Delaying the Heart

by Azraeos

Dumbledore needs a sponsor for the Order. Sirius volunteers, grudgingly, for the job. But through what hoops will he have to jump to get his vault back from his mother? OFC. Romance.

10. Ultimatum

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 again to everyone who reviewed (and read, but especially reviewed). I really do appreciate all your comments. And I am very sorry about not getting this chapter out sooner, like a promised I would. This site keeps breaking down on me for some reason, as does my, until now, trusty computer.

Again, this chapter is M rated.

Enjoy.

xxxx

Chapter Nine: Ultimatum

The door opened soundlessly.

Sirius stepped inside, closed it just as soundlessly, and took off his neckcloth. Upon draping it over the sofa he noticed the lamps were still on. Eyes widening, he looked towards the bed ― and breathed in relief.

Excellent. She was asleep.

Careful not to keep his attention on the slight lump under the covers, Sirius went about his usual nightly routine. But he turned off all the lights first so that the only glow permeating was the warmth of the fire.

Then he proceeded to get undressed.

Usually he slept without a stitch on, but he didn't think it would be wise to do that this time. Thinking of the potential scenario that would ensue ― the awkwardness that would transpire ― if he did, he slipped on a pair of muggle jeans; the only "trousers" he owned.

He lay back on the sofa, feet extended; stretched strong arms over the armrest then settled his hands under his head. Difficult really wasn't a sufficient enough word to describe his situation at the moment. It wasn't that his wife ― Merlin that word caused him both discomfort and a strange feeling of elatedness all at the same time ― was difficult. No, it was wholly Sirius's problem. Sirius's problem in being unable to cope with his new position; his new status in life. He had a family now. A family of two. And he would continue to have a family until three years had past. Only then could he get his annulment.

Annulment.

That was another problem that he wasn't quite sure how to solve yet. Just how in Merlin's balls was he going to tell Antoinette about that? He already feared seeing the disappointment in her eyes. Not that he thought she would be disappointed because she secretly loved him. No, never that. It was just that Antoinette was a very traditional person. She'd married him because her parents wanted it so. If she were told the marriage would be in name only; would be cancelled as though it had never existed, her sense about old fashioned duty and honour (no doubt brought upon by seventeen years growing up in a pureblood household) would be crushed. Betrayed.

He knew, because he would have felt exactly the same.

Sighing, he shifted his hips. The clasp on his jeans was digging into his stomach. Who designed these bloody things? They do not make comfortable sleepwear . . .

He supposed he could just blurt it out, but that lacked some finesse. He wasn't a bumbling oaf, no matter what Lily said. He would have to ease into the topic gently. Give little hints here and there. Antoinette was intelligent. She would figure it out.

And that brought about another problem. He hoped she didn't figure out his other plans; his plans involving their living arrangement. Sirius had already decided that he would not be able to bear living under the same roof as she for three years straight. He would not be able to last that long without . . . so he'd decided that they wouldn't be living together. Sirius would be living where he lived now; in the house his late Uncle Alphard had gifted him, and Antoinette would be living with his mother in Grimmauld Place.

And he would not be telling her until after the honeymoon was over.

This might be considered harsh on his part, but Toni and his mother seemed to have got along well the last time he'd looked. Though he normally wouldn't wish his mother or Grimmauld Place on anyone, he had a feeling his wife would fit in there. She was pureblood. She was used to all the restrictions such a life brought with it. Yes, she would be happy there. Or at least, that was what Sirius constantly tried to convince himself of.

There was just that little problem of his mother and what she would think of the whole thing. She might get it in her head to take back his gold if she realised he and Antoinette weren't having sex regularly ― which would, Merlin forbid, deny her a pureblood grandchild ― so Sirius would have to make habitual visits, at least twice a month, whereby he'd take his wife somewhere. A restaurant. Then bring her back in the morning, supposedly sated.

He shuddered at the whole thing. Having to willingly step foot in Grimmauld Place, not to mention stand within breathing space of his mother, was not a scenario he looked forward to. He'd rather eat his own arm.

He shuffled to his side, head pillowed on his arms; stared into the faintly yellow-lit room. A warm glow pervaded, casting ominous shadows on the furniture. It, Sirius reflected sombrely, perfectly mirrored his mood at the moment. He fell asleep to the crackle of the fire in the grate and the splintering of the ash-turned logs.

xxxx

Antoinette, still tucked under the bed covers, waited until she was sure Sirius was asleep, opened her eyes, then smiled. Ecstatically.

Twelve o'clock had long since past, and Sirius had only now shown up. He hadn't bothered to join her, she was sure he hadn't bothered to look at her, and now he had fallen asleep on the couch. Obviously, he was waiting until the morning to tell her of his plans. That was no problem; she had always had a patient nature. The only problem she could foresee arising was how she was going to outline her plans to him. He might not stand for them; might completely refuse to cooperate with her. If that scenario transpired ― which, now that she thought about it, was very likely ― then what was she to do? Antoinette was not going to stand for being ignored her whole honeymoon (this might be the last and only one she would ever have, after all). She knew now what she wanted him to do. How to go about making him cooperate?

It would take some heavy planning. He was the most stubborn male she'd ever met in her life, and was quite sure that if he didn't want to do something no one could make him. Discounting helping unfortunate peoples, that is. His sense of duty seemed to be even stronger than his stubbornness, as their entire courtship proved.

She turned on her back, stared up into the shadowed ceiling. The fire cast patterned glows upon the rough stone, and Antoinette amused herself for a few minutes as a child would do imagining shapes in the clouds.

How could she convince him? She had already thought of one way ― an ultimatum. If he wanted her to accept his no-consummating/annulment rule, then he would have to abide by her decree. It was only fair. The only problem with this was that, in her case, Sirius might not care about being fair. After all, if he didn't abide by her ultimatum, she could hardly reciprocate and, and rape him. He was much stronger than she and a far better dueller, if what his mother had told her was true.

Perhaps she should confuse him? Act incongruously. It would throw him off a bit that was true, but not completely enough to warrant an agreement on his part. It might just make him livid. She did not wish to deal with a constantly angry Sirius again. Especially now that they were going to be living together. She couldn't bare the thought of three years of, well, hell.

