew that he ― though he desperately didn't want to be ― was attracted to her body.
He was feeling insecure in his reactions ― his potential reactions ― to her. He'd likely never felt as insecure before, and the knowledge buoyed her. That she was causing him to feel insecure was placing a large boost on her self-esteem.
So no, she was not so irritated with him. In fact, she found it bemusing that he had gone to such lengths just to avoid having to touch her.
It would be much easier for her now to . . . her heart thumped, her lips twitched in an effort not to smile. Well, this was certainly an interesting turn around, wasn't it? Not at all how she had imagined her honeymoon with Sirius was going to be.
"Ah . . ." said the man again, and nodded. He could not dispute a customer. "Of course. I, George, and my best friend Aristocles, will take you to the villa."
Aristocles tossed his beautiful mane, spread his large wings ― Sirius had to duck a little ― and snorted.
"Shh, be quiet!" said George, as though Aristocles could understand. "We will fly around twice tomorrow to make up for now, yes?"
The horse quieted instantly.
Antoinette blinked. Of course winged horses were magical, but . . . hers had never responded to her commands like that.
At the urging of George, Sirius, hand in hers, placed her up into the chariot, then took the seat beside hers.
There was a brief jerk as they first lifted into the air, then the constant inevitable wavy motion caused by Aristocles's wings.
And with the first fwap of the large wings, Sirius's thigh brushed against hers. No sound was heard from either of them, though she liked to think she felt his thigh harden. This lasted for another four more fwaps before he moved along the seat ― literally shot away until there was no where else to go ― and stayed there.
She grinned ― quickly straightened her lips, promptly remembered it was too dark to see anything, then grinned again. And just to make sure (because Sirius could see in the dark) she turned to the side.
Let everything just roll past her.
This journey was not a novelty for her. She'd had many of the like before while travelling to and from Beaubatons; the only difference this being a chariot instead of an enclosed carriage.
Sirius had been right. It was cold. Glancing at her new husband, observing the folded arms and the set expression on his face, she omitted wishing for him to put an arm around her. He almost literally simmered, and oozed out displeasure. He looked too hard, too volatile, too . . . something, for her to attempt asking of him that which he determinedly wasn't inclined to think about, let alone give.
Anyway, the darkness around them made it impossible to see the scenery that George and Aristocles had so heroically defended. Which brought to mind . . . just how in the world could Aristocles, let alone George, navigate in this blackness?
Could winged horses see in the dark?
And perhaps, like Sirius, George was used to it?
Just then the carriage swayed abruptly with the changing of directions and started the casual descent. In the close distance, Antoinette could make out thousands of yellow lights and the flash of boxed whiteness along dark cliffs.
The muggle village of Knossos.
Aristocles swooped down eventually upon a cobblestone area at the height of the cliff, vacant of anything save a . . . mansion.
Or villa.
The mansion, like the little muggle houses below it, was pure white, but huge, and sported a blue door and large Corinthian columns at the front. Cyprus trees, sprinkled with little lights, stretched around the area leading up to the door. From the scents on the breeze, there were olive trees nearby
"Can the muggles see it?" As soon as she asked, she wished she could take it back. Of course the muggles couldn't see it. It was a wizarding establishment.
Therefore, she received a surprise when Sirius answered, "Only part of it." He reached for her hand. Fingers first brushing her wrist, her palm, before locking them together. Then he stepped off the chariot, helped her down, and cleared his throat. "The wizard who runs the establishment has a muggle wife. She runs the muggle part of it."
"You mean it is divided in the middle?"
"Ingenious, isn't it?" he smiled, face partly shadowed in the surrounding candlelit lamps. The angles on his face that made him so beautiful to look at were suddenly more pronounced. "They profit from both worlds. And the fact that it almost hangs off the side of the cliff is enticement enough for most tourists."
"An ideal location."
"Hmm."
"But the muggles," she continued, as they followed George up the drive, hands still twined, "don't they notice anything peculiar?"
