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: A very BIG thanks to all those who reviewed. This story doesn't get a lot of those [reviews and the ones it does get keep me going until the next chapter. After all, why bother writing a story if no one's going to comment on it? I'm so happy DTH is a favourite for some of you. I'll endeavour to keep it that way.
WARNING/SPOILER ALERT: There's a sort of spoiler for Deathly Hallows in this chapter, in the last scene. It's not really one — actually I'm pretty sure it's not. I just used a derivative of a slang description that a character in Deathly Hallows said in response to something. i.e., something similar to "Merlin's Beard" — but I thought I'd mention it just the same. Just to be safe.
Hope you enjoy the chapter. A pretty low M rating this time.
A/N2: Oh yes, before I forget: This chapter is dedicated to my cousin, who today turned seventeen. Happy Birthday, Mut! (And I swear it's just a coincidence).
xxxxx
Chapter Twelve: Birthday Surprise.
The door Sirius had been steadily knocking on for the past five minutes opened with a violent tug. A ragged — even more than usual — looking James Potter stood upon the threshold, still in his night clothes. His face bore a look of intense annoyance that suggested he would very much like to hurt his best friend.
"What on earth are you doing here so early?"
"Sorry, but I need Lily."
That statement, if coming from anyone else, would have caused James to narrow his eyes in suspicious jealousy. But as it was Sirius, the bespectacled man merely growled. "It's bloody . . ." he looked down at a nonexistent watch, "whatever time it is in the early morning —"
"Six," Sirius injected helpfully.
"Six!" James cleared his throat. "Whatever. You know I've got that thing for Remus I have to do today —"
"I thought that was yesterday?"
"It was supposed to be but I couldn't find him."
"What d'you mean?" Sirius asked.
"Exactly what I said. I couldn't find him. And why are you frowning? Never mind. Getting back to the topic at hand: what could you possibly need Lily for at this time of hour?"
"It's Antoinette's birthday today."
James blinked. "And for that you woke me up?"
Sirius was practically bouncing on his toes. "I need her help with something."
"Who's help? Your wife's or my wife's?"
Sirius glared. "Don't be smart."
James groaned and stepped aside to allow Sirius in. "Surprised you didn't come through the Floo," he murmured.
Sirius chose to ignore that statement.
"I'll get Lily. You stay here," James ordered, pointing at a spot on the floor, just barely stopping from laughing outright at Sirius's shocked expression. "Stay! Good boy."
"You arse!"
Chuckling, the eldest Potter left the room.
Sirius amused himself by running fingers over the photos on the mantelpiece and watching the occupants shriek as they ducked out of the way.
A scraping sound brought him out of his musings.
James, sleepy Lily in tow, crossed into the room. "Here she is. Do what you will." Then he promptly shuffled back out. Sirius could hear his feet plodding tiredly up the stairs.
"I'm so sorry, Sirius," Lily yawned, hair mused from sleep. "I'd forgotten about this morning."
"But you baked everything last —?"
"No," said Lily trudging off to the kitchen, Sirius following behind impatiently. "I've yet to make the chicken."
"And that's —"
"Oh no!" she froze in the threshold, forcing him to a jolt behind her. "I didn't get any wine!"
"I told you to leave that to me. I purchased everything else, didn't I?"
The redhead turned, looked up. "But we — that is, me and James — wanted to give Antoinette something as well." Her distress was obvious.
In his head, Sirius counted to ten. "First of all; James is completely oblivious. Secondly; you don't need to get her anything. I doubt she even expected me to do anything for her."
Lily smiled slyly. "And why exactly are you doing this for her, Sirius?"
"Not for the reason you think," he frowned. "Don't look for something that isn't there." Then: "Shesavmlife."
"What?"
He looked down. "She saved my life. That's why I'm doing it."
Lily blinked. "Please don't tell me it has something to do with V—"
"No," Sirius said hastily. Of course that would be her first thought. "Nothing like that — in fact, you don't need to know the reason."
Her eyes flashed and Sirius knew he should have thought before opening his mouth. "Excuse me! One of my best friends — the godfather of my child — almost dies, and you expect me not to care about it?"
"Er, yes?"
Lily pinched the bridge of her nose. "You have ten seconds to explain before I strangle you, Sirius Black!"
"I drank boiled water by accident and she healed me, all right!" He thought about that for a moment, realised he'd just made himself sound like an idiot, and quickly amended, "It was actually boiled tea."
Leaf green eyes, the exact shade of his beloved godson's, stared up at him blankly. The owner shook her head, turned. "Only you, Sirius. I'm not even going to ask how that happened."
"Good, because I won't tell you. Embarrassed myself enough for one day. And would you hurry up and make that damn chicken! I still have to go to the Ministry."
xxxxxx
Reginald Quiggly was the Second Undersecretary of the Secretary of the Head of Floo Department at the Ministry of Magic. His job was highly important. In fact, he wasn't boasting when he said that the Floo Department would be lost without him — practically confunded — and that, without his assistance, they would have tripped over themselves long ago. Indeed, Quiggly's work consisted of: making sure that everyone had their morning tea; taking notes (when required); and getting lunch.
He was also assigned to Floo Duty; meaning that all those nasty little packages that were too cumbersome for owls had to be passed through the fire under the supervision of Quiggly himself.
Yes, his work was extremely important.
Just now a package, rather more polished and expensive looking than most others he'd directed through various hearths, was spat out of the nearest Fire. It rolled somewhat (if a wooden box can roll, more like tumbled) until it came to a rest by his feet.
He bent down to pick it up, noted the address on the piece of gold lace tied to the top, and nearly dropped it when it started jumping.
"Looks like you've got a live one there, Reginald."
Quiggly jumped stupidly at the voice that came out of nowhere, turned, and blinked up into Arthur Weasley's young face.
"What're doing here so early, Arthur?"
"Problems in Pratt's Bottom," offered the slightly balding man, bouncing a little on his toes. "Got called in early this morning to take care of it. Bunch of kids just out of Hogwarts; thought it'd be funny to shrink keyholes. I have to fill out the paperwork now." He grimaced, as though this prospect wasn't particularly desirable.
"Don't envy you," Quiggly grunted, still smarting slightly from the fright he'd received.
But Arthur wasn't paying attention to anything except the large box settled in Quiggly's arms. "Mrs Sirius Black?" he queried, tilting his head to better look at the gold-lace note. "Yes I'd, erm, heard about that marriage. Arranged I'd thought, until we — that is, Molly and I — saw them one day in the Leaky Cauldron."
"Oh?" Quiggly himself had heard that the new Mrs Black was a beauty; comparable only to a pure-blooded Veela. But of course that was an exaggeration.
"But they seemed very much involved; the young Mr Black and his then fiancée. Stunning girl, of course, though slightly proud I think."
"Bit of a nose elevator, eh?" said Quiggly, and Arthur nodded in agreement.
They exchanged small talk for a few minutes, along the prescribed lines of:
"How's the family?"
"Oh fine, fine. Charlie's just started Hogwarts."
"Already?"
And so forth . . .
"Best be off then," said Arthur, turning to go. "You, er, going to have whatever's in there screened?"
"Of course!" said Quiggly, barely managing to withhold his blush. In truth he had not thought of that. It wasn't every day that a live something-or-other that wasn't a witch or wizard got pushed through the Floo.
Arthur waved goodbye and hastened to the elevator, tatty briefcase dangling from one long arm. As he stepped in an owl whizzed after him and settled on the rafters crisscrossing the ceiling. Quiggly had enough time to see the owl dump its load onto Arthur's shoulder (and the aforesaid's grimace) before the gate of the lift clanged shut.
There had been talk in the Ministry of using charmed inter-departmental memos instead of owls. Quiggly had thought that a ridiculous idea — hardly having to actually use the elevator, seeing as his post was on the last floor and he could just Floo wherever he wanted, and thus never having to deal with the hoards of feathers and droppings his colleagues kept complaining about — but perhaps . . .
He pottered to the security administration desk at the far end of the atrium. Eric Dobson sat there, as usual, flicking through a Mad Muggle comic and looking like he hadn't shaved in days. His had to be the most boring job in existence. Not at all important. Not like his own.
"Dobson," said Quiggly.