And if all that didn't end up working to her advantage, then Antoinette still had a few tricks up her sleeve. She wasn't French for nothing.

xxxx

Five a.m. dawned with the ringing of the wall clock, along with a completely awake and dressed Sirius. He had wanted to be ready in time for his talk with Antoinette. Also, he hadn't wanted her to wake up earlier than he and surprise him. As it was, Sirius shouldn't have bothered because she was already awake apparently, and gone.

He stared at the empty bed with is neatly made covers. The house elves must have popped in earlier. But how could he not have heard ― the house elves, or Antoinette?

As he turned to adjust his boots under the fresh robes he'd put on, the door latch clicked. He looked up. Antoinette, wearing what was obviously her complimentary white chiton, entered. In her hands she held a gigantic sliver platter with an assortment of jugs, cups, and breakfast.

Sirius blinked ― then lost his breath when she shot him a quick, though no less dazzling smile, before depositing the platter on the small dining table in front of the bed. She then walked to the inbuilt cupboard, opened the door, and selected the single male chiton which draped to the left of the women's robes, all hanging neatly on hooks. Leaving the cupboard open, she walked towards him still holding the chiton, then stopped an arm's reach away.

"Here. Put this on."

Sirius took it, still staring. Her eyes flitted between his, as if in question, then her lips lifted in the smallest of smiles. His erection answered pleasurably in response.

Before he had a chance to question, "What?" she was off already, this time to his trunks. Her wand waved and a second later his clothes were soaring into the cupboard to hang beside hers.

"You should have breakfast," she announced, still busy directing his clothing. "We have a long day ahead of us."

"I know." He was the one who'd planned it all out. "Erm, aren't you going to eat?"

"I already have. But I might take a, how do you say . . . another break?" She flashed another one of those smiles at him, and Sirius lost what little breath he'd regained.

He was, to put it bluntly, bewildered. He felt like he'd been knocked on his arse. He didn't know what to make of her actions, not to mention the smiles she'd bestowed him, which was not like her at all. Just what the hell was going on? Where were the questions? The assertations? The wonderings as to why he hadn't shown up last night? As to why they hadn't made love, as was expected?

He suddenly had an inspired thought. Had she guessed? Had she guessed and agreed?

He looked towards her, this time with narrowed, suspicious eyes. If she had guessed and agreed, he hadn't expected her to look so . . . happy about it! She was practically bouncing. Just what had happened since last night to make her so joyous and bubbly? It was as if she had some sort of . . . secret. As if, by said secret, she had some sort of power over him. As if, with all those secret smiles, she enjoyed confusing the hell out of him, which was exactly what she was doing.

He had never seen her be anything other than cool and collected, even in the midst of anger. Even when she had delivered her biting speech at the Potter's house, announcing that she never wished to be associated with him again. Even then, she had been ― while not necessarily composed ― maintained, voice raised normally. But now . . .

He threw the chiton over the sofa's head and stared at her. "What are you playing at, Antoinette?"

The merest stiffening of her back was the only sign Sirius had that she objected to his tone. She turned, slowly, looked him in the eye. "Whatever do you mean?"

It was then Sirius noticed how displeased she was. Her tone had taken on a hard edge and she seemed to be . . . prodding at him. As though she wanted him to guess at something, to discover something; that something she was so displeased about. But he couldn't imagine what that something was.

He ignored all this, and stepped forward, inwardly smiling at her hesitant step back. "You know exactly what I mean. You've never behaved this way towards me before. I've never seen you smile willingly at me before. "What. Is. Going. On?"

She stared at him. Drew a breath. "Why did you not come to me last night?"

So she was upset about that? He cleared his throat. "I was too drunk to." And as if she wanted me to come? Maybe that's why she was so happy earlier? The thought brought forth a furious anger in him, which his hard tone was unable to disguise. "Besides, I didn't feel like it."

"Qu'est-ce que?" she asked softly.

"You heard me."

She hesitated. "Why didn't you feel like it?"

His stomach sank. Oh Merlin. She had to ask him that now? He wasn't ready to tell her yet. "Because . . ." he couldn't make himself finish.

She leaned forward. "Because, what?"

"Ermm," was Sirius could manage. He was too busy staring at her lips to concentrate. "Just because . . .?"

"Kiss me."

His arousal, already half engorged, rose to full throbbing. Had she said what he thought she'd . . . "W-what?"

She frowned. Delicately. "Tell me."

No. She hadn't. God, he was getting delusional. "Oh," he shook his head. "I mean . . . that is, er . . ."

"Ye-es?"

"Erm . . . it's actually quite a long . . . I mean . . . you wouldn't understand. I planned to tell you slo ―"

"Ye-es?"

"Because I want an annulment, that's why!" he finally burst out, unable to bear the tension.

Her eyes widened. Sirius mentally kicked himself. This wasn't how he had wanted to tell her. He'd bloody hurt her, hadn't he? He'd hurt her so badly she couldn't think. Her mouth opened. Sirius braced himself. Waited. "I know."

He stared for a moment, in disbelief, then: "You know!"

"It was easy to figure out," she shrugged, even though Sirius felt as if he'd been poleaxed. "You would hardly even look at me. Why would you make love to me?" Then she walked to the bed and sat on its edge. "But I won't stand for it."

This took him aback. "Er, you won't?"

She shook her head. Slowly. "Non. Not without . . ." she trailed off.

"Not without what?" Fists clenching at his sides to keep from walking to her and threading his fingers through her luscious hair, Sirius waited.

"Not without something in return."

He stared. Something in return? What could she possibly mean by that? Which brought to mind the question: what could he possibly give her? His thoughts filled with a hundred different possibilities, all fruitless. Though he did entertain the notion of one ― and dismissed it as soon as he'd thought of it. It certainly wasn't that. Especially as he'd just told her they were to have an annulment. It must have been wishful thinking on his part. Sirius chided himself for having thought it was wishful thinking in the first place. Was he mental? Yes some allowance could be given for the fact that he desired her so much he couldn't ― as Antoinette herself had pointed out ― bear looking at her. But other than that . . . was he insane to be thinking that? He shook his head. "What do you mean?"

