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: WOW! I am thoroughly bewildered at all the fantastic reviews I received for the last chapter. You have no idea how much you guys lift my spirits. I'm sure without them the reviews I would have hesitated to start writing this chapter. But here it is! And sooner than I had anticipated. Thank you all again!

This chapter has some definite, definite M-age. I've never written as much M-age as I have in this chapter.

Enjoy.

xxxxxx

Chapter Ten: In Which Sirius Does Something.

The meeting had lasted well into the early morning. The atmosphere — sombre, and nobody ventured to say anything of interest once most of the Order had left to their respective pursuits. Dumbledore still sat at the head of the table, looking more and more like a cross between the oldest man on earth and the wisest. Gaze knowing, and tired, and filled with the weight of the world.

His was not the only one that adopted that look.

A hand clapped Sirius's shoulder. "You right?"

He rubbed his eyes. "If I said yes, I'd be lying. If I said no, I'd also be lying."

"How 'bout you say maybe?"

"All right, then . . . Maybe."

James didn't bother pursuing the conversation along that vein anymore. Didn't mean he was going to stop talking. "How's it been the past week?"

How has it been? One word came to mind: Frustrating. "Better than I had expected. We hardly get on each other's nerves now."

Dumbledore watched them.

Sirius wished he wouldn't.

"What are you going to do now?" asked Peter, reaching forward to take a sip of tea.

The gesture was so ordinary, that Sirius was momentarily arrested. It shouldn't be like that. The world felt unordinary at the moment, as if he were living through a haze of strangeness. Nothing seemed right.

"What do you mean, Wormt —?" James trod hard on his foot. "Pete! What do you mean, Pete!" Sirius glanced discretely at Dumbledore, but the headmaster was dunking a biscuit into the cup before him and seemed not to have noticed Sirius's mistake.

"I mean, what are you going to do with Antoinette Le Creux?"

"Black."

"Eh?"

"Black," Sirius corrected once more. "Her name is Antoinette Black."

Lips tightening, Peter looked down into his cup.

Sirius sighed, knowing his tone had been sharp. But still, Wormtail was taking it a bit bloody personally in his opinion. "I'm sorry, Peter. I just . . ."

"He's just being a wart," Remus injected.

James stifled a snort.

Sirius drummed his fingers on the table and looked around dully. He had no idea why he'd decided to stay back after the meeting. Every one else had left, even Lily, who'd went to take Harry home. James, Remus, and Peter had, inevitably, decided to stay behind also, even if they hadn't known why. All Sirius knew was that Dumbledore usually stayed behind after meetings, to make sure that everything was once more secure. Had he wanted to talk to the headmaster? Was that why he had stayed behind? Did he need the old professor's advice?

He settled with stating, "I have to tell my wife something," and hoped someone would comment on it.

To his relief Dumbledore, after polishing off the biscuit, cleared his throat. "Not the truth, I hope, Sirius."

Then again, perhaps he wouldn't help. "She'd been under the impression that I was a Death Eater."

Peter jumped, plashing tea over the table. Everyone else looked shocked.

Sirius grimaced. "Of course I explained otherwise as soon as I'd learned of it. Merlin alone knows what she's gotten into her head now. I can't tell her the truth, but, perhaps something close to the truth? Something to explain why we have to cut short our vacation?" He directed that last at Dumbledore.

The long white beard shone almost too dully in the candlelight as the headmaster leaned back in his chair. "Tell her that you work for the Ministry. Say you are helping in the war against Voldemort. That isn't far from the truth."

"I've decided we're not going to be living together," Sirius blurted.

James, Remus, and Peter stared at him.

Dumbledore merely narrowed his eyes.

Sirius flushed. "I don't know why I just said that."

"That is your prerogative, Sirius. Your wife, your life. I cannot interfere, I have done so enough already."

Sirius raised his head sharply at the guilt in the old man's voice. "The Ministry idea . . . that sounds good, Dumbledore. Only, what if she wants proof?"

The professor looked thoughtful. "If you do not object to the idea, Sirius, I shall conjure a license for you. It will be illegal, of course, and highly dishonest, but something tells me you will not protest the fact."

Shrugging his shoulders, Sirius smiled. "It wouldn't bother me."

"I thought not."

After several more minutes of discussion, where Sirius and Dumbledore finalised the very 'legal' document stating that Sirius was now a full-fledged Ministry official, the Hogwarts' Headmaster and the four young men left the little cottage in the country by flooing or apparating to their separate destinations. This would be the last, or second to last, night of respite they had before the really dangerous missions were put upon them; of which spying was one of the top most.

Sirius would be spying most of the time ― as in lurking behind bushes, garden statues, and back alleyways sort of spying. He was too well known to do the other kind; the kind that crooks like Mundungus Fletcher could pull off as easily as they could swipe a silver spoon from out of Lily's cutlery box; the kind where Alice Longbottom could masquerade as a cold-hearted, venomous witch. They just weren't as well known in Dead Eater circles as Sirius. Everyone knew that Sirius had disowned his parents, his family, his house, just to fight on Dumbledore's side.

Everyone knew that Sirius was a blood traitor.

And he couldn't be happier. The only problem with this was that he couldn't do any useful, information-gathering spying. He could merely skulk in the shrubbery outside some suspected Death Eater's house in Padfoot form and watch who went in and out, what parties were going on, and if any licentious scheme was being concocted in the fourth room on the third floor, which wasn't very helpful as Padfoot could not climb trees, and Sirius could not hover to look through the window because most pureblood mansions were drowning in wards; wards that would alert their recipients immediately upon being triggered by unfamiliar magic.