"Quiggly," returned Dobson, who wasn't much fond of the Floo Supervisor. But then, the Floo Supervisor wasn't much fond of him.
"I need you to run your probe thingy over this box."
"Wand?" Dobson grunted in a bored tone.
"I work here," Quiggly gritted through clenched teeth.
Dobson smirked. "Oh, forgot."
It was not in Dobson's nature to be subtle, but bantering with Quiggly had to be the highlight of his day.
The security wizard ran his probe over the box in Quiggly's arms.
"Nothing dangerous in there," said Dobson after he'd finished inspecting every inch, just to annoy the other wizard. "Probably a chicken, if it's anything."
"Why would somebody send a chicken?" Quiggly demanded.
Dobson shrugged. "Dunno. It's come from France hasn't it? Maybe they have better tasting chickens over there."
Quiggly didn't think that statement deserved any sort of response except a great sniff, which he produced. "I'd best get back to my post. I'll leave you to your —" he paused for dramatic affect "— comic book."
"Oh good," Dobson returned. "I was just up to the good part. Martin Miggs has just stolen his dad's gun — you know one of those metal wand things — and is planning to kill some, er, rubbish."
"What utter nonsense!" Quiggly snapped. "Muggle's really are mad. What idiot kills rubbish!"
"No–no he's practising, see, in something called a 'garbage yard'. But then he accidentally kills a bird. . ."
Quiggly turned to walk away. He didn't get very far because he bumped into a very large, hard something and had to be steadied by that something in case he fell over.
"Excuse me."
That something had a very deep voice. Quiggly looked up at his rescuer; his jaw dropped.
What are the odds, he thought desperately to himself.
Sirius Black stood before him wearing garments highly inappropriate for Ministry visitation: muggle clothing. And tasteless as well. Quiggly could even see the outline of his — ahem, best not to look down there.
The black-haired man — how did he get his hair to stay like that anyway? — was looking at him strangely. "Are you right?"
Quiggly himself was short and thin with not much hair, and he always resented people that were better looking than he was. Sirius Black was better than better looking, and therefore Quiggly was rather more than slightly intimidated. He was also furious with himself for letting the other wizard flummox him so much, and without even having to do anything but stand there. He hated loosing control; something which someone in his particular position could ill afford. His position was important. He, Quiggly, was important. Sirius Black was a nobody. The only interesting thing he'd done of late was get married to a witch from France and thereby join two influential pureblood families together. Quiggly had read it himself in the paper.
And so what if he was a blood traitor? So what if he'd been brave enough to publicly denounce his family in these Dark Lord-infested times? So what if he was working with Albus Dumbledore against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named (although that last one was a rumour); he wasn't any better than Quiggly. Quiggly was the Floo Supervisor. He actually worked. What did Sirius Black do?
Come to think of it: what was Black doing at the Ministry anyway? Surely . . . surely he wasn't asking for a job? Oh, how simply horrid that would be! Having to greet him every morning, exchange pleasantries — Him: this vision of perfection and magnificence and luck that surpassed Quiggly so far it made him want to throw up at the unfairness of it all. No, he wouldn't stand for it! He'd petition against it! Suddenly he hated Sirius Black for his darkly dramatic looks and good fortune. He had a beautiful wife, he had millions of Galleons, and he was going to get a job at the Ministry!
Quiggly felt a small painful tightening in his chest at that moment upon realising that he couldn't do anything about it, and that some people just had all the luck.
And he could not believe how worked up he had become. And all because of a speculation! He was suddenly very ashamed of himself.
"Yes, yes, I'm fine. Just had a bit of a fright. I mean not a fright, more like a, er . . . tripped! Yes, I tripped."
There was a nasty silence.
"Oh," said Black.
Quiggly was pleased to note — with an inwardly gleeful smirk — that the wizard was looking somewhat uncertain. Ha, I've confused him!
"Is there anything I can help you with, Mr Black?"
Black reached to rub a spot on the back of his neck, lifting that atrocious leather jacket in the process. Quiggly could clearly see the outline of muscles beneath the tight white shirt Black wore and another surge of irrational jealousy split through him.
"Actually," said Black in that deep voice, "you might be able to. I'm looking for the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office."
Quiggly blinked. What are the odds, he thought again. He had only just finished speaking to Arthur Weasley.
"You want Level Two, then: Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters and Wizengamot Administration Services.
Quiggly drew himself up proudly. He had memorised that, plus the other department logos, his first day at the Ministry and never failed to demonstrate his knowledge when opportunities such as this arose.
"Anything else, Mr Black?"
"Have to get my wand checked."
"Oh well I can't help you there, that isn't my jurisdiction. Eric can help with that." He moved aside and gestured to Dobson, who was once again reading his comic. "I'd best get back to the Fires anyhow. Good day to you, Mr Black."
Black smiled like he was in on a joke that Quiggly wasn't privy to. "Good day."
As Quiggly scurried away he heard Dobson's bored voice once more asking for "wand?".
When he reached the Floo post it occurred to him that he carried a package that was addressed to Mrs Sirius Black, and would therefore save him trouble, time, and Floo powder if he were to hand said package over to Black himself so that he could give it to his wife. But as Quiggly turned back to do just that the wizard in question had already stepped into the lift.
"Bollocks," Quiggly mumbled, then quickly looked around to see if anyone had heard him. It was all Black's fault. If Quiggly hadn't been so intent on analysing him, he would have remembered to give Black the package. Then he cheered up. At least he'd get to meet Mrs Sirius Black. He wondered if what everyone said was true . . .
xxxxx
"Toni! Toni!"
A gentle pressure settled upon her left shoulder. Antoinette reached over and brushed it off, then snuggled even more pleasurably into the hammock cushions.
"Wake up would you, we have to leave soon. What're you doing sleeping this early in the morning?"
Sirius brushed a finger lightly over her cheek, feeling the velvet softness. He was glad she had found this place, his own special sanctuary in the small garden behind the house. The hammock — large enough to host several bodies — was strung up between two fat columns. An assortment of berry bushes, frangipani trees, and old roman statues surrounded the lot. It was, in fact, quite a romantic gathering, something which Sirius had not appreciated when he'd first placed the hammock here. His Uncle Alphard had been quite the epitomic gardener, charming the flowers and berries so that they always bloomed no matter the season.
Unfortunately Sirius was anything but, and the garden had become more than a little overgrown. That wasn't to say it didn't still hold a certain allure. In fact, in Sirius's opinion, it looked better now than when he had first stumbled upon the place, right after Alphard's death. It was cooler now, more intimate . . . just more.
Sirius bent down and placed his lips beside his wife's ear. "Toni, I need you to wake up."
She moaned.
Oddly, Sirius was encouraged by that sound. His trousers even gave a small twitch, but that was so normal by now that he barely acknowledged it. That still, however, left the problem of his sleeping wife. His brow curved wickedly as a diabolical thought occurred. Should he . . .? He hadn't pranked someone in a long time — not since Hogwarts — and it wasn't as though he'd get caught. Antoinette would never know. He would just give her a bit of a scare . . .
With that thought, and with a small, nearly silent pop, he transformed into Padfoot — and let out the loudest, most frightening bark he could.
As predicted Antoinette awakened, shrieking enough to deafen him. It took her only a moment to register his presence before, eyes widening, she started violently. What Sirius hadn't predicted was the hammock swaying dangerously with her movement and Antoinette toppling over backwards and onto the grassy earth with a thud that would forever echo in his gut. Sirius didn't stop to think about how stupid he'd been: he merely transformed again and rushed to her side.
"Toni! Oh God, oh God please I'm such an idiot!Please be all right! Please!" His frantic hands wouldn't stop shaking as he gently, extremely gently, turned her to face him. She had actually flipped as she'd fallen off the hammock and landed on her beautiful head as a result.
Her eyes watered as they met his own. "Sirius? When did you get here?" She tried to sit up then, groaning, brows crinkling, withdrew from the attempt. "Oh, my head." She gasped and her eyes flew open; his shoulders caught in a grip that was almost too fierce for such slender fingers. "Grim! There's a . . . I think it's a Grim! It's large and horrible and it-it-it tried to eat me!"
"There's no Grim," he answered back in French, brushing back her long hair, which had tangled in her fall. And all the while guilt gnawed at his gut. "I didn't see any Grim."