She stared him in the eye. Cool, calm, poised, beautifully haughty. "I wish . . . for a kiss."

His brain froze. "W-what?"

"I wish for a kiss from you."

"Now?"

"No, no. Not now. A good night kiss." She looked down into her lap. Finished, in a whisper: "Every night."

"That's all you want?" Sirius asked, suspicious. The thought of giving her a kiss every night seemed both thrilling and appalling.

"Non, that is not all that I want," she paused, drew several deep breaths.

"And?" Sirius encouraged, heart now racing in astronomical speed. It was obvious Antoinette knew that he wouldn't like whatever it was she was about to suggest.

"And you must sleep by my side."

Silence.

"You mean," he tried, after several minutes of coaxing his brain to try and catch up with his heated body, "in the same bed?"

She laughed. Finally. "Yes. Where else?"

"No," he said immediately. He would not be able to bear kissing her let alone sleep in the same bed as her. "Absolutely no. Completely no. Totally no."

She stared, stood. "Then I shall not abide by your . . . order. Good day, husband." She went to walk away but Sirius, gently, wound fingers about her elbow. "Is there something you wanted, husband?"

His teeth gritted. "Don't call me that."

"Is that not your title?"

"Yes," he snapped, "but if you must call me that don't do it in such a tone."

She turned fully, eyes narrowed. "And what tone is that?"

"Mocking."

"Very well," she conceded. "Now kindly let go of my arm."

Sirius did the exact opposite. He inched her forward. "No," he said softly. "Not until you tell me just how you're not going to follow my order, as you put it. I'd like to see you try."

She shrugged. "I shall simply not sign the annulment papers when they come to me."

He stared at her.

Stupidly.

Incredible. She'd just thrown all his plans in a wrench. With one simple ― but, damn it, true and undisputable ― sentence. She could easily avoid signing the annulment papers. She could easily claim that they'd consummated the marriage when the Ministry asked for proof. After all what man in his right mind wouldn't want to make love to Antoinette? Even he wanted to. His argument would not go down well ― about as well as Voldemort walking into the Ministry with a peace treaty tucked under his arm, announcing his love for all muggles ― while hers . . . "Why do you want all this?" he asked finally. The only thing he could ask.

Her eyes flittered between his, then flicked down. "You are free, Sirius. You can never understand what it is like to be . . ." She looked up at him with something akin to expectance. "It is only . . . can I not have something from this marriage? Can I not feel wed at least? Can I not feel like a wife to you? I do not wish to spend the next three years being ignored by you. I deserve more than that."

Sirius did not need to tell her that they'd hardly see each other in the next three years. Now was not the time. But she was right. She did deserve more. He should have known it was that simple. "I'm sorry," he told her. Her eyes, which were staring at his chest, widened. He couldn't blame her. He had only ever once apologised to her.

"You agree, then?"

How could he not? What choice did he have? But it was going to be pure torture . . . "I guess."

"Oh!" was all the warning Sirius had before she threw herself at him, arms circling his waist, face buried into his shoulder.

Sirius stiffened the moment he felt her body come into contact with his; the moment he smelled her scent. Upon registering that their closeness was now too dangerous to be allowed, he quickly jumped away, leaving Antoinette blinking at him, arms still outstretched. "I'm glad we've got that settled, then." He raked his hair.

She resumed her everyday posture but her eyes were smiling. "You have left your chiton on the sofa." Then, still acting Antoinetteish, she walked to the door, opened it, stepped through, turned. "I shall be waiting for you downstairs, husband. Make sure to have breakfast."

Click. The door closed.

At least she hadn't mocked him this time. He sat down on the sofa and buried his face into his hands. What in Merlin had he got himself in to?

xxxxxx

Compared to that half hour, the rest of the morning seemed unexciting at best. There was no such thing as a beach at the cliffs of Knossos. At least, not the traditional beach. Instead pebbles littered the coastline along with tiny patches of sand, and if it weren't for magic both Antoinette and Sirius would have had severe cuts on their feet. No wonder they hadn't seen any muggles traverse this particular stretch of coast. Sirius grumbled the entire time.

"How the bloody hell that wizard expects us to walk on this, I have no idea! And this bloody chiton keeps sticking to my legs! And this is supposed to be romantic?" He snorted. "Some bloody honeymoon!"

Antoinette felt it prudent not to point out ― as she watched her husband comically trip over the hem ― that, as they were near the sea, of course the spray of the water would wet their robes, thus rendering them unsuitable for walking in. She also didn't think it was wise to point out that the same thing would have happened had they been wearing their regular robes. Instead she helped haul him up by the arm. "You know, all this could have been avoided had you only let Aristocles fly us around last night." She'd said that in French, which had got Sirius's attention. She had never directly spoken to him in her native tongue before.

"Yeah? Well . . . I guess you're right," he admitted. After that his grumbling ceased dramatically, with the exception of a few heated "bloodys" under his breath.

They had a late lunch on a picnic blanket in the vast olive groves behind the villa. Sirius started complaining then, too. "I can't believe they made us pick this the muggle way."

Antoinette did not bother pointing out that this activity was also shared by the muggle inhabitants of the villa, and so, magic could hardly be used in their presence. She was sure Sirius knew that already. He was just determined to be stubborn and ornery ― no doubt some sort of subconscious payback in response to her ultimatum that morning.

And she still couldn't believe that had worked. That he had actually agreed to it.

"They make a greater profit if vacationers do it for them as an activity."

"I know that." He bit into an olive, looked her over quizzically. "You know, you really should wear some sort of hat. A large one."

She blinked. "Whatever for?"

He leaned forward, almost without thought, then skimmed a long finger, slowly, across her jaw. "You don't want to get sunburned. Your skin is very fair." Then he turned away to watch the scenery.

When Antoinette got her senses back ― which took a few minutes ― she did the same. Thirty or so muggles carried woven baskets and stood beside trees, picking the olives. There were some wizarding families (easy to spot by their lack of muggle fashion sense) but as they spoke only Russian, Bulgarian, and Italian there really wasn't any point getting to know them. She looked down at the two large baskets in front of hers and Sirius's feet. "Do you think we have enough?"