It was ruddy frustrating.

Sighing morosely, he stepped out of the fireplace. He had not wanted to use the suite's floo. Awakening Antoinette was not something he had been looking forward to. Better to let her sleep now and deal with her in the morning than to risk seeing her dejected face when he explained that they wouldn't be living together . . . He had his proof if she asked for it, tucked tightly into the pocket against his chest. He patted it now almost absently, relieved to hear the slight crackling of parchment.

Dumbledore had done well. As always. There had been no doubt.

Throwing a nod to the barman — who nodded back, familiar already with Sirius's face — he trod up the stairs, arrowed down the corridor, and carefully, carefully, stepped into his — their room.

Once again all the candles had been extinguished, but dawn was only an hour or so away and a faint hazy light misted in through the only window in the room. Sirius carefully avoided looking at the bed while he changed into his nightrobe.

When had life gotten so complicated? He'd never before cared whether he lied to someone or not — not when it concerned the Order and the wellbeing of the muggle and wizarding populations. These were hard and dangerous times, and lying was more often than not healthier to all the parties involved. But being forced, out of necessity, to lie to his spouse, to Antoinette . . . He shivered unconsciously, and slipped in beside her. Looked at the bulbous curls they lay draped over the pillows — the only bit of her that he could see.

There was just something very . . . uncomfortable about that.

X

When Sirius awoke it was past noon; the bed, empty. He groaned, feeling almost like he'd been deprived of a favoured sweet, and burrowed into the pillows, inhaling his wife's exotic perfume. He'd fallen asleep with that perfume in his nostrils, a thick permeating fog drifting glug-like through his senses, his body, his bloody erection; which still hadn't in the slightest diminished. He shifted a bit to ease the ache, but that only made it worse. His nightgown — which that Gladrag's witch had assured him was the softest of silks — felt suddenly like sand paper, chafing against that most sensitive area.

He supposed he could always just take care of the problem, Merlin knew he needed the release.

"Fuck." He threw back the covers, disgusted. He must be getting really desperate if he was thinking about doing that. He hadn't had to embarrass himself in that way since before his first sexual experience. He'd had no need of the activity after that.

What she reduces me to . . .

Shaking his head, he went for the shower. An ice cold one.

Ten minutes later Sirius, vigorously towelling dry his hair, stepped out of the bathroom and stared, stupidly, at the empty room.

Antoinette was still missing.

Now he became irritated. He wanted her there! In the room. With him. Where she bloody belonged. Where she should have been when he woke up! It was their honeymoon! What could she possibly have to do? She shouldn't be allowed to go off whenever she pleased, and without telling him too! He needed to talk to her. Explain that they would not be going to Egypt. Explain that he had important work to do. Time was wasting!

He paced about furiously for a couple of seconds (still not really understanding why he was so furious), before tripping backwards over the uplifted corner of the Mycenaean rug.

Landed hard on his buttocks. "Oof!"

And blinked.

Slowly.

Felt a bubble of something ignite up in his throat, rise, before it erupted; spilling in great gales of chuckling, which ceased only after his stomach began to hurt. "What a bloody day." A week ago he couldn't get rid of her fast enough. Now he was upset that she wasn't around.

He was still chuckling at his folly when Antoinette walked in a minute later.

His laughter stopped as the breath left his body. Sirius wondered just when, or if, he would ever get used to her presence and the affect she had on him. As though every time he saw her, gazed upon her, was the first time. She had amazing bone structure, and the combination of gold-pale hair, silk for skin, maroon lips, dark blue eyes, her unusual though no less desirable height combined to make her the most beautiful woman in the world. His wife. Whom he could not stop lusting over, could not stop wanting as surely as he needed to breathe.

"Why are you on the floor?" He heard the confusion in her voice.

"I fell." His tone was a low, husky growl (purely unwitting on his part), and he saw now that she shivered from it.

And what that did to him . . . He shot up, determined to have the higher ground in their alterations.

Her pretty eyes widened at his fast movement, but all she said was, "Ah."

"I have to talk to you." Growl.

She shivered again, but her eyes were wary. "All right."

"Let's go to the sofa."

"All right."

They stared at each other for a few minutes, before moving; sat hesitantly on either end of the white sofa. Before Sirius could start talking a house elf popped in.

"Will sir and madam be needing anything?"

The hopeful little voice made him smile. "If you have any butterbeer I'll be much obliged . . . Toni?"

"Coffee please. Black."

Eyes shining with pure pleasure at being able to assist, the little elf popped out as quickly as he had popped in. Three seconds later another pop signalled its (his?) return, and Antoinette and Sirius could see that he had not only brought them their orders, but also a plateful of biscuits and cakes.

"Yasu, Creosus," his wife said, and reached for the coffee.

The elf, Creosus, smiled wildly and popped back out.

Sirius told himself not to be surprised at all this. Not to be surprised by the fact that his wife had befriended the help. His pureblood, aristocrat wife. A wave of something tangible encompassed him. He still really didn't know anything about her, did he? What kind of person she was. He was reminded, with a sudden jolt of reality, that they had only really known each other for one week, which seemed a very short amount of time when one thought about it.

He watched her sip with the utmost etiquette. Personally, Sirius had never been a fan of black coffee. It was such a raw drink, in his opinion, more suited to people like Snape.

Not wanting to think about Snape and his wife in the same sentence, let alone that they had anything in common — the thought bought forth a mental shudder — he opened his mouth to begin . . . but couldn't. The image of Snape was stuck in his head. Now the image of Toni accompanied it. Quite without meaning to, all the while trying desperately to stop himself, he pictured them together. In bed. Naked.

