She was gone. Again.

Sirius stood alone in the too-tranquil scene. Snow still clung to his beard where Pip'd pummeled him with it, his features were still registered with hesitancy. She had vanished, but that wicked smile still lingered in Sirius's mind as though he hadn't torn his eyes away at all.

She was baiting him, she had to be. He would've known if she was with somebody else. Sirius wasn't monitoring Pip per se, but he always found himself listening closer at the mention of a certain witch. It was second nature as this point, and he told himself it was for Pip's sake more than his. Who knew what trouble she'd wander into - or create - with each passing day?

He sure as fuck would've heard any mention of some other prick - or lady prick. Unless…unless she hadn't told anyone…

Sirius's stomach dropped, his muscles tightening at the possibility. He swallowed and willed himself into calm like he had so many times over the past few months. But his temper - the temper that'd fuelled him through the first war, through Azkaban, through the years since - wasn't easily muzzled.

It refused to cower, so Sirius found himself stalking back into the Burrow. He threw the door wide, target locked in. Bill. He was Pip's best mate, Bill would know.

Sirius found the oldest Weasley boy in a squashy orange armchair. One hand was rubbing his forehead, the other was settled on the small of Fleur's back. Fleur was using Bill as a throne and something about the sight had Sirius's patience dwindling further.

He didn't care how deranged he probably looked. 'Is she seeing someone?' he interrogated them.

Bill looked up with a mixture of exhaustion and confusion. 'Is who-'

'Pip,' Sirius growled. 'Is Pip seeing someone?'

Sirius was no idiot; he knew the whole Order was aware of their…relationship. He usually brushed off the sly remarks any of them made with a chuckle, but right now he didn't have the bloody patience to act aloof.

Bill, for his part, peered up at Sirius like the latter was speaking Greek. While he attempted to unravel the clearly flummoxing question (maybe Bill wasn't in the loop as Sirius'd thought), his fiancé slid off his lap.

Fleur's usually dazzling features were drawn into a sneer. 'Iz zat any of your bizniss, Siriuz?'

Sirius spared only a second to search Fleur's eyes, to ponder that defensive tone. Though she was more composed than Bill, Sirius was sure she was bluffing. She was protecting Pip, but she didn't know any more than that.

'Yeah, I think it is,' he said brusquely. 'Ask Remus to take Harry home for me, would you?'

He dismissed himself without another word. It was only a matter of minutes until he'd apparated to Hogwarts. Sirius came close to blasting the gate off its hinges with how slowly it creaked open. He marched through the grounds, a trail of obscenities trailing in wake, until he found a melting set of footprints which had him changing course.

The path pointed him to the Clocktower Courtyard. Sirius stormed across the rickety old bridge - one he and James and nearly blown to smithereens in their third year - and there she was. He could've almost fooled himself into thinking she was waiting for him.

Pip stood unmoving in the centre of the courtyard. She was staring at the fountain, the water crystalized mid-stream by the winter freeze. The snowfall itself had withdrawn, but the ancient stones and cloisters were painted white. It was like the place was suspended in a dream, and there was Pip, right in the middle of it.

Despite the distance, Sirius could see she was frowning. Pip's forehead was creased, brow knitted, mouth slightly pouted like it always did in times of trouble. She looked…lost. And for some reason that eased Sirius's temper a little.

He approached slowly, almost like one would approach a cornered animal. Pip's head snapped upwards at the sound of snow crunching under his boots and Sirius' knew he was right to err on the side of caution.

A million emotions flashed through Pip's eyes - too fast, too wild, too haphazard to pinpoint one. She was infuriatingly impossible to read. Schooling herself into something Sirius guessed was supposed to resemble impassiveness, she spoke warily.

'Sirius…'

He could already see that famous fight or flight response kicking in. 'We're not doing this again, Pip,' Sirius snarled. He preempted the evasive answer those words would surely prompt, continuing, incensed. 'We're not having some stupid fucking argument that leads to you ignoring me for a month.'

Pip cringed at that; as though she hadn't realised he'd long ago pinned down the usual modus operandi. Like he hadn't known all the rows were excuses to push him away.