"I'm sure," he murmured, then reached into the picnic basket that was positioned between them and selected a piece of cheese which he popped into his mouth. He reached in again, looked around discretely, then tapped his suddenly appeared wand on the rim of the basket. With a flourish, he removed a perfectly conjured piece of women's headgear. A muggle hat; wide-brimmed, white, and ribboned.

Antoinette stared, open mouthed. Sirius plopped it on her head and spent a moment adjusting. "That's better." He grinned, and Antoinette lost her breath again. He was full of all sorts of surprises today; acquiescence being the least of which. He was suddenly so amenable. No, that wasn't it . . . charming. He was being charming. She blinked.

He cleared his throat and looked down. "It's getting late. We better pack up."

"All right."

As they made their way back up to the villa they spotted Aristocles swooping down onto a nearby paddock. Antoinette sucked in her breath, and quickly looked behind them. The group of about forty muggles and wizards, having no doubt seen she and Sirius pack and walk off, were now following them back to the villa. She tugged Sirius's arm. "They will see Aristocles. The muggles, they'll ―"

"Shhh," Sirius had placed two fingers over her mouth. "No they won't. I'm sure his wings have some sort of charm placed on them."

She tugged his fingers off, leaving them trapped in her hand. Ignored the slight tingle they'd left on her lips. "But what about his size! They can hardly disguise that."

"Then I'm sure Aristocles is completely invisible," Sirius said matter-of-factly and, twining her hand with his now uncaptured fingers, continue to lead onwards.

"What if you're wrong?"

He stopped, sighed, turned. "This is really bothering you so much?"

"I suppose not," she was forced to admit.

"Even if I were wrong there are always memory charms."

She frowned. She had never liked the thought of placing memory charms on children. "I suppose."

"Come on," he tugged. With only a slight hesitation in her step to show her indecision, Antoinette followed.

That night they dined on the terrace with the rest of the wizarding guests. They had both decided to forgo wearing the chiton. "I'll never be caught dead wearing that again," Sirius had declared before throwing on a midnight blue star-speckled robe with a high collar. He had also elected to wear knee-high black-polished boots. The effect was quite devastating. He had never deliberately dressed handsomely in her presence before, with the exception of their wedding day, but since then he had been clothing himself to masculine wizardly perfection. She could barely think anymore, and found herself constantly breathless, as if she had just committed a strenuous exertion. She now found that she could finally commiserate with Sirius, because she could not bear looking at him. And every time he took her hand was a lesson in restraint. More often than not she felt like tugging that hand and dragging him back to their room.

And the witches! Ooh, she hated them! How they stared, how they try to get his attention, how they flirted! The only reason Antoinette had not done anything ― verbally or otherwise ― was because Sirius never flirted back. In fact, he hardly seemed to notice them. He appeared more interested in his meal, which consisted of something indescribable wrapped in fig leaves with a side dish of sprinkled goat's cheese. A bottle of red wine, which Sirius kindly consented to share with her, topped the meal.

When ten o'clock came by they finally made their way to their room. Antoinette was well aware of the jealous looks she garnered from all the women on the terrace, and a small spark of something bounced in her stomach. He was hers and, if everything went as planned, he would stay that way. At least until her virginity was taken care of; until she finally got to sample him. She tried to tell herself it didn't matter if they parted ways after that. Then she remembered that they wouldn't be able to. Not really.

Sirius unlocked the door, ushered her in, then locked it again. As usual, he didn't look at her. "Toni . . . you go do what you have to in the bathroom."

They'd both had a bath after the olive picking, so there was no need for her to ― then she realised that Sirius was giving her a chance to change clothes away from his presence; away from the awkwardness. She smiled in answer, picked out her nightgown from the cupboard, then walked to the bathroom.

She was beyond nervous. Which is ridiculous, she told herself. Yes, they hadn't known each other for very long, but they were hardly strangers now. They were married, for Merlin's sake! He was her husband, and she herself had stipulated the agreement. She wanted that kiss. Tonight and every night thereafter. Then why was she so, so . . . blinking at her reflection ― which looked pale and a little lost ― she changed into her nightgown. She even took the time to brush out her hair, let it flow over her shoulders and down her back in a wave of brilliant white-gold. A glint in the mirror caught her attention, and she held up her left hand.

Her wedding ring.

For some reason, the sight and its position gave her assurance.

She tugged at the collar of her nightgown, securing it even more firmly about her neck. It was modest, to be sure, but then most of her clothes were. The long white sleeves draped a little over her fingertips, and the hem covered most of her feet.

She took one last glance at the mirror ― which offered nothing she hadn't seen before ― then reached for the doorknob . . .

Sirius heard the click of the latch as the bathroom door swung open. The padding of bare feet followed soon after. He heard the rustle of the sheets as they were flipped over; felt the bed dip slightly as his wife slipped under the covers.

He was pretending to be asleep.

He knew it wouldn't work, but he was pretending anyway. He had extinguished all light except that of the fire, so even if she were to come around to his side of the bed she wouldn't see that his eyes were open. Wide open, and panicked.

The truth was: Sirius didn't trust himself. He didn't trust to keep his hands to himself. Just the thought of her being in a bed with him blew his mind, leaving only those baser of emotions functioning. And knowing that it wasn't just a thought ― but right now, at this moment, an actual fact ― was enough to make his head spin. Therefore, he was panicking. Silently.

He felt more than heard her sigh. Through his nightgown ― he'd had to wear one to remain sane ― and on his back. He instantly stiffened, realised that was a mistake, then tried to loosen his limbs.

Too late.

"I know you aren't asleep," her voice, soft and evocative, came right into his ear.

He trembled. God, it just wasn't fair. "Hmm," was all he managed.

She sighed again. In frustration. "Well? Did you forget?"

"No," he strangled out.

"Good."

Long moments past. Sirius wondered when she would get tired of being patient. He didn't have to wonder long.

"Well?" she asked again.

Breath hissed over his teeth as he sighed. "All right," he conceded defeat. The silent battle of wills had left him aching. "Shuffle over."

He felt her obey. Merlin, she'd been almost draped over him. The thought made him groan.

"What is it?" he heard her ask.