And shuddered.

This made him even more irritated. Now he was disgusted at himself for imagining the whole thing to begin with. He was also, incredible though it was to him, jealous. Of nothing. Of a stupid thought that he hadn't the sense to cease before it could be completed. But he had completed it, hadn't he? And now the image would stay with him, haunt him, for who knows how long.

"Hell."

"What is it?"

Sirius gulped down some butterbeer to avoid looking at her, cheeks hot with embarrassment at what he had been thinking. "Just had an unpleasant thought, is all."

"There was something you wished to discuss?"

"Yes." He paused, licked his lip, knowing he would have to tread carefully from now on. Word everything exactly so as not to cause suspicion. "You remember the letter I received yesterday?"

She nodded. "The one that burned your hand. How is it, by the way?"

"Couldn't be better, thanks for asking."

Sirius frowned in puzzlement. What in ruddy hell were they doing? Since the beginning their relationship had never been formal. Each knew where they stood with the other on the scale of things. Why was she starting now? He found he disliked it intensely. None of that showed in his next words, however.

"I don't know if you know, but I work for the Ministry," his explained, face perfectly straight. "I've just been informed that two of my colleges have died. Good men, excellent wizards. They shouldn't have . . . Anyway, the war with the Dark Lord has escalated, Antoinette, and I'll be needed. Unfortunately we're going to have to cut short our honeymoon. As of right now."

"Well of course we must!" she gasped, surprising him. He had thought she would at least protest a little. Perhaps sulk . . . Immediate guilt threatened. That wasn't fair of him. He had known for a week now that her personality came nowhere near to that. She was no more spoiled than he was.

He had to learn to give her the benefit of the doubt. He had to learn more about her. He wasn't surprised that he was looking forward to doing so. His feelings had been changing drastically during the course of the week. For one, he did not dislike her anymore. Could not dislike her anymore. In fact, he realised suddenly and with great surprise, that she had become somewhat like his friend. A friend he wished to make crazy sweaty love to, but still . . . a friend. Or perhaps not that far yet. An almost friend.

Sirius couldn't do more than blink at this revelation. "I'm glad you're not upset."

"Why should I be? Innocent lives are at stake, non? Of course you must go and help." She stood. "I'll go and pack."

"Wait, Toni, there's something . . ."

She turned at his words, eyes narrowed. "Oui?"

He stared into them, highly conscious that he was going to sound like a complete and utter bastard. And he felt like it, too. As he stared at her beautiful face, looking so wide eyed, innocent, expecting . . . The words died on his lips.

What could it hurt, he thought wryly, for them to live together for the next week? Technically, they would still be on their honeymoon. And he had also promised to kiss her and sleep by her side every day, though she had never specified for how long. Yes, he would tell her after the week was over. Then she could go to his mother, to Grimmauld Place.

It never did occur to Sirius that maybe he wanted to keep her with him for other reasons. Reasons that had nothing to do with propriety and promises. "Nothing," he smiled. "You just go and pack."

xxxxxx

Her first glimpse of the house, as she stepped out of the floo, was: moderate.

Sirius stood waiting beside the fireplace, gently tugging at the trunk in her hand.

She let him have it. "And this is Grimmauld Place?"

A dark brow creased in puzzlement. "You thought . . . didn't I tell you before? I have my own house. Bequeathed to me by my late Uncle Alphard." His arm waved in an elegant gesture. "Welcome to my humble abode."

"Hardly humble." Antoinette murmured politely, only too relieved that she wouldn't have to live with Sirius's mother. The woman was beyond repulsive.

Taking her hand with his — Antoinette stared in surprise at the seemingly unconscious gesture — Sirius led her through the two storey house, showing her the kitchen, the drawing room, everything on the bottom floor. The brief glimpses she'd had out of the passing windows revealed a plentiful countryside, dotted with misty dark hills, low heavy clouds, and dew-filled trees.

The house was certainly a lot smaller than she was used to.

Antoinette did not tell her husband that.

At the end of the tour, the general impression she had was of a typical bachelor's residence, preceded by a certain old wizard glamour — the previous owner's influence no doubt.

"Where is it located?" she asked when Sirius stopped in the kitchen to make tea.

He reached for two cups out of the top cupboard, answering, "About an hour outside of London. Now where the bloody hell is that . . ." but Antoinette did not hear anymore. Whatever breath she held in her body had long since dispersed.

He had chosen to wear muggle clothes today. In fact, the very same ones she had first glimpsed him in. As he bent over to reach for the kettle, the course blue fabric stretched most decadently over his taut buttocks.

How she wanted to touch him there. No, not just touch him; she wanted to knead those naked mounds of muscle. Fill her palms until they were overflowing with heated flesh. Just thinking about it made her hot. Flushed. That expected swirling rushed through her body, her breasts, ending only when it reached that secret place between her thighs. She shifted in her seat at the table, and looked down to hide her glowing cheeks, to hide the pure lust in her eyes. Mon Dieu she was almost panting! Licking her dry lips, she attempted conversation. "What do you do at the Ministry exactly?"

He stiffened, straightened, but did not turn. Filling the kettle up with water, he placed it on the stove, then consented to speak. "I'm an Unspeakable." He glanced back at her, grey eyes full of warning. "Which means I'm not allowed to speak about anything I do with anyone other than another Unspeakable. Ministry regulation. Sorry."

His tone had lightened on that last word and this more than anything made her realise how very careful he was being. Likely, he had told her too much as it was. If he'd told her any more he would have gone to prison. "I understand. My father is also employed by the French Ministry, and so is Jean-Francois. Not an Unspeakable, but fairly high all the same."