"Oh God I'm going to die," she said.
"NO!" he shouted, surprising them both with how much passion he inflected in that one word. "You're not going to die! There is no Grim. I promise you."
"My head," she said, her voice small and lost.
"I know, love. You hit your head when you fell. You might even have a concussion. I'm going to check, all right."
A small noise of assent left her mouth.
All Order members required training in at least basic healing: one couldn't afford to die of blood loss or be hampered by an injured wand arm in the middle of a battle after all. Sirius was no exception to this rule. One flick of his wand confirmed most of his suspicions and all of Antoinette's injuries. No concussion, thankfully, but she now sported a pulled muscle in her lower back; a dreadful lump on the side of her head; a throbbing jaw, and also . . . cramps? It took him an embarrassingly long time to puzzle out just what that meant and, when he did, his neck flamed scarlet. He was thankful the garden was a cool, shadowed place.
Sirius slid his arms beneath her shoulders and knees, making sure that her head was comfortably pillowed in the hollow of his shoulder, then he stood and walked back to the house, marvelling at how perfectly light she was despite her height.
"Rotten thing to happen on your birthday, eh?"
Sapphire eyes glanced up at him, puzzled. "You knew?"
"Your parents told me a while ago."
"Hmm."
Sirius crossed the threshold when they reached the back door, opening it with sheer thought alone so that it banged violently against the interior wall. He surprised himself, and Antoinette, then. He hadn't been able to do that since he was a child. Noting absently that his heart was still throbbing a million miles a minute, he continued on. Was it possible that his magic was reacting to his fear? It wasn't an illogical thought. Had he really been that frightened?
He looked down at the bundle in his arms, only to find it staring back at him, its expression calculating.
"What is it?" he asked, crossing in to the drawing room.
She didn't answer until he placed her down on the sofa; slow and gentle so that nothing jarred that precious body. "I never realised how powerful you are."
Not wanting to admit that it was his fear of her health that had caused his magic to spontaneously erupt like some prepubescent youth's, Sirius merely shrugged in response. She could think what she liked. "I've a healing draught in the kitchen cupboard. Should clear you right up."
"Mm-hmm."
"I'll go get it."
"Thank you."
"You don't need to," he snapped, her cool tone rubbing him raw. Her eyebrows flew up. Raking his hair, he looked down. "Look I'm sorry. It's just . . . never think you need to thank me for anything. I'm your husband. It's my job to —" he stopped right there as her eyebrows rose even higher. Sirius grimaced at his near blunder. It was also his job to have sex with her, but did he do it?
"I'll get that draught, then we'll talk. And don't move!"
Two minutes later he came back to find that Antoinette had disobeyed him.
"What did I tell you about moving?!"
"I merely retrieved a pillow."
"And exerted yourself with the effort not to pass out!" He could detect the fine sheen her skin had taken and again, without any effort whatsoever, his mind wandered back to the night they had almost made love. "And stop sweating for Merlin's sake!" he added, too aroused to worry about how stupid he sounded. "Drink this."
She took the cup, gestures hesitant. "Does it taste revolting?"
"That's a rather redundant question don't you think?"
"If I wasn't in such pain I would laugh at you right now, Sirius."
He did it for her. And loudly. "I'm glad to hear it. And don't forget to drain every last drop as there isn't much in there — no, there's still some at the bottom, keep going. I'm going to have to ask Lily to make some more. She was always very good at potion-making."
He stole back the flask when she finished. "Will this put me to sleep?" she asked.
"No. Which is fortunate as I have plans for us today."
"Plans?" She sat up, comfortable now that the potion had started working. "What plans?"
"It is your birthday isn't it?" He didn't have time to see her response because he strode off to the kitchen.
She followed him. "Oui, but I never expected . . ."
He dropped the flask into the sink and whirled around. "Never expected what? That I'd do anything?"
"Partly," she said, frowning at his derogatory tone. Then she tsked. "What has made you so defensive? I asked a simple question."
Sirius flopped down onto a kitchen chair, ran a hand over his jaw. "I'm being an arse."
Antoinette stifled a small noise in her throat. "I'm afraid I have to agree with you in this circumstance."
Grinning, he leaned back in the chair, tipping it dangerously, studying her with his silver gaze. "To be honest I don't know why I'm being so defensive. I expect I – well I expect I didn't take into account just how your being injured affected me. Emotionally I mean — and stop bloody grinning, Toni! You already know I care for you . . ."
"You were worried."
He looked at her as though she was stupid. "Of course." Then added, very quickly. "You're my wife."
"That excuse is getting rather old now, dear Sirius."
"Go upstairs."
Antoinette threw him a sharp glance at the sudden change of topic. "Why?"
"You're going to get changed." His eyes were smiling now, but, perversely, that just made her even more suspicious.
"I am?"
"Yes — Great Merlin stop looking at me like I'm about to eat you!" he chuckled. "You're far too suspicious for your own good. Although in other circumstances . . ." he shrugged playfully. "I've left some clothes for you on our bed."
Her heart thrilled when he said "our" and she had to fake a sudden coughing fit to disguise her red cheeks. Mon Dieu, could she get anymore pathetic acting like the proverbial school girl.
A glass of water was suddenly thrust under her nose. She accepted it, even though she didn't want to. After taking a few sips she handed it back. "Where are we going?"
"The muggle world," was the unexpected response. Her expression must have shown bewilderment because Sirius said, tightly, "What?"
You stupid, stupid man! she thought, though inwardly Antoinette cursed herselfShe should have known he would misinterpret her response. He was the one entirely too suspicious. Sirius had always believed, from their first meeting most likely, that Antoinette — being a pureblood witch raised with all the decided prejudices that came with the occupation — disliked muggles. It was her fault, really, as she'd never once corrected this assumption of his, as she'd done the others. And he probably would not believe her if she did so now, if she came right out and said it.
"Sirius," she said, and floundered a little at that hard, all too familiar gaze. "I have never worn muggle clothing before. I'm not certain how to put it on."
She'd said the right thing; his expression softened. "If you have any trouble — not that I think you will — just call and I'll come help."
Antoinette, feeling emboldened now, reached out and ran a finger over the sleeve of his leather jacket, stomach jumping when she heard Sirius's breath catch. "If the clothing is anything like this I'm sure I will manage."
Sirius caught her hand as she went to pull back, pulled it up to his lips, and placed a short kiss on her palm. "I love your hands," he whispered, staring right at her. "They're so different from mine. Much softer. I love how they feel against my skin." As if to demonstrate he placed her hand over his cheek, still holding it in his own. He mustn't have shaved because the bristles scraped over the sensitive skin of her palm. She shivered.
"Change," she whispered.
His lip tweaked in bemusement.
"I mean," she said, desperately trying to find her place. "I must go and change now."
Sirius nodded, still amused.
"I will need my hand back."
His eyes flickered for the first time, up to the hand trapped against his cheek then back. "You will." He placed another kiss on her hand — but this time he performed the formal action; turned it over so his lips skimmed the back of it — and released her.
Turning, she walked out of the room. Calmly.
Her husband's help was not needed in the end, although she had a little trouble putting on the course blue trousers; partly because they draped over the curves of her bottom and thighs in a bordering on scandalous way, but mostly because she found them difficult to walk in. Antoinette had never before experience something moulding the length of her legs, thighs and buttocks in quite so ignoble a fashion. Any undergarments she tended to wear were bulbous and fluttery and very sheer. But these "jeans" . . . well, she had never blushed so much in her life. But as it seemed Sirius favoured them himself, she could only grit her teeth — ignore the slight heaviness — and bear it.
And it was all worth it in the end when Sirius saw her walk — albeit a little bow-leggedly — down the staircase. He had not been able to keep his eyes off of her, particularly her bottom and chest, where the long-sleeved white blouse draped most becomingly over her breasts.
"You look stunning," he said after gesturing for her to twirl a little. "But it's missing something . . ."
"What?" she asked, more sharply than she'd meant to.
"This." He produced something from his back pocket and enlarged it.
The "this" turned out to be another leather jacket, almost exactly like his own but designed in a more feminine style. Her eyes lit with pleasure. "Ohhh," she breathed. "Oh it is beautiful."