"Er . . . nothing. So how do you want to do this?"

"Well, I had always assumed the couple had to be facing each other . . ."

Sirius turned before she'd finished the sentence. Propped himself onto an elbow. "Better?"

Her eyes widened as they looked up into his. "Yes."

He clenched his fists to keep from reaching forward and yanking her into his arms. Seeing her lying there, almost beneath him . . . "So, how do you want to do this?"

Her brow quirked. "Don't tell me you have never kissed a woman before?"

He had to smile. "Of course I have, but this is your stipulation. I don't want to be doing anything . . . inappropriate."

She hesitated. "I wouldn't mind."

His entire body tensed. He felt it. Felt her see and feel it. Saw the rise and fall of her chest grow heavier. He could almost smell her want; could see the desire in her eyes. He knew she saw the same when she looked at him. He couldn't stand it anymore.

He bent his head. Closed his eyes. Searching, searching. It seemed to take an age to find her lips. When he finally did, it was like sinking into the softest flower petal. He felt her acquiesce, felt her lips soften, felt his own harden. Their mouths brushed together, the lightest of flutters. He wanted more. He wanted harder. He pressed down, deepened the kiss. Heard her gasp.

That was enough.

He made himself stop. To lift his head, to clear his thoughts ― but he didn't get any further than that. All he'd planned to tell her vanished as he felt her shift beside him in a breathy little moan, felt the fingers of her left hand wrap into his hair, felt her urge him down until their lips met again.

She kissed him.

Voraciously.

His entire being ― his senses, his body ― felt stunned. Frozen. He couldn't move. Something shifted in his chest, something both painful and glorious. He couldn't think, he couldn't breathe. He could only reciprocate.

When her tongue entered his mouth . . . he shuddered uncontrollably. Sirius would never know where he found the strength of will to do it, but he managed to pull away. "No, you've had enough." He hardly recognised his own voice. "You've had enough kisses. More than enough."

She whimpered.

He pulled away and fell onto his back. "God! One kiss. You said one kiss. That was more than one, that was two!"

"I know. Je regrette, m―"

"Don't apologise! You enjoyed it."

"Yes . . . and you did too."

"I'd have been mad not to." Inwardly, he cursed himself. He hadn't meant to confess that.

They lay in silence.

She sighed, shifted. At the corner of his eye Sirius saw her turn to her side, facing away from him. "Sirius . . . merci."

He didn't know what she was trying to convey with that word. "Good night . . . wife."

xxxxxx

She woke to the feel of hard limbs pressing into hers. Strong arms encircled her waist and back. One of her legs was tucked in between both of his while the other was shifted off to the side somewhere. His heart beat steadily and softly beneath her ear.

He was amazingly warm.

He was also naked.

At the realisation she tried not to breathe too roughly. Goodness! How had he come to be without any clothes? He had fallen asleep with his nightgown on. She'd seen him.

She thought back. A vague memory surfaced from the depths of the night, of someone cursing softly, complaining about restrictions or some such. She looked to the face above hers, young and yet so beautifully masculine. So unbelievably gorgeous. Well he'd certainly taken care of those restrictions, hadn't he? Taken care of them to the point where he was entirely naked. She could feel him through the silk of her gown. Hot flesh, hard bone, strong muscle ― very strong muscle. Her face flamed when she realised just how strong.

He was hard and heavy against her thigh.

She dared not move for fear of waking him.

She breathed in his scent. Spicy cologne, salt, male: all mixed deliciously to form a smell that was pure Sirius. To form a perfume that drowned her senses. Her wits flew. Her head whirled. Her eyes lost all focus. Merlin, she must be obsessed. She couldn't seem to get enough of him; knew she was courting danger by remaining in this position, by not attempting to break out of his hold. But she just couldn't seem to help herself. This might be the only time she would ever get to observe him without his knowing. Tucking her chin into his chest, Antoinette stared at his face, breathing in deep. His lashes were very long, thick and sooty, resting lightly on his cheekbones. His hair, a deep black, lay tousled around his head, one thick lock curling over his eyes. He looked incredibly sexy. She stared.

Last night had been ― while not as lengthy an encounter as she would have liked ― unbelievable. Never would she have imagined that influencing him was so easy. She merely had to touch him, look at him, or say something provocative, and he was overcome. The thought sent a shiver of delight through her body. Her palms literally tingled. She had the overwhelming desire to run them over his naked chest, but dare not. He might wake up, and the awkwardness would be too, well, awkward to bear.

Oh, but restraint was so difficult. Quite without meaning to, she arched into him slightly – and nearly moaned. The press of bodies through fine silk felt wonderful. A brief thought occurred; enough to make her heart speed up: If he felt this good through the silk, how would he feel like with no barriers between them?

But she had to go. He might wake up and she didn't want to be there when that happened. Plus she needed the bathroom.

Ever so gently and slowly she reached behind her until she felt her hand come into contact with his. She lifted it, slowly, and put it to the side. The rest was surprisingly easy. She wriggled out, taking care not to jar him too much. As she sat up her hip accidentally brushed his shaft. He murmured. She froze, eyes shooting to his face. Besides a slight stiffening around the jaw line, he seemed not to have woken.

She breathed easier, then got to the business of her arranging her morning toilette.

As soon as he heard the door to the bathroom close, Sirius opened his eyes, ungritted his teeth, clenched the bed sheets, and groaned. Loudly.

He'd awoken long before she had. Around three in the morning. He'd thrown off his nightgown, not being able to bear the restriction anymore; the feeling of permanent choking around his limbs. He'd also thought, briefly, of spending the rest of the night on the sofa ― before he'd remembered his promise. As he'd slipped beneath the sheets again he'd reasoned that he'd awaken long before Antoinette would, and thus he would be able to change back into his nightgown.

It hadn't happened that way.

Instead he'd woken to the strange feeling of contentment. Of cocooned warmth. Of their limbs twined together. Of her glorious hair spread over his chest. He'd felt her wake up; felt the slight shuffling, the loosened limbs tensing as they, once again, welcomed the world. Felt her eyes fall on him. Felt her chin resting on his heart.