Sirius ran a hand through his hair, cold air misting around the frustrated breath that escaped him. 'Fuck, Pip…'

Originally he'd thought it was some sort of test, to see if he'd go sleeping around the minute he was free. But the months apart had proven that theory resoundingly false. Of course the other alternative had made itself obvious: that she didn't want anything to do with him. But something in Sirius always resisted. The moment that resistance started to falter and the possibility that Pip really didn't care started to take root, she came crashing back into his life.

Like she'd done today. And he found himself drawn in by those brown eyes, trying to figure out what she was thinking until his head pounded. She was still staring at him now. But Sirius could see the emotion raging there, he could see a war happening beneath the surface.

'What do you want, Pip?' He asked exasperatedly. He'd almost added 'from me', as though she was tormenting him. If he was honest, she was. And it looked like she was currently tormenting herself too. 'I know what I want,' Sirius continued with unrestrained honesty. 'What I want hasn't changed since you ditched me in that sodding courtroom chamber.' The words that followed were ground out, almost painful to say. 'So what do you want, Pip?'

Sirius had only seen Pip truly scared once. In the Department of Mysteries. He was duelling Bellatrix - it was so freeing to finally let lose, to fire deadly curses again, totally unrestrained, totally consuming. He hadn't sensed she'd rushed into the battle. Until suddenly, like someone had screamed his name, she was there on the dais with a blood-coated mouth, eyes transfixed with horror. She wasn't afraid for herself at the time, but that he would miss the curse tearing towards him.

Flickers of that same fear were crossing Pip's features now. She was afraid. But of what? Of him? No, she was the type to take convicted fugitives out for walkies. Since that first night in Grimmauld Place, she hadn't once levelled him with the same look so many others had.

So what was it? Sirius could almost taste the answer, like it would swallow him at any moment. But he couldn't wait. What was she afraid of? What did she want-

Any question of either were immediately thrown from Sirius's mind as Pip grabbed him by the collar and slammed their mouths together. It was a desperate, confusing kiss but Sirius was on fire. He seized Pip by the waist, pulling them impossibly close as she all but wrapped herself around him. She kissed him like she was burning too. All there was, was the heat unfurling from their mouths and Pip's smell, the sweetness of caramel. The courtyard disappeared, the chill biting their cheeks vanished, and Sirius didn't particularly care why Pip was kissing him, only that she was. It was like breathing after holding his breath for so long.

So the sudden thrust of Pip shoving him off seemed to suck all the air from the world. The fire was extinguished. Sirius stumbled and caught himself from tripping. He stared, stunned, and the answer slowly dawned on him.

He wasn't sure if she'd kissed him to buy herself time, to figure out an answer or to show him the conclusion she'd already reached. But the answer was writ clearly across Pip's own shocked features. She was afraid of that. The kiss, the flaming freefall and the brutal aftermath of having it all torn away.

'I can't, Sirius,' she whispered.

Sirius attempted to make sense of it. She was putting it all on hold - life on hold - because she was scared of risking it? Yes, there was a war going on, but risk came running at them regardless. Risk didn't take a bloody war. And Sirius - who refused to put his own life on hold for anything - couldn't accept that.

That wasn't living at all.

He knew he was frowning, was allowing that disapproval show, but he couldn't hide it. He couldn't stop himself from saying, 'I thought you were braver than that, Pip.'

Something flashed in Pip's eyes, but she smothered it immediately. 'Guess you were wrong.'

Sirius's features tightened. To know that at least some part wanted him and wouldn't risk it, wouldn't fight for it…

He took a step backwards, tearing his gaze away to stare up at the blindingly white sky. If he was searching for an answer tattooed in the clouds - something that would make him understand - he was disappointed. He didn't understand. And he didn't want to.

So Sirius nodded tersely, and for the first time, he was the one walking away.

Pip thought she might crumble. Thought she might cave in on herself and collapse into dust. With each step that carried Sirius away, that crushing sensation doubled. All those times, their positions reversed, had he found it as difficult to breathe as she currently did?