"I'm glad you like it," said Sirius, clearly very pleased by her reaction. Then he turned her gently so he could slip the garment on.
It felt wonderfully cool and heavy against her skin and, just before Sirius turned up the collar, he pressed a kiss to her neck. "Sirius . . ."
"You should wear it down," he breathed, lips tracing her hair.
"Muggles don't wear this style?"
"No. At least not in the last two hundred years."
"Hmm."
"Antoinette," he whispered, hot breath tickling her ear.
Before he had a chance to move away she twirled around, arms locking about his neck. "It's my birthday. Give me a kiss, Sirius."
Grey eyes hardened to steel. "If you insist."
"I do insist. I shall be insisting quite a lot today."
He chuckled. "And I'll be happy to oblige, Mrs Black. Very happy." Then he kissed her. Once.
"Oh, I hate it when you do that."
His chest shook. "I know." Fingers threaded through her hair, shook it, scattering pins everywhere.
"Sirius!"
"If you want to please me you'll wear your hair down today."
This gave her pause. If she wanted to please him? Of course she wanted to please him. "If you insist."
"I'll be insisting quite a lot today too, love. Tit for tat as the saying goes." Then he kneaded her scalp, occasionally lifting stray locks to drape behind her shoulders. "I love that your hair is so long and wavy. It goes all the way to your bottom. Do you have any idea what that does to me? Those curling locks swaying and swishing over the top of your bum like that? I love watching you leave the room, it's almost as good as when you enter it." He lifted one lock to his lips, kissed it.
Her breath caught . . .
"Merlin, you must taste . . ." He placed that lock into his mouth, tongued it, sucked it.
. . . and shattered. "Stop that." God, he was a sensual man.
"Do you want me to?"
"Huh?"
"Do you want me to stop?"
"Oui," she gasped, watching as that delicious tongue curled around the small bit of hair, which was getting quite wet now.
"Why?"
"Because I cannot stand it!" she hissed, jerking away slightly. "If you do not mean to follow through with your actions' consequences then please stop it, Sirius. Do you not feel remorse when you play with my emotions in that way?"
Sirius's nostrils flared for a second before a hint of shame shone in those silver eyes. He dropped the lock. "I didn't know I was . . . I mean, I didn't realise . . . Damn it, I can't help it sometimes! Sometimes I just see you standing there and I can't help touching you!"
This mollified her, though she wasn't sure why. All brain activity had ceased to function.
The great oaf cared for her (and more than just as a spouse) and didn't know it.
Antoinette felt nothing upon discovering this realisation — this intensely huge, life-altering realisation — which led her to believe that she somehow must have known it already. Somehow.
And how she had come to this conclusion, Antoinette had no idea. The cognitive part of her brain had, after all, stopped working, which tended to happen more often than not around her husband anyway so she was used to it.
"That's good," she snapped right back at him, preferring instead to start an argument rather than risk blurting out what she'd just concluded. "You should want to touch me. As you so often like to point out, I am your wife! That gives you ample cause."
Sirius was staring down at her by the time she finished ranting. "And yet you complain when I do?"
Her mouth dropped. Indecorously. Upon realising this she closed it and, cheeks heating, argued her point. "You confuse me."
"And you confuse me so I guess we're even."
"Stop smiling. This situation does not warrant — stop laughing!"
His hands rose in surrender. "I'm sorry; I just find it a bit ridiculous that we're arguing on your birthday is all."
She blinked. "I had forgotten."
"That it's your birthday or that we'd been arguing?"
"Birthday." Without any warning Sirius smacked her bottom with the flat of his hand. She jumped and sputtered and stared at him incredulously.
"Come on, then." He took her hands from about his neck and drew them down. "We have to leave or we'll be late. Oh and sorry about the smack but you looked like you needed it."
She gaped indignantly.
Sirius smirked, then, without warning, reached around her body and rubbed at the very spot his hand had collided with.
Antoinette squeaked, then blushed because she'd done so. Was this how Sirius had felt when she . . .? Her bottom became unbelievably hot. "Oh," she gasped. "Ohhh."
Sirius leaned in to whisper in her ear. "Tit for tat."
She groaned. She was going to die!
xxxxxx
"Absolutely not! It is far too dangerous! You shall simply have to find some other way."
Sirius sighed, leaned back on the motorbike's seat, and watched with appreciation just how tightly the jeans stretched over his wife's heart-shaped bottom as she paced. "What's really the problem here?" he interjected as she was about to start on another point. "It's not like I'm going to let you fall. I've been riding her since I was seventeen. Even built her m'self. I'm an expert." He ignored the small harrumph that came from Antoinette's direction. "Besides, you told me you know how to fly a broom."
She muttered, "Passably." Then shot him, and the bike, a weary look. "It is just . . . so big."
Sirius, who'd been about to take a breath, choked. "Big. Right. That's a good thing, though. More to hang on to. Just come here." He pattered the space in front of him.
"And why must I sit before you? I would feel more comfortable sitting behind you."
Yes, but he wouldn't. "It's better this way," said Sirius. "I can hold onto you."
"I thought you said you loose control simply by looking at me, and this would be much worse."
She had to go and remember that now? "I just want to hold you. Can't you let me hold you?" He hadn't meant to sound so pathetic, but he must have appealed to one of her instincts because she paused to look at him and then, with very tentative steps, approached the bike.
"What do I do?" she asked, eyeing the machine as if it were going to jump up and scream obscenities.
"Mount her."
Her cheeks heated instantly. "Stop using that pro-noun."
"But she's my baby —"
"Which way?" she interrupted.
"Which way what?"
"Which way do I —" her blush extended " — mount it?"
"Astride."
She glanced at him, coy, from beneath her lashes. Sirius fought an incredible urge not to groan revealingly. "It all seems a bit unseemly," she sighed. "I think I shall have to sit like this." Then she plonked that beautiful jean-clad bottom right in his lap.
He stiffened at once. "You . . ."
Antoinette laughed. "You wanted to hold me, dear husband, and now you shall. If you wish me to ride this thing then this is how we are going to do it."
"You're killing me here."
"You're the one who wants the annulment. I, on the other hand, have absolutely no problem going back upstairs and making love."
Sirius sucked in a painful breath as his trousers grew tight, and tighter, for the length of time it took to count to two. He could not believe that she, Antoinette, his usually demure wife, was saying this, and sounding so blasted confident about it too. It was as if, as if she knew something about him that he didn't yet. This made him highly uncomfortable and suspicious and, for the first time, he wasn't sure what to do.
He kissed her instead.
Hard.
For a long time.
By the time they finished snogging Sirius was very ready to act on her request and take her upstairs, but he couldn't seem to move his limbs, which were now encased in a lithe long-legged grip. "How the bloody hell did you manage to do that without me noticing!" he demanded.
Deep blue eyes blinked dazedly and peered down to where they were joined. "What?" Swollen lips touched his once more before pulling back. "Oh, you mean my legs."
"Kindly get them off my waist, Toni."
She did the exact opposite. She squeezed.
"Great Merlin's Balls!"
Antoinette threw her head back and laughed in mischievous delight.
Sirius grunted, hands sliding down to cup and support her bottom. "Where did you learn to do that?"
"Instinct," was all his impish wife suggested.
"Instinct, hmm?"
"I've found there are benefits to wearing muggle trousers. For instance, I never would have been able to do this in my robes. They tend to hamper a lot of movement." She shifted a little, in deliberate provocation.
"So I've —" Sirius gasped "— discovered, to my unfortunate pleasure."
Antoinette laughed again, the carefree sound warming him. "Unfortunate pleasure. Is there such a thing?"
"For me, yes."
"There would be for you." She tilted her head in a scrutinising manner. "You're a complete cornucopia of oxymorons, my husband."
Sirius raised a supercilious brow. "Nicely put. Your English is coming along well."
The next thing he knew his cheek was subjected to a light slap. "I have always been able to speak English, how dare you imply I don't know otherwise."
"Your accent?" he reminded her.
"A mere trifle I am positive will diminish the longer I spend in this country."
Sirius, however, frowned musingly. "I can hardly understand your father when he speaks English and your mother is only slightly better. How did you learn to speak so well?"
His wife smiled that smile that shot straight to his stomach. "You."
He raised inquiring, and curious, brows.