She's stared at him for long minutes ― so long that Sirius almost said to hell with it ― but just as he was about to reveal that he was, in fact, not asleep, she shuffled, lifted his hand. He thought he'd loose his mind when she sat up, brushing against his already hardened erection. He'd almost . . . !

He threw back the covers and shot off the bed. He didn't need to be reminded of the fact.

When Antoinette stepped out of the bathroom a little while later it was to find Sirius straightening the uncooperative collar on his robes. She cleared her throat. "Do you need the bathroom?"

He shook his head.

She stepped in front of him, batted his hands away, then proceeded to fix said uncooperative collar until it stood straight as it was supposed to. "Where are we going today?"

"We're using the fireplace to get to Athens."

"Athens!"

He captured her hands, tugged them down. "Yes. We're going to visit the wizarding establishment there ―"

"And the Acropolis!"

"Erm." His features queried in response to her enthusiasm. "If you want."

"Magnifique," she smiled. "I better pack some muggle clothes." With that said she rushed off, leaving him blinking.

Sirius was tempted to question why there was no awkwardness between them this morning, but his brain was empty. He was too confused to think.

xxxxx

The day past exceedingly quickly.

They did end up visiting the Acropolis, as well as a muggle restaurant where Antoinette insisted Sirius show her how to use the felytone. He'd pointed out he didn't really know either, then embarrassed himself by shouting loudly into the mouthpiece. It was only then that Sirius remembered Lily telling him something about die-ling the numbers, but he had no idea what she'd been talking about. What did die-ling mean? Did he have to kill the felytone in order to talk into it?

Sirius felt guilty for having such a good time when there was a war going on in England, but technically he was working for the Order; trying to maintain a normal existence with Antoinette as his spouse. To avoid the Dark Lord's eyes roaming his way. Yes, he was one of the lucky ones. But he hated it! He wanted to be on the frontline. He wanted death defying duels with Death Eater relatives. He wanted to be involved.

But no, Sirius's honeymoon, marriage and ― to an extent ― Sirius's very life all played a small part in a larger role that the Order of the Phoenix maintained. He was walking a very thin line, one he was asking Antoinette to tread. It wasn't fair of him, especially as she had no idea that he was doing so; that he was part of the Order. She'd thought him a Death Eater ― he'd quickly disabused her of that horrifying conclusion. But had she really been that far off? Both sides were playing a game. A cold war brewed beneath the every day one. Secret messages, neutrals, duplicity, third parties (of which the Ministry could be included) spies upon spies upon spies . . . yes, there might be a spy in the Order.

But who?

A vague prodding intruded, seeping into the logical cells of his brain . . . Sirius shook his shoulders to get rid of it, not allowing himself to complete the thought. It couldn't be. Absolutely preposterous. Stupid. The very idea sent itches of guilt down his spine. Just because Re ― no! Sirius was not a prejudiced.

But there had been whispers; whispers of Voldemort gathering dark creatures to his side (tempting them with everything the Ministry wasn't). Among which were ― don't think about it!

Besides, nobody, even Dumbledore, was sure that there really was a spy. Sirius was more inclined to believe there wasn't. Probably from a false sense of hope, but also because he hadn't been attacked yet. If there really was a spy surely they would have told Voldemort that the reason he'd married Antoinette was so that the Order could be funded?

He should have been dead already if that were the case.

"This is too salty."

The whispered entreaty had him blinking back into reality. Antoinette was staring down at her lamb soup with a slight grimace. He cleared his throat. "I'll have it, then."

She smiled at him, then handed over the bowl.

They had chosen to have dinner in their room that night. They'd both already changed into their night clothes. This time Sirius was not going to pretend to be asleep. He wanted it over and done with as quickly as possible so that he could get some sleep.

As he ate the soup Antoinette slipped beneath the covers. Propping herself on the pillows, she stared at him. Expectantly. Sirius, in a moment of unexpected cowardliness, deliberately slowed his eating. He admitted he still might be a little apprehensive about getting into bed with her. Unfortunately there was only so much soup, and he finished it quickly despite trying otherwise. He fiddled with the cutlery, stacked the plates, moved them to the side table ― and heard his wife sigh, loudly, behind him. Sirius cringed. He was behaving very obviously.

"I'm sorry," he heard himself say.

"Ça ne frait rien," she said very quickly.

Of course Sirius knew very well that it did matter; to her at least. It finally occurred to him that his new wife might be, if not embarrassed, than feeling awkward about their arrangement as well. She probably wanted it over and done with just like he did. She was probably regretting it now.

Sirius was wrong, but he didn't know it.

Antoinette was not feeling apprehensive, and she hardly regretted her decision. No, she wanted to seduce him; had been striving for it since the day of their marriage, two nights ago. And Sirius was making it very difficult for her to even try. Of course when they were kissing it was much easier to get under his skin, to provoke him. But with the way he was acting . . . she thanked Merlin she had made that bargain with him otherwise they never would have kissed, or slept in the same bed, or . . .

She continued staring at him as he slid in next to her, careful not to touch. Oh, he definitely did not like being there. He was very stiff, even in the flowing nightgown (or perhaps partly because of it). She spared a moment to look over that nightgown. It was almost identical to hers, but then, wizard's sleepwear usually was. The only difference being Sirius's was open at the throat and his sleeves were longer.

She touched his arm to get his attention. He tensed, but didn't look at her.

"Ready?"

She wondered if his jaw could get any tighter. He nodded. Once. Then, without a moment's hesitation to reveal what he was about to do, he reached forward, yanked her into his arms, planted his lips over hers, and kissed her. Hard.

For thirty seconds.

When he released her she was dazed. Couldn't think. Couldn't breathe.

"Good night," he said, voice heavily ragged. Then he promptly turned over and pretended to sleep.

Antoinette could only blink.

Well . . . this will not happen tomorrow night, was all she could think. She slid deeper under the covers, still dazed. Her fingers found her tingling lips, and she allowed herself a small smile. There was no pretence about their situation now. Each knew they desired the other. He couldn't expect her not to know now, not with that performance. He was so obvious about it. Then again he could be hoping that she would think it was merely disgust on his part; a disliking of her character that caused him to act like that.

But she knew better.