She'd ruined it all. And not with that stupid, reckless, burning kiss, but by taking so long to realise the truth. And Sirius had wrest it free with such a simple question. What do you want?

Pip wanted Sirius. Wanted him so bad it hurt. She'd fooled herself for so long; all those inane excuses - his imprisonment in Grimmauld Place, his freedom, Mary - were covers for the real reason she couldn't give herself over to him.

She couldn't bear the thought of having him and losing him. And that wouldn't change. Pip knew that no matter how hard she tried to convince herself otherwise, she wouldn't risk becoming the same broken child who'd had everyone stolen away again.

And Sirius knew. Sirius, who'd quite literally laughed in the face of death on more than one occasion, had finally seen the real Pip. And he hadn't liked what he'd found.

In the days following Christmas, Pip was haunted by his disgusted expression. Eyes closed, she would see his face, full of reproach and disbelief. She couldn't figure out which was worse – his reaction or the fresh memory of kissing him. She'd forgotten what it was like to kiss Sirius Black. Pip'd dreamt of it so many times – asleep and in daydreams – but fantasies paled in comparison to the real thing. One kiss, and she'd turned to ashes at his touch, less than smoke.

How had it taken so long to recognise what was happening here? Maybe if she'd come to that horrible epiphany sooner, Sirius wouldn't…Pip stopped herself – she hoped hate wasn't the right word.

With only these thoughts and a queasy, gnawing sensation for company, she hid away in Hogwarts. She barricaded herself in with the Wizarding Wireless blaring at a deafening volume in hopes that it would stave off the possibility of thought. But thought, ironically enough, had a mind of its own and came barging in anyway.

On the second last day of December though, a new sound came to interrupt the duet of blasting music and Pip's maudlin inner-monologue. It was the rapping of a beak, and with it came a tawny owl and folded piece of parchment. Pip smoothed out the creases, cantering heart for naught. It didn't bear the handwriting she was half-dreading, half-dreaming of.

Instead, an hour later she was sat between Arthur and George in Grimmauld Place, failing miserably to listen to Kingsley's latest intelligence report. ('The Dark Lord is keeping a disturbingly low profile.'). But Pip couldn't concentrate. For all she knew, Voldemort had announced plans to lay down arms and become a florist in Birmingham.

All Pip could focus on was Sirius's vacant seat. The chair he usually occupied loomed forth from the shadows as though purposefully designed to emphasis its owner's absence. As if it too knew this was the first Order meeting Sirius had missed, as if it too knew who was to blame for his and was pointing a wooden finger squarely at Pip.

As the meeting concluded, she found herself drifting towards the chair. Pip trailed a hand atop the cold wood, fingers dipping into the knots and grooves.

'He's not going to show up, no matter how hard you frown at that chair.'

Bill's advice carried from the kitchen threshold, where he waited with crossed arms. Though his lips were tugging slightly – a small attempt at humour – the gesture didn't hide the tinge of concern colouring his eyes. Pip was accustomed to such looks, but not coming from Bill.

She released the chair and took two large strides away as though the distance would wipe that strange look from his face. 'I assumed I was brooding in private…'

'So this row was…bad?' Bill surmised, coming closer. 'Worse than the others, I mean.'

Pip considered counselling him to bugger off, but she took in his sympathetic expression and couldn't commit to it. While their 'woe-is-me' talks were rare, Bill knew Pip like nobody else. So she shot him a glum smile. 'I think I really fucked up this time.'

Bill nodded, pensive. 'And if I were to suggest you talk to him…?' He suggested it like he'd already guessed the answer.

'I think we know how that goes,' Pip snorted. 'Besides,' - she looked pointedly at Sirius's deserted seat - 'I'm not sure he's willing to listen…and I don't blame him…'

Until that kiss in the courtyard, Pip'd figured she'd grown use to that strange longing for him, that chronic sense of missing him. But this was so much worse. Now she realised why. For half a year, she'd exercised a perverse command over their separation. It was Pip who went for months-long world-wide sojourns, Pip who skirted Order meetings at whim, Pip who occasionally ambushed Sirius with reunions. But now the truth was out there. And Sirius'd had enough.