Expelling a short breath of air, she shifted closer so that they were pressed together from chest to groin. Sirius did his best not to show any emotion. "I grew up knowing about you, and my parents hired tutors for the English language, English government, and even English etiquette to an extent. I was expected to know everything in order to please . . ." she shrugged and glanced away. "To please my betrothed."
"Hold on," Sirius said, lifting her bottom a little so that he could shift his legs. "How is that possible? How did you know about me?"
"We've been betrothed since I was born, Sirius," answered Antoinette, her own eyes puzzling a little. "Did you not know?"
"No. I. Bloody. Did. Not!"
How in the hell had that happened? How was it possible he hadn't known? The answer came without his even having to think about it: Walburga! That crabby old hag! That ugly, pale-faced, hate-filled . . .
Sirius released his wife's bottom and clenched his fists, ignoring her short, almost stifled yelp at suddenly dropping to the seat. All this time his life had been planned out for him. All this time he was to have married Antoinette? What would his mother have done if he had refused? If Dumbledore hadn't asked him to provide gold for the Order? If he hadn't come back to Grimmauld Place, debasing himself? Practically begging? And his mother had just been waiting for such an opportunity, hadn't she. And he, Sirius, had walked right in and handed it to her on a silver platter all while attempting to kiss her arse and make a right fool of himself acting the purebred idiot.
Dumbledore.
If Dumbledore hadn't asked him then he never would have gone to his mother, who never would have contacted the Le Creux's, and he never would have met . . . Sirius drew a sudden deep and painful breath. Something in his chest tightened almost to the point of heart failure, then eased. Great Merlin, he had come so close to never knowing her. To loosing her . . . .
It hit him suddenly and with full clarity.
He understood.
"Sirius, what is the matter? You look ill."
Gentle pressure against his forehead brought him out of Epiphany Land and back to harsh reality.
"I'm alright," he said levelly, lifting her hand away. "Just fine."
But I'm not fine. I've never been less fine. I've been an idiot.
"You don't sound fine. What did you eat this morning?"
Sirius stared at her.He looked so long that Antoinette started shifting in his arms, clearly becoming uncomfortable with the silence. "Kiss me?" he asked, not being able to tell her anything more at the moment.
Her eyes lit with pleasure. "Yes."
It had to have been at least another ten minutes before he settled her back between his thighs and started the motorcycle, wheeled it out from its place in the garden shack and pulled the lever that enabled it to fly. This was the reason he'd stopped by the Ministry that morning; he'd needed to confirm from the head of Misuse of Muggle Artefacts just how exactly he was permitted to fly during the day and in full view of the muggles. Sirius, he explained to Antoinette as they flew over Guildford, had been lucky because there was a loophole in the law that stated muggle vehicles were allowed to fly, but only if they were invisible.
Antoinette asked if they were invisible at the moment, and when Sirius answered by pressing the invisibility button she shrieked and jumped against him as the machine beneath them seemingly vanished. He held her tightly to his chest and pressed a dozen silent kisses on her disillusioned hair, breathing in the flowery scent.
Damn the annulment. He was never going to let her go. He couldn't let her go, not now. She was his: his wife, his partner, his soon-to-be lover and, hopefully, the future mother of his children.
Sirius only thanked Merlin that he'd figured it out now before his chance to do so had vanished as quickly as his bike had.
xxxxxx
They arrived at the movie theatre with twenty minutes to spare. Sirius flew into an alley behind said building and gently lowered the motorcycle, expertly manoeuvring it until they touched solid ground once more. He hid it behind a couple of old dustbins and charmed it so any wandering muggles would only see a smelly pile of dung which they would think twice about trying to steal.
"Not," said Antoinette, wrinkling her nose, "that anyone would."
Upon reaching the theatre they had a bit of trouble trying to work out what pounds were and, when they did, figuring out just how many pounds was worth a bucket of popcorn. "A must have," the teller had assured, whilst pushing two buckets across the counter at them and trying his best not to stare at Antoinette.
Sirius mentally thanked Lily for helping him. Of course he had dealt with muggle money before, when he used to go to pubs with Remus, James, and Peter in muggle London, but Remus had always handled the money side of the issue while the rest of them were quite happy to handle the drinking side.
"I've never been," Sirius responded to Antoinette's query. "All I know is that it gets dark and there's this big white screen. Lily says it's like watching a portrait, only you can't interact with it. The people in the screen play out their own story."
"Like a play," was his wife's conclusion.
"Yes, exactly like that. Only pre-recorded."
"Like a pensieve," she stated.
"I'd imagine so."
He had wanted to give Antoinette something she would always remember; a unique outing that she probably would not get to experience again. But now, after playing over their conversation, he really couldn't see what the big fuss was all about. Going to the muggle cinema really did sound like viewing a pensieve, or watching a play. All things that both of them had seen before.
He wasn't feeling so confident now.
xxxxxx
Raiders of the Lost Arc had turned out to be something neither husband nor wife would ever have expected even had they been informed of the plot beforehand, and Sirius's fears were completely blown away by the time the movie's dramatic finish had faded into a black screen.
"Remarkable!" Antoinette gushed, hands folded tightly about Sirius's waist. "How did he manage to outrun that boulder, do you think? Even with magic, I would have been absolutely petrified."
Sirius had no answer to this. He was confused enough as it was that day what with the conclusion he had drawn earlier (which he hadn't been able to stop thinking about even in the darkened theatre) let alone trying to strain his brain in wondering as to how the muggles had actually managed all that. As for that actor . . .
"And the main character," his wife continued, picking up Sirius's train of thought. "I had no idea muggles could be so brave. Sirius, thank you for the experience. This birthday has by far surpassed any other, well, except for last year's perhaps."
The motorbike swerved past a flock of wild ducks, which squawked in terror and scattered formation, unable to pinpoint the direction of the rumbling sound. Sirius desperately wanted to ask just why last year's was so bloody better than this year's, but thought if he did he'd just sound too petulant. Instead he said: "The day's not over yet."
"You mean . . ." His wife's hot breath ghosted over his neck as she rested her chin on his shoulder. "You do not mean to tell me that there's more?"
"Of course there's more. I'm not stingy you know."
"I never thought that," she was quick to assure him. "I simply never expected you would have so much planned."
Silence impeded their surrounds (not counting the rumbling bike) as Sirius struggled to express himself. Now, he thought, would be the perfect time to tell her. To assure her that he was doing this not because he had to, not because of some honour-driven debt, but because he cared for her in more ways than just because she was his wife.
What came out of his mouth was the exact opposite. "You saved my life with that whole boiling tea incident, remember? I have to repay you somehow." Even as he was saying it Sirius knew that it was a mistake. He did not need to feel Antoinette's stiffening body to tell him nor the departure of her arms, which left his waist feeling bereft.
"What are you doing?" he asked in alarm. If she was thinking about jumping off . . .
She answered, voice frigid. "Stretching. And by the way thank you, but you needn't have thought there was any sort of debt to repay. You are, after all, my husband."
Sirius pretended nothing out of the ordinary had happened, even though he wanted to kick himself for ruining the mood. No one had ever accused him of being a coward, but that's what he felt like now. Set him up against a dozen Death Eaters and he would jump in the fray without any regard to his own safety, but set him up against his wife and he turned into an utter wimp.
It was a brooding couple that touched down by the smallish pond thirty minutes later. Antoinette hopped off the bike very quickly and strode some ways away, pretending interest of the surrounding brush. Sirius, after turning off the ignition, followed her.
"This is the perfect place," he said cheerily.
She turned, slow. "For what?"
"The picnic."
And indeed it was a perfect place. Cool, shadowed, with trickling streamlets, lush trees, and cushiony grass beside a thriving wood. They might even conjure a fairy or two. Although, what with Antoinette standing there . . .
"You cooked?" she asked, nose elevated, but there was definitely some interest in her tone.
The red woven rug fluttered in the breeze as he struggled to straighten it. He thought briefly about asking Antoinette for help, but realised she'd probably refuse because of her annoyance with him. In the end he simply resorted to stilling it flat with magic. "It wasn't heavy enough," he muttered to himself, before reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out the miniature picnic basket, which he enlarged immediately. "What? Yeah, I mean not as such. Lily helped, as did a muggle bakery." He settled on the rug and patted the space beside him. "Join me?"