Sirius frowned, and pored in the hot water. "Remind me of him again?"

"At our reception, you told him off."

A dangerous grin replaced the frown. "Ah, yes. I remember now. He's taken my advice to heart, I hope."

"Since the only other option was for his bits to be boiled in tomato paste, I am quite certain that he has."

They both smiled.

Then Sirius placed the mug of boiling tea before her and took the seat opposite. "I know you don't take sugar, but if you want milk or anything . . ."

"No, thank you."

He cleared his throat, took a sip, then cradled the mug in his hands. "I want you to know that I'm still going to follow your stipulation, Toni. Meaning I'll still kiss you and sleep by your side."

She sipped. What was he doing? "Go on."

"But you have to understand that, like last night, I may get called away at any given time. I may not even be here at night."

"That goes without saying, Sirius. And you do not have to worry; I will not hold it against you."

His faced relaxed at her words. "Thank you. And this brings be to my next point."

Her brows rose. "Oh?"

He looked into her eyes. "There are two master bedrooms in this house. Would you like one?"

"You mean one that isn't yours?"

He nodded. "Understand that I'm not backing out of our agreement, but I thought you might want your own space."

"And if I do not?"

This gave him pause, as if he couldn't imagine why she wouldn't want her own room. The man really didn't know how she felt about him. "That's still all right," he said slowly.

"Good, because I want to sleep with you."

They flushed instantly; both thinking of another term that word could be applied to. When Antoinette pulled her wits together she saw that her husband's gaze had dropped to her mouth. Dieu, he really was easy to provoke in that way.

"What I mean is, I have become used to feeling you next to me."

"Oh," he murmured, still staring. "That's good."

She licked her lips. His own hardened. Then, without thought, he set the mug of hot tea to his mouth, and gulped down the whole thing.

A second later the cup smashed to the floor as he started choking violently; face red, eyes watery, hand holding his throat.

Antoinette jumped from her seat and scurried to his side. "You stupid man! Open your mouth." She murmured a spell as soon as he complied. Ice cold healing water spurted out of her wand and into his mouth, down his throat. He gulped greedily.

She hugged him to her as soon as he could take no more. Sirius laughed weakly into her shoulder, arms encircling her waist. "I've never done that before."

"You idiot." Antoinette shivered at the fright she had received. He had literally poured boiling water down his throat! She never wanted to feel that way again. "Do you feel better?"

"Hmm, much." His breath ghosted over her neck. "I ought to learn that spell." He chuckled suddenly. "You know, the only reason I did that was because I'd gotten so used to drinking alcohol lately. It's become an impulse for me to tip back whenever something was on my mind that I disagreed with."

She stiffened. "And what had you disagreed with?"

He lifted his head to look at her. They were now so close that only a centimetre separated them. "I was furious with myself."

She frowned, puzzled. "Why?"

"Because I wanted you, and I didn't like it."

Her heart soared, her stomach whirled, her eyes widened. He had just admitted to trying to fight her allure, and losing. "Oh . . . I cannot believe you admitted to that."

His brow was creased thoughtfully. "Actually, you know, neither can I. It must be that whole near death experience thing." He inched her to him. "Besides, it's not like we both don't know it. You're a very beautiful woman, as I'm sure you're well aware. I'd have to be blind and stupid not to be attracted to you."

She slapped his shoulder. "Do not joke about that."

"Joke about what? My wanting you or my dying?" Now they were chest to chest.

"You dying, of course! How you can think about anything else at a time like this . . ." She broke off, frustrated.

"Why? Would you miss me if I died?"

The man really was stupid. "Oui, oui, oui!"

He stared for a moment, then burst out in delighted laughter.

"What is it now?"

Sirius shook his head. "You just reminded me of this muggle nursery rhyme Lily sings to Harry. There're these five pigs . . . never mind, it's nothing important. You know, I still owe you a kiss for last night."

"Oh?" She fiddled with his collar. "I had forgotten."

He seemed amused. "I'm sure."

"I did forget! You almost died, remember?"

"Let's not talk about that now, luv," and he leaned forward — not a lot, since they were almost touching as it was — and kissed her.

She relaxed into it immediately, even wrapped her arms loosely about his neck. There was no rush to this kiss. It was sensual, yes, but it was also very lazy. As if he had all the time in the world to play with her. Incredibly, this made her even more aroused.

For the first time he brought his tongue into play. He lapped at her lips first; lapped and licked and traced until he had covered every sweet inch of them. Only then did he seek. Moist silk traced, languid, around the inside of her mouth, then dipped, withdrew, and plunged. Dipped, withdrew, and plunged. Again and again and again! He even caught her tongue between his lips at one point and suckled on it strongly. Erotically. By this time Antoinette was sitting on his lap and gripping his hair as she kissed him with abandon. She noted the hard rise of flesh between her bottom cheeks and wriggled upon it, instinctively easing her own ache.

He tore away from her, head thrown back. Groaning. "I . . . I think that's enough for now."

Disappoint hit her like a wave; tumbling and heavy and aching. But she was thrilled to see that he was panting, that his eyes were glazed over with passion. She knew her own face reflected the same. "Yes. Yes you're right." She leaned toward him once more and touched her swollen lips to his. "Thank you for keeping your promise."

"You're very much welcome." His eyes, though still glazed with the remanence of passion, were gentle. "Now let's get our stuff upstairs."

She inched to her feet, legs a touch wobbly, reluctant to let go of the feel of his hard body against hers. Felt his arms slide, slowly, off of her waist.