Pip was returned to the present by a shoulder-squeeze from Bill. His smile was a little too knowing. 'I've known you a long time, Pip. You're my best mate. And you're…I don't know - different with him.'

'I'm mad with him,' she corrected. Bill knew exactly why Pip steered clear of intimacy beyond the physical level. He had a rather traumatic night spent in an abandoned classroom as proof. 'You know me. You know I'm not built for...all that. And I'm already mental enough as is, I don't need to be dragging him down with me.'

Bill shook his head in resignation. 'In case you change your mind - which Fleur tells me is "a woman'z right to do,"' he chanted wisely, 'You should know he's coming tomorrow.'

Tomorrow? Oh Merlin.

Pip had somehow forgotten that tomorrow marked the birth of a New Year. And that Bill had roped half the Order into presenting themselves at the Three Broomsticks to celebrate it. Usually the New Year wasn't much more than an excuse to drink herself comatose, but now…

She grimaced. 'I'm not sure I should go.'

'That's rubbish,' he scoffed. 'I want you there, Pip. And I think you want you there too.'

Bill might've known what Pip wanted but Pip certainly didn't. By the time the moon had teased its way into the sky and nestled between the stars on New Year's Eve, she still wasn't sure what to do with herself.

She settled for pacing around the office, chatting absentmindedly to the picture of Elizabeth.

Were it simply a matter of whether or not she wanted to see Sirius, she would've happily skipped down to the Three Broomsticks. She always wanted to see Sirius - the last few days had made the abundantly clear.

But the last few days had also made it clear why that was a bad idea. Sirius's utter silence (Pip honestly would've welcomed a howler at this rate) seemed warning enough. So ultimately she resolved not to worsen matters further, and instead planned to spend another thrilling night staring at the ceiling. She hadn't considered that the machinations of other people might derail this scheme.

At around nine forty-five, the door burst open with such sudden ferocity that Pip tumbled off the desk she was perched on, landing face-first on the flagstone floor. She peeled herself free to discover Fleur parading in. Stunning in a dress of cerulean sequins, Fleur zeroed in on Pip and snorted.

'How 'are you not ready? It iz so late!' Forgoing further pleasantries, she strode through to the bedroom, threw open the wardrobe and plucked out an old moss-coloured sweater. 'I zink we can safely assume you are not wearing zat.'

While Fleur glowered at the garment like it'd caused personal offense (and she was perhaps contemplating setting it on fire), Pip - still floorbound - slowly started to put the pieces together.

Dragging herself up, she seethed. 'I'm going to murder Bill.'

'Yes, yes, but first you must 'urry up,' Fleur answered distractedly. She dug through Pip's clothing like a niffler hunting for gold, any protests falling on deaf ears.

Later, while Fleur painted Pip's mouth with ruby lipstick, the latter struggled to explain why this wasn't a good idea. Such explanations likewise failed as Fleur smoothed out Pip's hair. Pip didn't totally surrender until she was straightjacket-ed into the dress Fleur'd proclaimed least hideous - a vibrant, scarlet, rather tight fitting design.

'You will not allow one silly man to ruin your night,' Fleur muttered. She stepped across the mass of discarded outfits carpeting the floor with incredibly poise while Pip tripped afterwards in tow. 'You know I thought zat all ze yelling was an English thing but Bill says it iz not…'

Pip was still devising some unfortunate 'accident' which might befall Bill as the pair departed. Beyond that she had little time for anything – second-thoughts included.

Aside from figuring Pip wasn't capable of dressing herself, Fleur had also apparently come to the conclusion she wasn't capable of walking. She escorted Pip all the way through Hogsmeade. And once the two had passed the village - the snowy rooftops aglow in ghostly moonlight - she pulled them towards the Three Broomsticks as though she thought Pip might make a run for it.

Pip also thought she might make a run for it. Her nerves were running rampant as the pub emerged. It looked a welcome sight; with buttery light spilling from the windows and music pouring onto the street, it was a lantern in the dark. But Pip could only think about who she'd find inside and how that person might react to this intrusion.