Would she? She was certainly hesitating. Hunger must have won out though, because Antoinette, looking a touch reluctant, settled on the rug beside him.
"How did you find this place?"
"I used to come here as a kid with my brother and older cousins." Before they all turned mental and started following some ugly old maniac.
"It's very beautiful."
"You deserve the best."
Her cheeks lit scarlet with pleasure. Sirius grinned, seeing it.
"What have you got in that hamper?"
"Everything under the sun, I think. Lily went a bit barmy," he explained, flipping back the lid and digging through the almost bottomless basket. "She was feeling guilty that they hadn't gotten you anything, so . . ."
"Be sure to tell her that I am most thankful, won't you."
He chuckled. "You're a lot alike, worrying about what other people think."
"It is called common courtesy; something in which you can use a few lessons."
"Oh-ho, it's like that is it, you think I'm uncouth?"
"You said it."
He laughed, delighted at their banter, silently applauding himself for making her forget his tactless comment. "Here."
She took the plate he handed her, peering curiously at the contents.
"It's dead, you know. Not going to pinch you now unless you charm it to."
She sent him such a glance of mock displeasure that he had to bite his lip and turn away.
"Cracked crab? I've only had it occasionally."
"Well this is the British style. Enjoy. The sauce is particularly good you know."
Regarding him with a raised brow, she dipped a piece of crab meat into the tangerine sauce and brought it to her mouth. Sirius had to turn away at that point. Even watching her doing something as innocuous as eating always aroused him. Especially when she eats with her fingers. Thinking about what she was going to do with those fingers brought his gaze right back. He stared, fascinated and inflamed, as she sucked one finger, then the second. He shifted. A droplet of sauce had settled in the corner of her mouth, right where the upper lip met the lower. Sirius decided he was going to lick it off before she had a chance to do so.
He leaned in and swiped his tongue into that tempting little indent, then covered her gasp with his mouth. Now that he'd had his epiphany his head turned giddy with the realisation that there was nothing stopping him; they really were going to sleep together sooner or later. Therefore, he concluded, he could kiss her whenever he wanted without feeling guilty about arousing her.
The incident from this morning lingered in his thoughts as he yanked her onto his lap. Now why would he think of that just as they were settling down for a good snog-fest, and possibly more? It was the perfect setting for her first time too. Dappled sunlight filtered through the overhanging leaves. The grass was padded, the water trickling, Antoinette had cramps . . .
Cramps?
Damn and blast!
His lips tore from hers as he cursed aloud.
"Why did you stop?"
Little puffs of breath left her lusciously swollen mouth as she stared at him incomprehensively. He couldn't very well tell her that he knew. He would embarrass them both. But anything else other than the truth might offend her. He didn't want her to think his earlier philosophy — their ultimatum — still held supreme. It didn't, and it wouldn't ever again. If he told her he wanted to stop now she would turn cold as she had earlier up in the air. She would ignore him.
He settled on, "I have to give you your present."
"More?" she breathed, astonishment clear in her eyes. "Sirius, this is too much —"
"You are my wife," he reminded her, and slid the hand that was tangled in the hair at her nape downwards. It settled comfortably on one slim hip and squeezed. "I-I . . . care . . . very much for you."
The smile she sent him then was dazzling and, just in case he wasn't still reeling from their earlier kiss, blew away the last congruence of untainted and rational thought that might have been lingering. "I care for you as well."
He grunted "Good," looking anywhere but at the figure in his arms. He was aching to unzip those jeans of hers, yank them down her legs, and submerge himself in her softness, but nature, cruel that it was, prevented him. He placed her back in the space she had previously occupied and reached for the small velvet sack in the inner pocket of his jacket. "I hope —" he licked his lip. "I thought of you as soon as I saw it. I hope you like it."
He placed the package in her upturned palm. Slim fingers were more than a little unsteady as they pulled loose the bow, pried open the sack, tipped out the contents.
Her "Oh Mon Dieu" was reverent and breathy and made his head spin.
The jewels had cost him a small fortune — not that he couldn't afford it — because they were each one pure and cut to the exact measurement. Bright oval sapphires, small, threaded through with the tiniest and thinnest of diamonds made up the major part of the necklace, while two slightly larger sapphires were positioned at the end so that they formed a backwards V. It would be a little bigger than the width of her neck when she put it on. Simple, yet elegant. Suited to Antoinette's style.
She was holding it up now, letting what little sunlight that penetrated the eaves of the canopy twinkle through the deep, deep blue. Occasionally a ray would catch just that small bit of diamond in between the blue and glisten becomingly.
"Would you like me to put it on for you?"
Her nod was slow, but certain.
"Look at me," Sirius asked.
Her gaze, framed by those thick golden-brown lashes, flew up to meet his own.
"That necklace will never compare to your own jewels." His finger traced the edge of an uptilted eyelid. He laughed, a little unsteadily. "I'm being maudlin; that isn't like me. What have you done to me, Antoinette?"
She leapt at him, jewels fisted in her hand, knocking him over so that she landed on top. Then she placed laughing kisses all over his face, his neck. "Merci, merci, merci beacoup."
"If I'd known this was the reaction I'd get I would have bought you the necklace earlier."
Antoinette stared down at him reproachfully and not without a little amusement. "We both know you would not have, but thank you for saying it. As it is," she drew a deep breath so that the tips of her breasts brushed against him, "I did not kiss you because of the jewels, but because of the sentiment behind them."
"I know," he said, brushing back her thick hair. "Let me put the necklace on then we'll finish lunch."
There was a lot to finish. Lily really had gone mental. Prawns, chicken, salad, soup, and not one but two desserts — a chocolate mud cake and a container of very creamy ice-cream. In the end they compromised with their stomachs and agreed that they would finish the leftovers that night. Or preferably tomorrow when they weren't so full.
"I cannot move," Antoinette moaned. She had changed place on the blanket, stretching out with her head on his stomach. Sirius himself was lying with one hand folded under his head while the other lifted a lock of pale-gold hair to bring under his nose.
"I know what you mean," he moaned back. "I think I'm going to throw up."
She giggled. "That is disgusting!"
"Can't fault truth, darling."
She stilled. "Are you being serious, Sirius? I mean . . . that . . . what?" Her brow crinkled thoughtfully. "Hmm."
Sirius tugged at the lock in his fingers. "If you dare make a joke about my name . . ."
She chortled, clasped a hand to her mouth, then chortled again. "I only just realised. Oh, look how you made me sound."
"Now who's the uncouth one?"
She squeezed his leg, but Sirius barely registered that. He was too busy staring. Her jacket now gaped open, revealing the white-silk blouse he'd given her — and the perfect globes of her breasts were straining, taught, underneath it. He literally had to move his free hand and stuff it beneath his head so that he couldn't reach over and knead them as he so wanted.
"I know what you're looking at."
Sirius started, observed the twitch in her lip, and flushed. "No you don't."
"I can tell you if you want. My —"
"Don't! If you care for me at all you will not finish that sentence."
Elated laughter echoed in the clearing. Scheming little witch!
He sat up, startling her, and yanked her into his lap. Face down.
She squealed and struggled but he was much stronger. "What are you doing?!"
"Eighteen Birthday smacks, is it? Plus one for next year? That how it works?"
Gasping, she struggled even more. "You wouldn't!"
No, he wouldn't. Having on her his lap like this — wriggling around with her bottom in the air showing him just how shapely it was and practically demanding that he touch it — was too dangerous for them both at the moment. But he wasn't going to let her go unpunished.
"Fine, three smacks then. In honour of how old you're acting right now."
She tried to sit up. "How dare —!"
Smack!
"Oh!"
Thwack!
"Ouch! Sirius!"
Whack!"
"Oooooo!" The irate sound quickly changed into a startled gasp when he pressed his lips to one plump cheek. She couldn't have felt it very much as the material of the trousers was rather thick, but either way it affected her enormously and he — hearing the responding groan so filled with desire — gave into the urge and rubbed her buttocks anyway.
She was panting now, wriggling fit to burst. "I can't, I can't . . ."
Sirius knew exactly what she was talking about. Guilt-ridden, though still more than healthily aroused, he took his hands off her bottom and plonked her back on the rug.