Heard him sigh.

He stood and, just as she was about to walk onward, yanked her to him once more and gave her one, violent, kiss. "Sorry," he breathed, after releasing her. "I had to do that."

Sirius could not tell her the reason was because he had seen her looking so disappointed; because he had seen how even more lush her lips had become. He hadn't been able to resist. As it turned out he was glad he had done it, because she was looking dazed once more. Smirking in male satisfaction, he twined his fingers with hers. Shrinking their trunks he pocketed them, and led her upstairs.

He was through pretending. The heavy feeling that had been building somewhere in the vicinity of his chest had finally eased. It was all out in the open now — everything he hadn't been able to tell her, and he felt immensely relieved.

Strangely, neither of them had seemed to notice or care at his unexpected admittance. It was as if they had already known; which, in all honesty, they had. But it felt bloody good to have it out in the open finally. He just hoped she never told him the same, even though he knew she felt that way. Otherwise, Sirius didn't think he would be able to withhold from making love to her. Even just thinking about hearing her say she wanted him had him itching to lift her into his arms and carry her all the way to bed.

"This is our room." He released her hand to open the door. "Hope you're not too disappointed."

She was not. Definitely not. The room was frightfully large in comparison to the rest of the house. So large, in fact, that Antoinette was convinced that magic had been used to extend it. Done entirely in rich stone like the other rooms, the bedroom gave credence yet again to her old wizard bachelor theory. Sirius must not have even changed it when he had relocated here.

The bedroom was actually divided into two sections separated by a kind of archway extending majestically over the ceiling in patterned swirls. Sofas and armchairs and great windows and bookcases made up one section (a sort of inbuilt drawing room), while a gigantic four-poster took up quite most of the other section, with yet more sofas, armchairs, and windows thrown in for good measure as well as a walk-in closet and bathroom. One huge stone fireplace was planted directly in the centre of the two rooms. Tables and writing tables sat strategically at the corners or beside armchairs. She could well imagine an old wizard, still in his sleeping clothes, sitting down to pen letters there. Perhaps enjoying a cup of hot tea.

That reminded her. "Are you certain that you are all right?" she asked her husband, who had been busy levitating her clothes into the walk-in cupboard while Antoinette had perused the room.

"My throat's a little sore, but other than that . . ." he shrugged. "Nothing to get alarmed over."

"Good."

He smiled at her words. She smiled seeing him. It disappeared with his next sentence. "I have to leave now."

"Of course," she said, though she had not expected him to do so straight away. She had at least thought he would get a whole day's respite.

He crossed to her now, dark blue robes swishing in his wake. Took her by the shoulders. "I might see you tonight, if you stay up late."

She was not going to miss another one of his kisses if she could help it. "What should I do until then?"

Brow lifting in amusement, he pretended to think. "You could try cooking something for me. I don't have a house elf, you know . . . well I do but he lives with my mother. Is my mother's, actually. Slimy little snot, his only ambition is to get his head chopped off and put on the wall next to his mother's."

But Antoinette had not listened to any of that. Panic threatened to overwhelm her. What would Sirius say if she told him she didn't know how to cook, except for a measly soufflé? "Sirius, I . . ."

He noticed her hesitancy, her lowered eyes, her blush. A second brow went up to join the first. "Don't tell me you don't know how to cook."

"There was never any need," she defended haughtily. "I had three house elves. Besides, I know how to make soufflé."

He laughed. "I was only teasing you, Toni. I can always stop by The Leaky Cauldron and eat there."

Hearing that, Antoinette felt absolutely horrid. What sort of a wife was she? Of course she would learn how to cook for him, if only to debunk any vicious rumours that were sure to circulate in said pub if Sirius went to eat there; rumours about how she obviously wasn't a good wife if he went somewhere else for dinner. Oh, how she wished more than anything that she could have become employed before she'd met Sirius. At least then she wouldn't feel like such a nuisance, such a bother to him; so dependant on him and his money.

"Non, do not do that! I shall cook for you."

"Are you sure? I mean, it isn't a hardship for m —"

"I am quite sure," she interjected.

"All right, then. But you still can't spend your days just cooking. I mean there are books here, but still that's not —"

"I want to work." She was so excited. Sirius was one of those modern wizards, not stuck with ancient tradition. Surely he, unlike her parents, wouldn't object to her finding employment.

"What?"

She failed to note his suddenly tense tone.

"Perhaps at the Ministry, oui? You can put in a good . . ."

Antoinette continued to speak, but Sirius tuned her out. Over my dead body! he thought vehemently. The thought of his beautiful-beyond-words Antoinette being ogled at, gawked at, leered at, propositioned by those Ministry fools; propositioned by Death Eaters masquerading as employees . . . No! No, no and no! He became enraged just thinking about it. And they would proposition her, there was absolutely no doubt. She was a prime catch. Incredibly beautiful, mannerly and, not to forget, pure-blooded. If Sirius were a Death Eater he'd snatch her up, married or not.

Plus, he didn't want Voldemort's snakey eyes turning her way. The Dark Lord knew about her now through Death Eater gossip, but if she made herself actually available to be approached, without him, Sirius, there to protect her . . .?

He would never ever forgive himself.

"No!" he shouted, interrupting her speech.

She blinked up at him, hair still skewed from their earlier bout of kissing.

"No. You're not going to find work."

Again, she blinked, then frowned. "What?"

"You heard me. You are to stay here. I'll not have my wife propositioned."

Her nose crinkled in confusion. "What on earth are you on about? Stop being so ridiculous, and —"

"Ridiculous?" Now he was furious with her. Couldn't she see he was only trying to protect her? How dare she throw that back in his face? "You're the one being ridiculous!"