She was suddenly grateful for Fleur's grip as she stepped into the light and blinked the pub into view.

If Hogsmeade was silver, the Three Broomsticks was its gold heart. There were flashing, glittering decorations as far as the eye could see - and for Pip that was between swaying shoulders, because the pub was packed wall to wall with patrons. All around, toasts to this New Year mixed with the clink of glasses and the riotous drumbeat of a swing band concealed further inside. The floorboards were shaking, which would've made it nearly impossible to manoeuvre through the crowd had it not parted like a sea for Fleur.

Pip only allowed herself a smidgen of happiness at the sight of Bill and Charlie. She followed Fleur up the staircase to a balcony where the brothers waited with a hearty supply of frothy, half-drained bottles. Fleur released Pip to peck Bill on the cheek, and Pip took the opportunity to hug an already balance-challenged Charlie.

She accepted the sticky, sweating bottle he passed ('You're late,' Charlie pointed out. – 'Fashionably,' Pip responded.), but didn't miss that Bill was already employing his fiancé as a shield.

Pip scowled at him. 'Big, brave wizard you are, sending your betrothed to do your dirty work.'

Bill's smile was only half-abashed. 'Big, brave witch you are, hiding out in your bedroom,' he countered. 'You can't spend the rest of your life running away from awkward encounters, Pip.'

Pip's eyes went rolling. 'Watch me.'

But the battle she fought against smiling was a losing one. She took a swig of smoky firewhiskey to conceal twitching lips, and propped herself against the balcony to observe the chaos unfolding below.

From this vantage point, the band Madam Rosmerta had enlisted became visible as a booming pit of drums, saxophones and trumpets. Dung was down there on the dancefloor, and a little ways away Kingsley was chatting with Hestia Jones. The steadiest slow of traffic was naturally towards the bar, where a tableaux of witches and wizards queued, each more legless than the last. It was a party of bacchanalian proportions, and if Pip was honest, she was happy she hadn't missed it.

Still…'Where are the others?' she wondered aloud.

Charlie took a couple of attempts to explain that his parents were at home with the kids. Fleur said Moody had spotted a wizard who suspiciously resembled one of his many arch-nemeses and had trudged off to investigate. Remus was somewhere down there, Tonks had mentioned the loo. The others, it transpired, were dispersed around the pub.

While Charlie chugged what remained of his bottle and Fleur primped herself in the reflection of another, Pip met Bill's eyes and the unspoken question hung between them. He shrugged, no clue where Sirius was either. Pip didn't know whether that was good thing or a bad thing.

So she nodded uneasily and followed Charlie's example by downing the bottle. 'Shots,' she gasped. 'Time for shots.'

Charlie was more than willing to oblige. Pip half hoisted him en route to the bar - shocked as she always was to remember he could drink them all under the table. The two reached the flowing taps at the cost of several elbows to the head and were served by Rosmerta herself.

Pip had little time to wonder if she was causing Charlie permanent liver damage. She was on a mission. If she was sloshed, it would be easier to convince herself that she was only taking in the decorations as she scanned the pub, only trying to commit this temporary respite - this one night away from the war - to memory.

And that she wasn't searching for Sirius. She hadn't seen him anywhere; according to an unbidden tidbit from Charlie, nobody had. Pip's stomach squirmed at the uncomfortable thought he'd heard she was coming and had made an excuse to leave. She silenced this anxiety with another shot and although she gagged, it produced the desired result.

Pip reached tipsy right in time for the Weasley twins to drag them all to the dancefloor. The ground thumping to the drumbeat, she was spun around by George – who took the mantra 'dance like nobodies watching' to new extremes – and performed a sort of foxtrot with Fred. After their spasmodic routines, it was a reprieve to shuffle around with Charlie. The sad attempt at a two-step the duo attempted was interspersed with the draining of several more bottles.