Effing monthlies.
"Well I'm all for a nap now after that heavy meal. Good day." He didn't glance to see her reaction; merely yawned, turned on his side, and pretended to sleep for the better part of an hour.
Coward.
But only with her.
xxxxx
Three hours past, agonisingly, by the time they finally made it home. Antoinette had forgiven him for his little nap, but only because she'd had one herself. Sirius had awoken with their legs twined together and his head pillowed on Antoinette's stomach; his erection had yet to diminish from that encounter. But that he had been expecting, perhaps, even on some perversely self-tortuous level, hoped for. What he hadn't counted on was the almost sappy burst of spontaneous happiness that had only seemed to grow in the last few hours. It had everything to do with feeling like the world was finally in its right place, like he was finally in the right place; as if his life now held some sort of meaning that transcended beyond the everyday.
Sirius snorted. Yeah right.
As he entered through the back door behind Antoinette Sirius heard the distinct popping noise of a house elf apparating. It took a mental debate of about two seconds to conclude that no, he would not confront his wife about enlisting his mother's help, at least not that day. Antoinette wasn't really guilty of anything nefarious; Kreacher was her servant now as much as Sirius's. Who was he to judge?
His clenched fists spoke otherwise.
As they entered the drawing room Antoinette removed her jacket and placed it on the coffee table. Instantly, all nasty thoughts flew out of Sirius's ears. He had assumed he'd judged correctly when he'd bought that shirt — evidently not as it seemed just a little too tight for his piece of mind. His wife settled on the sofa and he, still staring, plonked down in the nearest armchair.
The next second a furious hissing brought him yelping to his feet. He whirled around, gazed fixed downwards.
Antoinette, who had been trying not to blush with pleasure under the piercing gaze of her husband, jumped a little. "What is it?" she asked, seeing nothing out of the ordinary except her cat. Her very furious looking cat. Did he almost . . .? No, he couldn't be that stupid.
"What," Sirius said, staring, "is that?"
She stood, annoyed. "My cat, Adele."
"What's she doing here?"
"My parents bought her for me a month and a half ago. Now they have sent her to me as a birthday present."
His gaze was unmoving as he demanded, "When?"
Inwardly, she frowned. His curt tone was beginning to bother her. "This morning. It came through the Floo."
"Does she hate dogs?"
What an odd question. She was beginning to think he'd had his brain soaked in bobutuber puss. "As she is a cat, I suppose she must. Why do you ask? It is not as though you have a dog — do you have a dog?" Something niggled at her thoughts as she asked that question, an almost forgotten memory.
"In a manner of speaking," he mumbled, grimacing. "Can you get rid of it?"
"What a daft request! Certainly not, Sirius Black. And Adele's name is not 'it', it is . . . Adele," she finished lamely. Only he could ruffle her composure like this. "And what did you mean by, 'in a manner of speaking'? Is there a stray around that I have not seen yet?"
Sirius's gaze seemed almost assessing as he turned to look at her. "Actually, there's a big black dog that wanders by on occasion. Just last week I found him with his nose in the garden." This was a private joke, she concluded, because he chuckled as he said it.
And then she froze. "Big, black . . . you told me there was NO grim!"
Sirius took a hesitant step back, gaze widening. "He's not a grim!"
"It scared me half to death. It made me fall. You said you saw nothing!"
"I didn't see anything," he stressed, though Antoinette couldn't help but notice his flickering eyelids.
"You. Are. Lying!"
His mouth opened. "I am not. Why would you think so?"
Did the man think she was daft?! "It is written all over your face."
There was an awkward pause, before: "Fine. I might have seen something, a flash of fur —very dark in the garden . . . couldn't possibly see anything of tangible proof . . ."
He worked himself into a fine trail-off until the silence turned nasty. Antoinette crossed her arms, now made easier because she'd removed the jacket. "Well, if such a dog happens to —"
"Padfoot."
She blinked. "Excusez- moi?"
"His name's Padfoot." Sirius shifted, staring at the floor. "That's what I, er, call him."
Staring, she tried again: "If this Paddy-foot happens to come along, I shall simply curse him —"
"You'll do no such thing!" Her husband looked completely horrified, and Antoinette was taken aback. "I mean — he's a sort of companion of mine. I feed him sometimes. If he comes by let him alone. Or give him something to eat. I recommend that thing." He pointed a finger at Adele.
Antoinette didn't waste a second before rushing forward, ducking around Sirius's outstretched arm, and scooping up the ball of fluff.
Sirius was laughing heartily by the time she deposited her cat outside and safely out of harm's way. "Stop glaring, Toni, you know I didn't mean it. And while we're talking of keeping secrets . . . when were you going to tell me about the house elf?"
She almost choked. But, but how did he know? Antoinette learned a very important lesson then: she could not keep secrets from her husband. He found everything out and he was far too wily by half. And there was no point denying it, he would never believe her. She licked her lip, observed the smug smile, his crossed arms. When exactly had their positions reversed?
"I'd hoped you would not have noticed."
The smile widened to a predatory grin. "I know you, Toni. You're far too la-di-da to cook anything. A five course meal?" He snorted. "Please. Even Lily's not that obsessed."
She was stunned, hurt, embarrassed that he would think that. But only because he spoke the truth. Nearly. She wanted to learn to cook, she really did. If that's true then why haven't you asked Linear to teach you?
Because Linear is a house elf!
It was a poor excuse and she knew it.
"Are you very angry?"
He hesitated, that was obvious. Her heart hammered. What if he hated her? Oh God, she couldn't stand it. "No, not very. Annoyed, though, but only because you thought you had to ask my mother . . ." he continued on in the same vein while Antoinette frowned. He thought she'd asked his mother? How absurd. If she had anything to do with that scheming old witch it would be all too soon. A titter rose in her throat. She squelched it. Sirius would not appreciate laughter at his expense. Oh, but the relief she felt now was almost exhausting. ". . . hate him, but if he helps around the house I guess I can tolerate it. As long as he doesn't try to poison me in my sleep or something. Come to think of it that would kill him too, but it's probably what he wants."
"Of whom are you speaking?"
Sirius blinked. "Who do you think? Kreacher."
"Ah."
His gaze turned calculating. "Whom did you think I was speaking of?"
"Oh, never mind."
"Toni . . ." he trailed off warningly.
"I did not ask Walburga for help," she finally admitted.
A clench in that masculine jaw was the only sign she got of his impending anger. "Don't lie to me. All evidence points to a house elf —"
"Exactly. All evidence points to a house elf."
"Toni —"
"A house elf, Sirius."
He blinked. "You mean it's not Kreacher?"
She nodded.
He stared at her a few seconds before his expression turned thoughtful. "I wasn't aware Mother had any other elves."
Antoinette mentally rolled her eyes. Men could be so dense some times. "She doesn't." Pausing, she gave him one last chance to get it. He didn't. Pivoting, she strode into the kitchen. Her throat was parched. "It is Linear, my old house elf. I asked Maman to send her — temporarily. Just until I get into the, how do you say . . . swing of things."
"But you're married to me now," he insisted, reaching for a cup out of the top cupboards when it became obvious she wasn't tall enough. "You're a Black. The magic binding a house elf and its former mistress should be severed; Lint-ear, or whatever her name is, shouldn't be able to listen to you —"
"Maman ordered her to. And give me that."
"I don't like it," Sirius grunted after a long pause, where the sound of rushing water was the only thing heard. "In-laws spying on us —"
"Do not be ridiculous!"
"Tell me they wouldn't utulize the opportunity?"
Antoinette couldn't, in truth, tell him that. She wouldn't put it past her parents to spy on them actually. At least until she got settled in to her new life. Now she was getting paranoid. "I cannot say for certain . . ." she admitted.
His resulting sound was filled with triumph.
Antoinette sniffed contemptuously and gulped down her water. "You want me to get rid of her, don't you?"
One long finger reached up to scratch a brow. "Not as such . . . couldn't you order her not to — no, her first priority is to your parents."
Trick him! her brain shouted. It's the only way. "If Linear goes, there'll be no more meals you know."
Grey eyes narrowed. "Your point?"
"I do not want the embarrassment of your going to The Leaky Cauldron for food — not to mention your going to the Potter's. I have my pride."