He was mad for her. So mad that he would do anything to get out of it; anything to try and convince himself that he didn't like her.

She laughed, but only to herself.

Soon . . .

xxxxx

Soon turned out to be not yet.

She hadn't imagined it would be this difficult to persuade him. Four days had past since the second time they had kissed, and she still hadn't moved any further in her pursing, for the simple reason that Sirius never let her. As soon as they got in to bed together he would yank her towards him and proceed to kiss her witless for thirty seconds before turning over and pretending to sleep. She could hardly complain. After all, he wasn't breeching their arrangement. Was, in fact, following it to perfection. But it was so unfair!

She looked at him now ― lounging on the picnic blanket with his hands behind his head. Gorgeous, as usual, attracting every female's attention, as usual. And asleep.

She harrumphed.

Stubborn wizard.

xxxx

Sirius was having a very pleasant dream, at last. To be more precise, he was having a dream. Period.

He knew he was having the dream as he was dreaming, which could account for the lazy smile on his face. Finally! He was actually getting some sleep. He hadn't been able to these past however many nights. Arousal, abrasion, lust, and a number of other reasons could account for that. And here he was, finally sleeping. He chuckled to himself. It felt so bloody good to close his eyes. The dream had him lying on the Potter's sofa with James stretched in much the same fashion on another sofa. They both drank Firewhiskey straight from the bottle. Harry sat between them on the floor playing with his foot. That last was a little odd, but since it was a dream, Sirius's accepted it as the norm.

"D'you think I could go bananas?" James asked him, tipping the bottle back and swallowing half.

Sirius watched him affectionately. "Only if you want to."

"I do want to. I'm sick of all this monotony." He drank down more.

"What monotony? We're in a war."

"Exactly! War is so boring. I wish we could get it over and done with already. Not like you're helping much, being away on your honeymoon. Oh look, I'm out of Firewhiskey . . . so when are you going to give Harry a playmate, oh best friend of mine?"

Sirius stilled. "What d'you mean?"

"I mean," said James, hazel eyes serious, "when are you going to make love to your wife so Harry can finally have someone to play with? You're dying to, you know."

Sirius sighed. "I know." Then he tried explaining that it was pointless. He couldn't make love to his wife because he wouldn't be able to get his annulment, and he desperately wanted that.

James chucked his empty bottle at Sirius's head. Bloody spurted immediately. "Now look what you've made me do. You're so bloody stubborn. What's wrong with being married to Antoinette forever? Don't you love her?"

Sirius's eyes snapped open.

Don't you love her?

He tried shaking away his disturbing thoughts, but the dream still lingered. Hazy, but tempting. He shivered, rolled his shoulders.

"Finally," a voice intruded; a slightly irritated voice. His head shifted. Antoinette was staring down at him from her spot on the blanket. "The sun is almost setting. We should head back."

He sat up, rubbed his neck. "How long was I sleeping?"

"Umm . . . the better part of four hours."

Sirius was impressed. Then he chanced to look his in wife's direction, and froze. She was staring at his neck where he continued rubbing it. As he watched, her eyes flicked down over his body. She let out an appreciative little sigh.

Sirius shot up before he kissed her. "Let's get this packed up."

As they walked back up to the villa from the beach, hands twined together, Antoinette asked him a question. He didn't register it. At all. He was too busy wishing he could bash in the heads of all the village men who were staring at his wife. Specifically her bottom. That was his bottom. They had no business staring at it. He was so jealous that he felt his neck start to heat. How bloody dare they! Didn't they have any propriety whatsoever? To hell with it!

He stopped, dropped the blanket, and cut off Antoinette's "our last day here ―" with a jerk. Then he firmed his lips over hers.

He didn't kiss her hard and fast as he did at night. No, this time he was determined to linger, to draw out the sensuality, to show those bloody men that she was his and that they could all jump in the nearest dung heap because they were not allowed to look at her.

She didn't resist. Didn't think to resist. In fact she kissed him back. Leaned into him, stretched up, and twined her fingers through his hair. Sirius felt those fingers trail down the side of his face, his jaw, before resting, lightly, on his neck.

He shuddered. His own hands were busy trailing the length of her slim back, and down; down to massage, to cup that luscious bottom and bring it up. Their loins rubbed together. She gasped, moaned. He moved his lips slowly over hers, feeling elated when she did the same.

She drew back.

His entire being howled in protest.

She stared into his eyes, traced his lips with her fingertips. He kissed them as they trailed over his bottom lip. Then stopped when he realised what he'd done.

"Not here," she whispered, slightly breathless.

Not here? What did she mean by that? He set her down gently. "You're right." His voice came out in a growl, but Sirius was too aroused and jealous to bother correcting it. "What did you ask me before?"

"Oh." She blinked. "I wanted to confirm that this was our last night in Greece."

He picked up the blanket, took her hand, and began walking. "Yes. We're going to Egypt tomorrow night."

"I cannot wait to see the pyramids," she said, apparently unflustered.

He frowned. He was too busy wondering at her reaction to even think, let alone notice, the men they passed. He did, however, notice the owl that landed on his head just as they were about to step into the villa.

Antoinette burst out laughing.

Sirius was momentarily arrested, never having heard her laugh so heartily before.

"I'm sorry," she offered, catching his gaze. "But it was so unexpected, non?"

"Oui," he murmured, then plucked the owl from his head with both hands. It hooted.

He unwound the letter from its leg and threw it into the air. It flapped away indignantly.

Minutes later they entered their room. Antoinette went to get ready for dinner while Sirius scanned the letter.

There wasn't much to scan.

S,

Urgent meeting. Come now. DON'T loiter.

D.

The letter burst into flames and shrivelled, singeing his hand; the whole process taking only a millisecond.

In the bathroom, as she was about to brush her hair, Antoinette heard a foul expletive ― then jumped when the door banged open.

Sirius stood, clutching his left hand, and looking absolutely . . . something.

"What is it?" she asked, alarmed.

"I can't go to dinner. I have to be somewhere else."

She clutched a hand to her sleeve. "Where could you possibly have to be?" It only occurred to her, just now, that she had never asked where Sirius worked. If he did at all. "Is it work?"