All too soon, the whole world was spinning. Pip wasn't sure if it was from the twirling or the alcohol. Head dewy with sweat, she staggered from the dancefloor to the bathroom, lightheaded and laughing. It was harder to use the loo than usual, and she had to stop and rest against a wall for a moment upon stumbling out.

Maybe she wouldn't murder Bill after all. Maybe she'd thank him instead.

This debate between homicide and appreciation was put on hold, however, as an unexpected shout rose above the far off-wailing of the saxophone. It was a familiar shout, one that had Pip's features screwing up as she attempted to place not only who it was but where it was coming from. Foggy-minded as she was, the realisation was slow going.

'...I can't do it! I won't do this to you!'

That sounded like - it twigged sluggishly - Remus! And he was talking to…

'I don't care! Would you listen to me!' That was Tonks, alright. 'For the hundredth time, none of that matters to me!'

With that first question answered, Pip came to a slow, horrifying awareness. The wall she was resting against was in actuality the door of a cramped broom closet. And Remus and Tonks were in the midst of an awfully private conversation inside.

'You don't realise what you're asking of me! What you're asking of yourself! You are young and free! I cannot give you what you deserve!'

Time to go. Far past time to go. Pip was lucid enough to understand that. She risked a step and winced, any motor skills she possessed long since abandoned. It was a struggle, landing a foot on the floorboards with how much the ground insisted on blurring. She managed another two steps against the backdrop of Tonks's protests.

'Remus, please! I don't care what anybody else thinks – the rest of them can-'

'I am – a - monster. And I will not put you in this position. I don't want to talk about this anymore.'

Remus's words rang with such a devastating note of finality that Pip's head rocketed back towards the broom closet in alarm. The rusted doorhandle was turning and she'd accomplished all of three steps; not nearly enough distance to plead innocence. The lunge she made was a desperate one and ill-advised at that. Landing on a discarded glass, she windmilled. But right as the floor came flying up to meet Pip, she was seized around the waist and hoisted around the corner.

There was the sound of Remus's footsteps, the sound of Tonk's muffled sob and the sound of Pip's wild heartbeat as she blinked the rescuer into focus. Vision refocusing in the darkness, any pleasantries the rescuer might've earned shriveled on Pip's tongue.

Because – the universe had such a fucked up sense of humour - the hero of the hour was Gregory sodding Cotton.

Greg's smirk was one that in a bygone era has sent Pip weak at the knees. To be fair, she was weak at the knees currently but this was more to do with being swung around the corner like a ragdoll. She was recovering enough now to bristle, and she spat Greg's name like it was an insult.

'I thought that was you sneaking around back here, Pip.' His glazed eyes roamed over Pip's body so shamelessly that she emitted a disgusted huff.

'And you thought abducting me was the best way to announce your presence?' Pip hissed. Eyes squeezing shut to alleviate some of the haze, she opened them to discover Greg leering down, intentions writ clearly across his features. 'Oh bugger off would you, I don't have time for this,' Pip snapped.

She pushed him aside, but Greg took the physical touch as an invitation to press closer. 'Are you sure you want me to?' he purred. 'We used to come here after Quidditch matches, remember?' He slithered a hand onto Pip's hip, eyes darkening. 'Of course, sometimes there were other places...the changing rooms...the Prefect's bathroom...that broom closet on the third floor...'

'As much as I'd love to take a depressing stroll down memory lane with you, I'm not in the mood.'

But Pip'd forgotten how easily insults bounced off Greg. He'd obviously maintained the viewpoint that, coming from a female, verbal abuse was some sort of secret code that meant 'ravish me right here and now.'

His smile was appropriately vulpine. 'I know you, Pip. I know you like games and I know what you want. Why don't you drop the act for one night?' His fingers bunched through the fabric of Pip's dress, digging into flesh. His invitation became husky. 'Come and play.'

Once upon a time, Pip knew she would've taken him up on his request. Shagging – anyone really – was the easiest cure-all for times like these where she could hardly stand to look in the mirror. A burst of release to forget whatever latest crisis was consuming her. Alcohol was usually involved and Merlin knew she'd ticked that box for the night. But Greg's botched attempt at seduction – if drunkenly pawing at flesh could be called seduction – wasn't tempting in the least.