"You expect me to starve?" he asked, incredulous. The fact that it was not falsified stung her.
"I told you I will learn to cook. Buy me a wizarding cook book."
"Don't need to," he said. "Just order a copy of Witch Weekly. They've all sorts of recipes in there according to James."
James? "He cooks?"
"He tolerates. His wife, that is. Lily can't stop jabbering sometimes."
"Fine. I shall dismiss Linear at the soonest possible opportunity."
"Right now would be good," he said slyly then, before she could even get angry, kissed her.
For a long time.
Antoinette decided to forgive him.
xxxxxx
One week later . . .
"What in Merlin's Great Underpants do you mean?" Sirius paced along the carpet in front of the Potter's hearth, deep violet robes lifting bits of ash in his wake. "Hiding? Why the hell wasn't I told about this sooner? Dumbledore should've told me, at the last Order meeting. You should've told me!"
"If you would just calm down . . ." James said.
"Calm down? Calm down! My bloody best friends — my family — are about to get attacked by the Dark Lord, and you want me to calm down!"
"Calm down!" Lily screeched.
Sirius stopped in his pacing long enough to glare at her, before continuing on, with even more vigour than he had previously shown.
"You're not helping any," Lily continued, hands fisting on her lap. "Anyway, we don't really know if Voldemort's found out everything about the prophecy —"
"— which you still won't tell me about —!"
Lily continued as though she hadn't heard him. "— because there hasn't been any suspicious activity with the Death Eaters! Whoever it was that heard that Trelawney woman in the Hog's Head Inn might not have even been a Death Eater. And Dumbledore thinks it's still all right to go outside. We just aren't to be seen during daytime hours. We can still go places. We just have to be extra careful . . ." She trailed off at Sirius's scowl.
"That's not the point and you know it! How you can sit there so bloody calm . . . !"
Lily burst into tears just as James yelled, "That was uncalled for, Sirius!"
Sirius looked momentarily horrified. "I–I'm . . . Merlin, Lily," he breathed. "I'm sorry. Please just . . ." He could not go on.
"It's j–just . . . I don't know how to cope, really. It's just come as such a big shock! And I'd never much put stock in Divination anyway, and to just find out now, about this stupid prophecy . . ." She sobbed into her hands, dark red hair falling like a curtain to hang about her face.
James put an arm around her. "I'm sorry we didn't tell you earlier, Sirius. We only just found out yesterday ourselves . . . Well, we just had to have some time to think about it."
"Of course," Sirius managed, but inside he was almost shaking with grief. Even though nothing had happened yet. And nothing will happen, EVER, as long as I'm around to protect them! His thoughts right now were so brittle and confused that he wasn't sure what to think anymore. All he knew was that he felt like bursting into tears himself, but that would only add to his grief.
"Nobody lives once Voldemort decides to kill them."
His eyes turned immediately hot with the thought. Dumbledore had told them that at their very first Order meeting. And to think that now, The Potters, Lily and Harry . . . He thought of his little Godson, not even old enough to talk, and almost lost it. Then he thought of James, his brother, and did loose it. His chest heaved with unshed sobs. "Has–has Dumbledore thought of a more permanent solution? Other than just hiding, I mean."
The Potters looked at each other. "The Fidelius Charm," said James quietly. "Just like the Order is under. Dumbledore says it's our best bet. Although we'll still have to hide —"
"I'll do it!" Sirius blurted. "I'll be Secret Keeper!"
James's gaze turned stubborn behind his familiar spectacles. "Dumbledore volunteered."
"But —"
"I told him we wanted you instead."
Sirius stared at him. Those hazel eyes were filled with a sudden presumptuous uncertainty, but Sirius could only feel overwhelming love and gratitude for his best friend then, who knew him so well.
"Of course you did. And what kind of friend would I be if I disappointed?" He stared down at the threadbare carpet, spotting a stain. He latched onto it like a dying man does the last glimpse of his family. Which isn't very far from the truth at the moment. At that thought another, this time silent, sob shook his body. "When do you want me to?"
"Not yet."
He let his head snap up. "But James —"
"You forget there may be no need, Sirius. We're still unsure whether the wizard who overheard part of the prophecy told Voldemort anything. Or if he even is a Death Eater."
"At the Hog's Head? There can be no other alternative!"
"Dumbledore doesn't think so."
Sirius narrowed his eyes. Why would the Headmaster not think so, unless . . . "Dumbledore knows who it is." It wasn't a question.
"Yes," said James.
"Do you?"
Lily shook her head. "He doesn't want to tell us."
"Then I'll bet it's some slimy, mangy, scum Death Eater! Dumbledore and his charity cases! He's determined to think there's good in everyone!"
"Keep your voice down, you'll wake Harry. And stop gesticulating so much, you'll knock over my vase."
Sirius spared a glance at the mantelpiece, where indeed the pressure of the wind made by his violent gestures had briefly shaken the small, glass vase. He steadied it, then resumed his rigid pacing. "I just can't believe —" He froze. "Have you told the others yet?"
James answered in the negative. "We can't find them. We have a suspicion Peter's at his mother's, but we don't know her address, and we tried sticking our heads into Remus's cottage, but he wasn't there. And we just couldn't wait anymore. We had to tell someone . . ."
Suspicion lurched. "Perhaps it's better that you didn't find him," Sirius mumbled, but Lily had heard.
She frowned. "What are you on about? What did you mean by that? It's sounds as though you don't want us to tell Remus."
"Like I said, perhaps it's better if you didn't." He shook his head. "Never mind. Look, just keep safe. Floo me tonight — oh wait, I've got that stupid task for the Order tonight. Doesn't matter, Floo the house anyway. Antoinette will be there. You like her, right? Just, just don't stay here alone. Please." He thought of embracing them, and tried to convince himself that there was no need, that they would be seeing each other all too soon. That it was just like another day.
He couldn't.
Without breaking stride he leapt at them, squeezing arms around both Lily and James, then, because he thought he'd start crying like a baby if he remained any longer, he managed to choke out a short goodbye, and disapparated.
He was not acting himself, he knew that, yet the truth had never been so clear to him as it was at that moment. The prospect of loosing his very best and dear friends, his family, made him latch on to the only person his mind had thought, had been constantly telling him for the past two weeks, seemed very distrustful. Whose behaviour was borderline suspicious. Sirius was finally going to listen to that voice in his mind. He was finally going to believe himself, when he couldn't before.
But it was agony thinking about it. The nonexistent name had finally become a reality:
Remus.
It could be no other.
The spy was Remus.
Someone close to the Potter's, passing information.
Remus, who was a werewolf
"Voldemort has been recruiting dark creatures".
Remus, who was part of his family.
Moony.
How he wanted it all to be otherwise.
When he appeared before his wife in the drawing room of their house she was sitting on a lounge chair, sipping a cup of black coffee.
She stood upon spotting him, blue eyes widening. "Sirius?"
He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He tried to speak again, not realising how utterly brought-down he looked. "Toni, I . . ."
He wanted her comfort, but that was dangerous. He couldn't have her comfort now. He was never going to be able to hold her again because she would hate him; hate him forever for what he was about to do, but it had to be done. It was too dangerous for her now, here, with him, with all this Secret Keeper business.
Ironic how, before a week ago, he would have jumped at the opportunity to send her away. To have a legitimate excuse with which to do so. Now that he had it he didn't want it.
His mouth opened to tell her. Order her.
Choked.
Before he knew what he was doing, he fell into her; into her arms. They circled about him immediately. Dimly he heard a soft voice mumbling in his ear, the light accent soothing to his nerves. Fingers fluttered over his cheek, catching the wetness there. And only after that did he realise he was crying, and this time there was no stopping his tears.
xxxxx
A/N: Just in case anyone's confused: according to JKR wizards actually conjure fairies themselves; usually to use them as decorations or "fairy lights", then they set them free. They don't have much of a brain but they're very pretty.
Also, Raiders of the Lost Arc (which was later renamed Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Arc) actually did come out in 1981 (July or August). Since I hadn't yet been born then – wouldn't be for a fair few years in fact – I found this information on a movie website. It seemed like the sort of film us muggles would have gone nuts over and that Lily would have heard about. I've seen it, but ages ago, so if I got any facts wrong please forgive me.