"Let go of me now!"

Let go of her? He realised suddenly that he was gripping her by her upper arms, was actually on the verge of shaking her in order to make her listen. "Sorry." He released her, then winced upon registering the creases his fingers had made in the fabric. God, he hadn't meant to hurt her. He winced even more when she rubbed at those creases. He had possibly bruised her. What a complete bastard he was.

"Why?" she asked, wide eyes miserable.

Guilt scorched him. "Why what?" he grunted.

"Why will you not permit me to work?"

"Because . . ."

Her eyes softened at his lost tone. "Because what?"

He raked his hair. "Because I don't want you to get hurt."

"How does that matter?"

"I know you aren't stupid, luv. You're a very beautiful woman, and the Ministry is full of very dangerous — ugly — men. I won't be there to protect you."

She seemed puzzled. "But I thought you worked at the Ministry?"

Damn it! "I meant I won't always be there. I work in The Department of Mysteries after all. We keep to ourselves most of the time."

She considered this. Even tipped her head very briefly to the side, as if trying to determine his real motives. "Very well, not the Ministry then. Somewhere else."

"Perhaps."

Her eyes narrowed at that, but she didn't make comment.

"I'm going now."

Her shoulders slumped. "Oh."

Reaching forward almost without thought, he skimmed his finger over her jaw and lifted her chin. "I really am sorry, Toni." Then he bent down and touched his lips to hers.

Then, with an enormous crack that echoed rather ominously through the room, he disapparated.

Antoinette was left feeling very confused.

xxxxxx

Thump. Knead. Cough.

Flour spattered into the air as Antoinette repeatedly punched the dough. Finding a cooking book in this house had been a nightmare — Sirius's uncle apparently only interested in magic and non-magic philosophical marvels — and when she finally did find something it had turned out to be a muggle one.

A pot roast had been her first experiment. That was now lying in the rubbish, charred, because she had thought to be clever and use her wand to cook it. Potatoes were her second attempt. That, thankfully, had worked out, but only because she had witnessed it done before. She had even remembered to use magic to peel them.

She should not have attempted bread.

What should have been a smooth ball of dough was instead bits of rough . . . bits. Hundreds of them.

"Oh well," she tried consoling herself, even as she felt her eyes grow hot. "It's only my first try."

Then she burst into tears. Inwardly horrified that she should display such indecorous behaviour — for, had she not been raised differently? — Antoinette quickly dried her eyes with the end of a napkin. The only excuse she could give herself, even though it was only that, was that of frustration. The result of trying to please her husband, trying to make him pleased with her.

It behoved her to admit it — and even though she was alone, brought a bright blush to her cheeks — but she wanted Linear there. Or any house elf would do. She was just selfish that way. As long as she didn't have to do anymore work. And she realised instantly that she would have to do more work. She, Antoinette, would have to be the house elf. Cleaning, sweeping, gardening, washing, cooking . . . a house elf's job had never looked more strenuous, and she suddenly pitied Linear, Lime, and Cartone, the Le Creux family house elves.

The idea of doing all that was horrifying. She had never thought of herself as snobby, but now . . .

Logically, she realised that if she practised she would get better — after all, she had managed to make roast potatoes — but that day seemed eons away.

Antoinette had a sudden, horrid thought: what would Sirius think? Especially when I turn the house into a pigsty by my lack of house-wifely knowledge. Or should that be house-elfy?

Oh, it made her want to cry all over again!

"I'm so useless." With a flick of her wand the bench, table, and stove were clear of any mess. "Well," she amended, "perhaps not that useless."

She ate her potatoes mournfully.

Later, she sat in the drawing room, sipping a black coffee. That was two already in one day. Not a very promising start. She set down the little cup and lifted her eagle feather quill.

Dearest Family,

The quill paused. What could she say? Advice in duties of the home could only be given by those who were expert at said duties. But those experts were house elves, and Antoinette couldn't very well write to them.

Could she?

No, no. She could not. An absolutely preposterous idea, crossing the boundaries of slave and master in such a blatant fashion. The elves would likely faint at such lack of propriety on her part. They knew their place, and that was not to stand idly by reading letters from their former mistress. But . . . supposing her parents asked Linear for her? That could work.

As she penned the letter, she thought of her husband and his violently bizarre reaction to her interests in finding a job.

He was jealous.

It hadn't taken her long to figure that out, in fact just two seconds, which was why she had forgiven him straight away for his arrogant male outburst. Of whom he was jealous . . . Antoinette had come to the conclusion that it was every male under perhaps ninety-five.

He wanted her.

Had actually admitted to it.

Her mind still couldn't wrap itself around that. Likely she needed a few days to digest the fact, before openly embracing it. It was only recently, after all, that she had seen the nicer side of Sirius. The old Sirius would never have admitted to wanting her.

. . . so you see my predicament. Sirius, being estranged from his mother, was not even permitted one elf of his own. I do not blame him in the least for this. I lay everything at his mother's feet, for I'm sure you have not forgotten what a vicious harridan she is. I certainly haven't. I know it may seem demeaning asking a house elf for advice, but do recall that I want to make a good impression for my husband. Surely you do not want to embarrass me? Surely you do not wish for me to live in an unclean house?

Your loving daughter,

Antoinette.

That would certainly get their attention. Her parents could not abide slovenliness, and would be suitably horrified at the 'conditions' their daughter was forced to live in. Yes, they would listen to her. Along with exaggerating her circumstance, Antoinette had also lied a little. The Black's only owned one house elf after all.