'Would you take a hint and piss off?' she hissed.

Whatever sleazy response Greg was about to spew forth never got the chance to breathe its first breath. Because another voice, far colder than the wintry night outside, silenced it.

'If you want to leave with your fingers intact, I'd listen.'

Pip's head snapped around. And there he was.

Sirius stood half-concealed in the shadows. He shifted into the light, and his features were contorted into a chilling pureblood mask. The only emotion he betrayed was the hostility in his eyes - burning like silver flames. Their dangerous flashing was trained on Greg; the air seemed to shrink as he stepped forward, and vanish completely as his gaze settled on Pip. It wasn't disgust lurking in his eyes, or fury or anything else she'd spent the night fearing. It was dispassionate remoteness.

'Friend of yours?' he asked coldly.

In answer, Pip shoved Greg off with such sudden violence that he stumbled back and hit the wall opposite. Dust fluttered down with the thud, and Greg glowered between Pip and Sirius at the interruption.

Either his sense of self-preservation wasn't intact or he really was that drunk, because he started with, 'Listen, mate-'

Sirius strode right up to Greg and stared him down, the picture of promised violence. He seemed to be deliberating whether or not to punch him. 'Maybe you don't know the meaning of "no." But I reckon I could teach you.' His command sliced through the tension like the slitting of a throat. 'Fuck off.'

Pip mentally pleaded with Greg to leave before he landed himself in St. Mungo's. Greg, for his part, stared back at Sirius, expression mutinous and murderous. He finally glowered at Pip and, having obviously come to the conclusion she wasn't worth the trouble (or maybe he doubted his odds in a bar-fight), stalked off into the party.

The silence that descended was brimming and surreal. It was punched only by the muzzled clash of drums.

Pip gaped at Sirius and, ever-so-slowly, he turned.

She was hit full-force by his pureblood mask and it was like she was winded, like the mask was a physical blow. With his features set so coldly, so dangerously, it was difficult to remember he was the owner of that barking laugh she adored. It made it impossible to speak; the connection between Pip's mind and mouth seemed to have severed.

There were a million things she wanted to say. Thank you, for a start. I can take care of myself, was a close and unhelpful contender. But most of all, I'm sorry. I know I fucked things up and I'm so, so sorry.

But these words stalled on paralysed lips. Pip was trapped beneath Sirius's stare, or this disquieting version of him. She hated – despised – herself for the knowledge that she was the person who had him drawing upon a disguise he detested so much. She couldn't stomach it. And she certainly couldn't speak.

Pip imagined the embers in Sirius's eyes were stirring. But the flames instantly guttered out, and the pureblood mask slipped back into place. He spoke without warmth. 'Happy New Year, Pip.'

And with that, he disappeared, leaving Pip alone in the shadows. The party continued, somewhere a glass was broken and quickly repaired - nobody seemed aware that something had shifted irreparably but Pip.

She hadn't realised how much she was counting on things miraculously working out between them until any possibility of that was shattered. Sirius had looked at Pip like she was a stranger. Like she meant nothing to him. She would've welcomed the disgust he'd shown in the courtyard. She would've welcomed anything.

Pip wandered mindlessly into the pub. She blinked against burning eyes and grabbed the first bottle she could find.

The encounter was horribly sobering, enough that she understood how the scene must've played out in Sirius's head. Frightened little Pip, so scared of emotions that she was ready to throw herself at the first person she found, backing out again at the last minute. But it wasn't like that. And if this – after all the bullshit she'd thrown at him – was the final straw that had Sirius looking at Pip like that…

A rallying consciousness in Pip's head shouted. No. You're not leaving things like that.

She told it, it was foolish. There was no going back, no undoing what she'd broken. But it was persistent. Pip gazed around at the party, thoughts a raging mess. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was blind hope, but Pip had to find Sirius and make him understand.

She threw down the bottle and launched into movement. Where the fuck had he gone?