"What?" he looked up. "No―yes! Yes, it's work." He combed fingers through his hair, making it utterly dishevelled. "There's been a . . . circumstance. Urgent. Unavoidable."

"You had better go, if that is the case."

"I am. I just wanted to tell you." They stared at each other. "I'm going now." He made to move.

"Wait!"

He froze. "What?"

"You should change. There is sand all over your robes." She stepped forward and brushed a bit off his shoulder.

His fingers snaked about her wrist, the movement drawing her eyes down. They widened. "What . . . ? How did that happen?"

He tried moving his hand back, but she grabbed it before it could disappear. He hissed. "Ouch!"

"Sorry." She tugged at it, gently. Looked into his eyes, stubbornly. He closed them, and sighed. She smiled. Slowly, gently, she ran a finger over the burn marks on his palm. "How did this happen?"

"The letter burnt itself when I finished reading it," he explained.

"Come with me." She led him into the bathroom. There she rummaged through the draws until she drew out a salve.

"What's that?"

"It is a pasteurised emergency potion." She clipped open the lid, inhaling the lavender scent. Saw him do the same.

"It smells girly."

She blinked and looked at him, unable to believe he had really said that.

He actually blushed when he met her gaze. "That was a bit first year, wasn't it?"

She humphed.

He grinned, then winced as she applied the paste to his burns. Inwardly, she was disconcerted. Who would put a charm on a letter so that it burnt up after the recipient had finished with it? The answer came immediately: the Ministry. She took a peek at her husband's face. Heavy-lidded, dark and handsome, he had never looked more vulnerable; more approachable. Did he really work for the Ministry? If so, what section? It had to be one that required the utmost secrecy. The Department of Mysteries, perhaps?

It suddenly all began to make sense. It was obvious to her now why he had needed to marry her. The Ministry needed his services, his gold, in order to fund their experiments. He and she had played a ruse so that Death Eaters didn't get suspicious as to why he was suddenly marrying. Her face flamed. And she had thought him one of them? He was the exact opposite!

No wonder he'd been furious when she had accused so him vehemently. She had even listed reasons why she'd thought he was . . . Oh!

She was embarrassed, guilty, and angry; angry with him for omitting to tell her where he worked. But of course it was all supposed to be very confidential, and he had never made it a secret that he didn't like her very much. Why should he tell her?

She finished applying the paste, then wrapped his hand up in a bandage.

He inclined his head. "Merci."

"You're welcome."

If her reply was a little frosty her husband didn't notice. He was too busy rushing out of the bathroom to pay any sort of attention to her.

xxxxx

Sirius stumbled out of the fireplace, and managed to right himself before falling flat on his face.

"Sirius," said a quiet voice.

He stilled, then turned, determined not to cast aspersions. Feeling immediate guilt that he'd had to think not to determine. "Remus."

His friend leaned against the threshold of the door to the kitchen. "Everyone's waiting for you . . . what happened to your hand?"

"The letter."

Remus tried to smile. "Didn't let go of it soon enough?"

"Something like that. My wife patched me up."

Moony's eyebrows rose.

"So what's happened?" Sirius asked, falling into step beside him.

Remus stopped and stared. "Haven't you heard?"

Sirius tensed. That sort of tone could only indicate . . . "What? Heard what, Remus?"

The werewolf grimaced. "The whole of wizarding Britain knows. I thought it would've made it to Greece by now . . . but of course it wouldn't ―"

"What?"

He grimaced again, looked down. "I think it's best if Dumbledore told you. Come on."

Sirius discretely glanced at his friend ― and was shocked to note how tired and drawn out he looked. The wave of guilt ― which had been steadily growing since earlier that day ― intensified. Sirius had missed the full moon this month. It had been a few nights before. It looked like Remus still hadn't recovered.

They stepped out of the corridor and into the living room.

Sirius blinked.

The entire Order was assembled. Not just the important figures, but everyone down to the rats. He even noted Arabella Figg (normally not known for pottering out of her neighbourhood) whispering quietly to Lily. No, no he was wrong. There was someone missing. Two someone's.

"What's going on?"

It didn't miss his notice that the atmosphere was dark, heavy, thick with a deep sadness.

He steadied himself. "Who?"

Dumbledore stared at him with tired, old eyes. "Gideon and Fabian."

Sirius sat down, vaguely noting that Remus had done the same next to him. "H-How?"

"It took five Death Eaters. Even though none were captured, the Ministry has haled the Prewett brothers as heroes. They have both received Orders of Merlin which, if all goes to plan, will be passed along to their sister instead of remaining in the Hall of Heroes. The funeral service is two days from now, and I urge all of you to attend ― in disguise if you wish. Their deaths were a heavy victory for The Dark Lord."

Damn Voldemort! He, Sirius, should have been there fighting alongside them. "What do you want me to do?"

Blue eyes, normally twinkling, stared with an intense sadness and . . . guilt? "I'm afraid you cannot continue on with your vacation, my boy. We need you now, Sirius, in our darkest hour. In fact," the headmaster looked around, "we need everyone now. I'm afraid this war has just taken a turn for the worse. Voldemort ―" a barely perceptible shudder traced the room's occupants "― has started recruiting dark creatures to his cause. Among the prominent of which are werewolves; or at least those werewolves who are inclined to follow that particular path. Fenrir Greyback, not surprisingly, is leading them."

Sirius, James, and Peter glanced sharply at Remus, who was staring down at the floor. It had been Greyback who'd bitten Remus when he was only a small child.

"We must act quickly if we are to avoid any more casualties," Dumbledore continued. Then stared at Sirius.

He didn't hesitate. Never did it cross his mind that he would be depriving a bride of her honeymoon, of her husband. Nothing was more important than stopping Voldemort. Even her. "Where do you want me?"

xxxxxx

Translations (those that are needed):

Qu'est-ce que? what?

Merci thank you

A/N: I had such fun writing this chapter, that I want to start the next one straight away. Hopefully it'll be up shortly. I wanted to continue this chapter so badly, but it wasn't realistic. This seemed the perfect place to end it. I'm afraid the following part is just going to have to go in the next chapter. There are too many things happening in this one.

Happy Reading.