She folded the letter up, stood . . . and realised with a sinking heart that Sirius did not own an owl.

"Incredible."

There was nothing for it. She would simply have to apparate to Diagon Alley and rent an International Post Owl.

Or I can just floo home and speak to Maman and Papa in person . . .

That seemed too daunting a prospect.

"Diagon Alley it is."

xxxxx

"No, a small one will do. It shall only have to fly to France, after all. That is not a terribly long way when one thinks about it."

"Of course not, dear," said the elderly witch absentmindedly, taking her quill in hand to jot down the information. "Perseus'll be perfect for you. That'll be two sickles, then. Would you like to purchase anything else? We've a nice new melting wax just come in yesterday. Guaranteed to keep your letter folded. All those mid-flight winds, you know, they tend to get a bit nasty if your owl's not careful. Wouldn't want your letter to end up in Timbuktu." The witch permitted herself a small chuckle.

"No, thank you." Really, the things wizards came up with these days. What was stick-grip parchment for if not to help keep letters tied to the birds?

The witch simply shrugged and shouted, "Perseus!" A tawny barn owl flew down to land on the wooden perch positioned on the counter. Antoinette tied her letter to the owl's leg. Perseus spread his large wings, leaped into the air, and flapped out of the great hole in the shop's ceiling.

Twenty minutes later found her wandering Diagon Alley. A feeling of morbidness overwhelmed her. Most shops were closed — scared, perhaps, of the Dark Lord's lidless gaze turning their way. Already she had bypassed the Quidditch store, thought briefly of buying something for Sirius, before dismissing the idea. She knew he liked Quidditch. What she didn't know was if he had the items she'd thought to purchase. It turned out she needn't have bothered even thinking of buying anything, as the store had a large CLOSED sign charmed stuck to its display window.

It was as she past Gladrags that she bumped into someone walking out, or rather, some thing.

A stroller.

A baby wailed as a shrill voice intruded. "Now look what you've done, you stupid woman!"

A pale-haired witch dashed around the stroller and picked up the wailing baby.

Antoinette simply stared. She had done nothing but walk past the shop. The other woman was the one who'd rammed the stroller into her.

"Are you all right, Drakey?" The woman cooed to the baby. "Mummy's not going to let her hurt you again."

Drakey?

A conversation from two weeks past drifted through Antoinette's thoughts.

"And this is my niece, Narcissa. Beautiful, isn't she. Not quite as stunning as you, but then I don't imagine many people are . . . Except my traitor child of course. Have a biscuit, Antoinette."

"No thank you, Madame, I am quite —"

"Don't be stupid, child! Tom serves a good plate."

Antoinette reached for a biscuit.

"And this is her son, Draco," said Mrs Black, gesturing to the picture in the album. "And her husband, Lucius. Prime pureblood. He's a Death Eater, you know," she added, proudly.

Antoinette fought not to choke as she swallowed the biscuit.

Narcissa. That explained the woman's rudeness. Antoinette had been very relieved when neither she nor her husband had turned up at the wedding.

Not wanting to linger any more than was necessary, Antoinette sidestepped the stroller and continued walking.

Narcissa glared at her. "How dare you!"

How dare I? Antoinette turned coolly, raised a haughty brow. "I assure you, Mrs Malfoy, the accident was no fault of mine."

"I hope you aren't implying it was my — you're French!"

"I do have a slight accent."

"That's not what I meant. You're Antoinette!"

Antoinette merely raised her brow higher. "I know that."

Narcissa flushed, looked down. "Yes, Auntie Black told us all about you." Her expression indicated a kind of sneering pleasure. "French. Pureblood. How dreadful for you to be stuck with Sirius. But delightful for us. Of course you must come to dinner one of these days."

That offer was so incongruous to the woman's previous behaviour, that Antoinette merely continued staring.

This unsettled Narcissa, because she flushed once more. "I must apologise to you about the, er, accident. If I'd known it was you, of course I would never have . . ." she frowned, stopped, a calculating gleam in her eye. "But, I thought you were honeymooning with Sirius at the moment?"

Not once did Antoinette forget that Narcissa's husband, and possibly Narcissa herself, were Death Eaters. She would never betray Sirius to them, whether intentionally or not. "We still are," she lied. "I left a few of my things at the Leaky Cauldron. Sirius was kind enough to accompany me here to retrieve them."

"And where is —" sneer "— dear, Sirius?"

"That, Madame, is none of your business."

Narcissa flushed for the third time. For some bizarre reason that Antoinette could not construe, the woman was intimidated by her. "Of course it isn't. Well then, I must be off." She placed the sleeping Draco back in his stroller. "Have a good day, cousin. I'll owl you about that dinner."

Antoinette watched her go, pushing through the crowd. Observed how Narcissa did not wait for people to move out of the way. Did not apologise when she ran over toes and knocked down the pile of books in front of Flourish and Blotts.

Dreadful woman!

The difference between Narcissa and Sirius was marked. Now that Antoinette had met a real Death Eater (or at least the wife of a real Death Eater), she could not perceive just why she'd thought Sirius must be one. Her husband was gentleness personified compared to this witch.

xxxxx

That night Antoinette sat curled in a lounge chair waiting for her husband. She had debated about whether to tell Sirius of her accidental meeting with his cousin, and at last — after a few minutes of intense, internal arguing — decided against it. He might not be pleased and Antoinette did not want to end up being responsible for starting yet another argument.

The clock above the bookshelves ticked to a slow eleven fifty-six. Sirius had not been joking at how late he would be arriving.

And he still hadn't shown up yet.