Suddenly there were too many people here, the golden light was too bright. Pip's head was roaring louder than the band as she pushed through crowds, not bothering with manners. The smell of alcohol was nauseating, the body heat of too many people packed together stifling.

Pip scoured countless faces for Sirius. Heart pounding, ears ringing, she fought against a torrent of emotions. This wouldn't be it – this stupid, ridiculous thing wouldn't be the reason for his hatred. She'd armed him with a plethora of other reasons and from them he could take his pick. But not for this.

But Sirius was nowhere to be found. Pip hunted through the pub, desperation mounting. She made it halfway upstairs for another search until Charlie intercepted. 'There you are!' He slurred out a laugh. 'Come on, it's almost midnight! We're all grabbing drinks!'

Right on schedule, the lights dimmed. Pip wasted scarcely a glance at the two shimmering shapes that flickered into existence in the air. A roar of cheers sounded as the fireworks – shaped into a six and a zero – fizzed in anticipation. The animated faces that passed by were illuminated by radiant sparks but Sirius wasn't among them.

The countdown to midnight started right as the others converged.

The twins swaggered over, pointing proudly at the floating masterpiece which turned out to be theirs. Kingsley and Moody followed and Tonks wasn't far off. She didn't bother looking up as the countdown erupted with a premature crackle at fifty seconds. People squealed and whistled, but neither Tonks nor Pip were among them. At thirty-eight seconds, the group reached the bar, sticky with spilt alcohol, where Bill and Fleur waited with drinks.

At thirty seconds, Pip found Sirius again.

He stood beside Remus, that pureblood mask discarded. His face was alight with humour, with unrestrained exuberance that Pip worried she'd see seldom in the future. She drank it in, trying to commit it to memory as the fireworks flared again. The whole pub was glowing but Sirius was brighter than it all.

Somebody was speaking – Bill, maybe, or was that Charlie? – but their words hazed into the barrage of background noise.

Pip started pushing towards Sirius. Look at me!, she wanted to scream. Look at me!

Fleur was suddenly obscuring the line of sight between them. 'I 'ave remembered, Pip,' she shouted. 'We 'ave the dress fittingz for ze wedding on Saturday!'

Pip sidestepped and was suddenly flanked by the twins. Both pointed at the countdown, now crackling an enormous thirteen. 'What do you think about that, Pip?'

She ducked through them, not caring which one's toes she stepped on. At that moment, Dung reached across the bar, cutting Sirius off from sight again. 'Budge up there, sweetheart, can't reach me drink.'

Pip knocked into Dung's side, now pushing towards Sirius with reckless abandon. There was a stiffness in his shoulders, a rigidity to his movement that told Pip he knew she was there. But his smile, though tight, didn't budge as it was illuminated by the fizzing eight seconds.

'Bones,' Moody growled from somewhere nearby. 'Have to discuss your patrol schedule, someone's got to take over from Hestia...'

Tonks's face swam into view, tears trickling down pale cheeks. 'Pip…'

Pip tore away. Sirius was staring at the fireworks, though Pip knew he wasn't seeing them. Another step and she'd be able to grab him, to stare right into his eyes. A cascade of shouts sounded at five seconds to midnight and Pip was thrown back as the crowd shuddered in suspense.

She smacked into Bill, who was frowning. 'Pip, are you alright?'

Pip's head whipped back around to Sirius as the countdown rumbled. Four seconds. Please, she pleaded. Three seconds. Please. Two seconds...

The whole world exploded. Searing, colourful, vivid light shattered through the air, the thunderous work of the fireworks shaking the pub to its core. There was so much noise – cheering, singing, laughing and the blasts of the fireworks erupting themselves. People crashed together, a tangle of bodies, a sense of ecstasy pounding through the air.

Pip didn't register any of it.

Because in that ephemeral flash between two seconds and one, something deep within had snapped. She'd seized the neck of the closest person, not to steady herself, but to crash their lips together.

Oh, Pip...

I think it's best if we act like this chapter didn't take as long as it did. Quickly wanted to say, wow, we're at over 100 follows! It's amazing to me that anyone wants to read Pip's story as much as I want to write it, so thank you all.