"No. There are disillusionment charms placed on anything magical. In fact, we won't meet any muggles here at all. The wizarding part is completely separate ― stretched by magic, you can say ― from the muggle part. In fact, looking at it from a muggle point of view, we only use up one room in the entire house."
"And from a wizarding point of view?" They had arrived at the entrance. The light here was brighter, less welcoming of shadow.
Sirius looked down at her. "It's an entire mansion."
George politely ushered them into the villa and went to tend to Aristocles. The owner, delighted to see them, shook their hands, then directed them up the stairs and to their room. He opened the door and bowed them in, chattering the whole way in his George-esque accent.
". . . hope you enjoy your stay in Greece, Mr and Mrs Black. Knossos is very lovely this time of year. Not too hot and just that touch of the cold."
The owner sounded like he had a cold.
Antoinette, Sirius by her side, looked over the room.
It was . . . blue. Light Mediterranean blue with wave patterns carved and painted into the stone of the wall. There was no carpet on the floor, but there was a giant rug that depicted a Mycenaean battle scene, except the figures were clearly using wands instead of swords. To the left side sat pure white sofas in front of a large fireplace. To the right, a gigantic round bed; the headrest of which seemed to be carved out of the very stones of the walls.
Then she realised. The mansion was made out of the cliff.
Sirius let go of her hand and tossed his outer robe onto the sofa. "So swimming is possible?"
"Oh yes! Very very possible. Clam, er, the clam, yes? The clam is in season as well. Salty, but not too salty, yes?"
"Er, yes," said Sirius, looking bewildered. "Thank you for telling us."
The proprietor smiled, bowed, turned to leave, then halted. His enormous black eyebrows rose. "Oh yes, we also have the complimentary robes for you in the closet. The chiton for the lady," he smiled at Antoinette "and for you, sir, we have the chiton. It is a too hot to be wearing British fashion here, yes?"
"Er, yes," said Sirius again.
"You can purchase more Greek robes from the lady down the stairs, yes?"
Before Sirius could answer "Er, yes" again, Antoinette jumped in. "We would be honoured to wear Greek robes Monsieur Kapakopolis. Rest assured that we will go down and have a look sometime tomorrow, oui?"
"Uh . . . wee?" said Kapakopolis, now looking lost himself. "I look forward to servicing the lady in anyway she requires." He bowed again.
Sirius scowled ferociously. Antoinette quickly ushered Kapikopolis out. "If you will excuse us, but it is our wedding night."
"Ah . . ." Kapikopolis was all smiles. "Of course, dear lady, of course."
She closed the door.
And did not want to turn around.
What could have possessed her to say that? That would only make them both think of . . . but it was inevitable, she supposed. They needed to discuss it. They had to discuss it. They could not very well put it off. Though she had a very shrewd suspicion now, more than any other time before, that Sirius did not want to consummate their marriage and was, in fact, planning an annulment in three years time.
If that were the case, she wanted to know right now.
"Sirius?"
"Hm," he grunted.
She turned, and found him sitting on the sofa, staring into the fire. Spread out behind him next to the bed was their travelling cases. She opened her mouth, blurted, "Our belongings have arrived." Inwardly, she cursed. Why was she so afraid to initiate?
"I know."
She stared at him. He did not look around, did not do anything. Didn't look like he was going to be inclined to do anything in the near future. . . oh! Well, if she could not say it with words, she would say it with actions!
"I will change into my nightgown then."
He stood and swivelled so fast she almost started. "You're what?" he choked.
Her eyes widened. He looked literally like he was ill. His body was tense, his face was pale . . . was he ill? "Are, are you all right?"
He had closed his eyes. They flew open now. "Yes. You just, go change. Erm, I'm going down to the bar."
Her mouth opened as he, without so much as glancing at her, strode past her to the door, opened it, stepped through, and shut it. She heard his footsteps stride down the corridor outside before they, too, disappeared.
Hands on hips she thought for a moment, then smiled. Widely.
She really didn't know when she had first decided to actively start chasing him, instead of just sitting back and observing, hoping. Was it after realising he was attracted to her? Was it the unbelievingly arousing knowledge that he, her husband, had to force himself to go to extreme lengths just to avoid having to touch her intimately?