She had to amend her thought a second later when the fireplace burst into a fusion of green flames and a long muscular body trod out, patting at the soot on his clothing. Those sensuous dark grey eyes looked up at that exact moment, saw her, and blinked.

"What are you still doing up?"

"You told me to wait for you, non?"

"I just thought you would've have been in bed by now." He shrugged off his leather jacket and threw it over an armchair. A white singlet shirt melded the length of his chest, muscles outlined beneath the fabric. Those gorgeous muscles bunched as he bent to untie his bootlaces.

Her breath caught on a hitch. "And miss my kiss?"

He froze, peeked up at her through his overhanging hair, and grinned. "So that's why you waited." He didn't look at all displeased with the information.

Straightening, eyes hooded and, of course, gorgeous, he stalked towards her with strides lazy yet full of purpose. He knew what he wanted and he was going to get it. Antoinette allowed herself to feel that building tension, that swiftness of caught breath. When he finally stopped to loom over her she was feeling quite out of her mind, and so breathless with thinking over what was about to happen that she was almost choking.

He extended a hand, offering, waiting. Eyes full of emotion. Of fire.

She took it. Fingers curling over hers, he helped her to stand.

"Is this all right?" he asked, voice incredibly low.

"Yes," was all she had time to whisper, before his head tilted, before his eyes closed, before he bent down.

Ever so gently touched his lips to hers.

Once, twice, thrice, he skimmed, then hardened. Boldly, she thrust her tongue into his mouth. Her husband reacted as she'd thought he would. He tensed, extracted his lips. Before he had a chance to pull away completely, she wound her arms about his neck.

He covered her hands with his, made to draw them down. She held on.

He sighed, stared at her with eyes full of suspicion, full of warning. "Toni. Don't do this."

"I'm not permitted to caress you?"

A sound very much like pain erupted from his mouth, before he smashed his lips into hers. Strong arms encircled her back, pulling her towards him. Their bodies met and this time it was she who cried out. The achingly wonderful feel of him, hard and gloriously masculine, against her softness . . . she wanted more.

Antoinette was delighted. It must have been that word, caress, that had so affected him.

It occurred to her now that she could do something; fulfil a fantasy she'd been dreaming about ever since the very first time she had seen him. Her hands — presently caressing the hair at the base of his neck — moved lower down his back, kneaded the strong muscles in his shoulder. Lingered at his narrow waist . . . She felt him tense, as if he knew just what she wanted to do, then —

His lips tore from hers. "God!" he gasped. "Toni, you —"

"Shhh." She kissed him again as her hands continued to knead, to mold, to rub the most luscious pieces of muscle that were ever created. Her eyes widened in surprise as she discovered that, the more she kneaded and molded and rubbed, the tauter the twin globes became.

Once more, Sirius tore away from her. But this time he grabbed her hands and drew them, forcefully, to her sides. "No more."

His tone brooked no argument.

Her eyes stared into his then, deliberately, she let them drop to the hard bulge below his waist. They widened. He couldn't possible be that huge, could he? It must just be the effect of the strange, blue material which, she'd felt, had been course and deliciously abrasive against her palms.

She heard him swear softly, longingly, in response to her staring. That was enough affirmation for her. She leaned into — "Ouch!"

"That's what you get for not listening," he grunted.

She blinked up at him, unable to believe that he had actually pulled her hair. Hard.

"Don't look at me like that," he said, avoiding her gaze. Then he reached up, threaded his fingers through her hair, and began massaging gently.

She closed her eyes. Moaned.

Sirius jumped away as if scalded. "I need a shower," he rasped.

Then, just as if he had apparated, he was gone.

Again, Antoinette was left blinking.

Stupid man! she thought, frustrated. Where he got his willpower from she'd like to know. He should have seduced her by now. Evidently, the thought of freedom from marriage was more appealing to him at this point in time than getting naked with his wife.

xxxxx

Sirius banged his head against the tiled shower wall.

Stupid! Stupid!

He had kissed her earlier that day, admitted to wanting her, because that sense of urgency, that urgency of life, had overwhelmed him. He had almost died, and if it weren't for his wife's quick thinking — he reminded himself to thank her properly for that — he would have. Choking to death was definitely not how he wanted to go.

Gideon and Fabian had died . . . He always felt melancholy after the death of an Order member. Especially if that Order member had been one of his friends.

When he and Antoinette had kissed tonight he had been determined not to prolong it anymore than he had to. He had tried resorting to his usual method of kissing her hard until she lost all thought, then retreating to safety.

It hadn't happened that way.

When he'd felt her tongue enter his mouth, felt her hands on his rump — he still couldn't believe she'd had the gall to do that. He'd had to fight extremely hard with the baser part of himself; the part that insisted to let her keep going and see where they both ended up — he was the one who had lost all thought. He'd only managed to pull away at the reminder of the annulment, and that if he took her then, he wouldn't get it.

It was getting much harder to fight her allure now. He wanted her so much he ached constantly. He could hardly walk properly anymore because of his constant erection. He thought of her all the time — to the point where even his spying was affected. He'd almost missed a vital piece of information a few hours ago because he'd been too busy fantasising about laying his wife down in their bed and exploring her — and all she had to offer — until his lust was finally sated; until he could think with all cognitive functions once more.

Her birthday was approaching, according to her parents. Five days from now. He should do something for her. They were still on their honeymoon after all. Theoretically.

But how do you thank someone for saving your life?

xxxxx

A/N: This chapter was going to be longer, in fact I'd even written more for it, but there's just too much stuff happening. Again.

Next chapter should hopefully be out soon because it's already part done.

Happy Reading.