He was so transparent she wondered why she'd never noticed before.
Because she hadn't wanted to hope, that was why. She had come into their engagement expecting her future husband to, not precisely love her, but like her enough at least, be attracted to her enough at least, so that they could have a tolerable life together. Getting instead Sirius's callousness, caustic comments, and hate was a like bucket of iced wake-up water. Since then her self-esteem, her view of herself (as least where Sirius was concerned), had been gradually declining. She had almost lost confidence in her own attractiveness. Not with others ― because she still knew, could still sense that their reactions were the same as they had always been ― but with Sirius.
Was it because he was so unbelievably handsome? Had she, Merlin forbid, felt intimidated by him? Was that why she had lost confidence? Was this how most men felt when looking at her? If so, they had her condolences.
Which begged the question: How to seduce him when he was so determinedly trying to avoid her? And by avoid she meant that he avoided looking at her, let alone touching her.
It needed a highly carefully thought out plan or else he'd begin to suspect, in which case he'd be even more determined to stay away.
The first step: she would wait for him to talk to her. When he informed her ― and he would ― that they would not be consummating the marriage she would offer an alternative instead, one that would be agreeable to them both. After all, it was only fair that she had something in return and he, righteous being that he was, would concur with that. The question was: what?
xxxx
He was a coward.
Not just because he'd run away, not just because he'd avoided ― just the thought of her in any sort of pyjamas had made him as hard as rock ― but because he'd given her ample time to fall asleep.
He'd been sitting down here for three hours now. Anyone looking at him would think he'd had a fight with his new wife, and since this was supposed to be his wedding night, they'd assume they were right.
They would pity him.
He hated being pitied.
He was also well into his third potent spirit of the night, and possibly more. He would have to ask George for confirmation. He had met the old horsekeeper at the bar earlier and, since they vaguely knew each other, settled in to drink together.
He'd let George speak; let his gruff, heavily accented tones drift through one ear and out the other. He had not absorbed anything. All he had been able to think about was his wife ― and what must she think of him now?
He snorted, tipped back another mouthful of ouzo, and grinned. Nothing. She'd put it down to him being himself. After all, he'd only agreed to act like he liked her, not to really like her. She knew that. That had been the best idea he'd ever had.
He grinned again. Yes, it had been a very good idea. He should have more good ideas like that. He was the expert of good ideas. Good ideas came to him naturally. Nature was full of good ideas just waiting to come into his brain and whiz about ― and when had the world started tilting?
"Oomph!"
He opened his eyes, and looked up at the ceiling.
He had fallen off his stool.
He was also beyond drunk.
He grinned stupidly. That's what he got, for drinking. He laughed, attempted to sit up, couldn't, lied back down.
He frowned.
He was pathetic. He was drunk now because he couldn't bear facing her. Couldn't bear to tell her that they wouldn't be consummating the marriage. Couldn't bear to dash her hopes ― just the thought of what those hopes were made him breathe hard in expectation.
No, no, no. Don't think about that!
And for some foul reason, he couldn't stand seeing her hurt. Couldn't stand to watch her beautiful face crumble with disappointment.
She wants you.
He felt tight pleasure clench his groin, and groaned.
He sighed. He'd have to ask the proprietor for some sobering potion before he went up to her.
xxxxx
A/N: Phew! Long chapter! The next one should be up in a couple of weeks. Hopefully. Keep an eye out. By the way, does anyone know what the limits are to the M rating? I'm trying to see exactly how far I can go with this series . . . you know what I mean. If I can't do what I want to do (even in very light descriptions) then I'm going to have to skip those scenes, or post them on some other site. I don't want to post this story on the adult fiction site because most of the stories there are extreme slash, and most readers there are obviously slash readers who wouldn't give two glances at Delaying the Heart. Plus there's the OC matter to think about, which most people despise. Can anyone recommend a good site?
Also, winged horses (Granian, Abraxam, etc) can be found in Fantastic Beasts And Where To Find Them. Aristocles is grey in colour.