Yes. This is not a dream. I am updating. Sorry doesn't really cut it, but hopefully this chapter does.

"Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss,

Though winning near the goal - yet, do not grieve:

She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,

For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!" - John Keats, Ode on a Grecian Urn

Did it become easier? Did being near to Sirius become less of an anxiety for me? Did it ever become possible for me to relax in his presence. I am happy to report that it did. However, at the very beginning, coercing myself into approaching the dormitory stairs to meet him before breakfast every morning was a struggle akin to a prisoner's last walk across to the plaza of his execution. The knowledge of him waiting for me in the Common Room deterred my eager steps, and yet this knowledge spurred my hesitant steps closer and closer to him. As is evident, I was a bundle of restive contradictions. I do believe I am the only girlfriend of Sirius Black's to equate moving my body nearer to his to capital punishment. How lucky he was to have found me.

Despite endeavouring not to alter my appearance, in terms of spending any longer than my customary five minutes of doing my hair, or wearing any more make-up than my customary lip salve and concealer under my eyes, it did become necessary for me to wake up a few minutes earlier than I had been habitually inclined to do. The main reason for this was the extra five minutes that I spent fervently brushing my teeth each morning, before breakfast. If Sirius's face would be descending anywhere proximal to the vicinity of mine, there was no way this side of Avalon that my breath would smell anything less than freshly mint. My brushing, and indeed flossing, increased; my consumption of toothpaste doubled; my morning glasses of pumpkin juice were never drunk, and I began to carry around breath mints. Call me paranoid. I was.

So, the alarm would go off, I would shower, dress, and sort out my hair, make faces at my appearance in the mirror, and then brush my teeth until they gleamed brighter than the sun off a highly-polished car on a cloudless day. Hollywood starlets shelled out thousands for a smile like mine. After checking, re-checking and re-re-checking my face for toothpaste marks, I would then run and breathe into a pillow several times, before sniffing it to check for any malodorous scent. Finally satisfied, I would check my pre-packed satchel for all my books, and more importantly, my "Mister Wafter's Exquisitely Provocative Fresh Breath Mints" (garner from that what you will), before sidling towards the door with my feet, and hoping that my brain wouldn't notice.

Invariably, it did, and so a few deep breaths were in order for me to compose myself, whilst my friends bustled about, pulling on tights and shoes and bags, and then I would stride out down the first few stairs, waver over the next few, plod down a few more, and finally walk nonchalantly out at the bottom, hoping that no-one in the Common Room heard anything irregular in my tread.

There he would be, standing, or lounging near the sofa, his face upturned towards the sound of my two-minded descent. At the sight of him, I would break out into a smile, before scurrying across the wide expanse of Common Room carpet in order to contract my endeavour of reaching him. He would grin, and take my hand, before we would set off wordlessly towards the Portrait Hole, our friends meandering along behind, in search of breakfast.

Breakfast was rather a silent affair for me, as I did my best to eat in an attractive manner. In truth, this was a little challenging for me, as I tended to spill fluid down my front, or stick my elbow a bowl of condiment nearby. The jammy patches I found later on my elbows informed me of this, anyway. I would leave the talking to everyone else, as I tried to munch my croissants, or toast or cereal, wincing slightly as they clashed with the half-pint of toothpaste I had massaged into my gums earlier. I would always choke slightly if I caught his eye over the pitcher of pumpkin juice, although I pride myself on the thought that generally I was able to pass this off unnoticed.

At the end of breakfast, I would stick a handful of Mister Wafter's in my mouth, my nostrils flaring at the strong flavour. Then we would all pick up our bags and troop off to lessons. Sirius formed the habit of walking me to my first class, even if we didn't share the same one, and when I pointed out how illogical it was for him to walk me to Arithmancy, when his free period was seven floors in the opposite wing in the Library, he had two premises to form his argument. Firstly, he stated, he enjoyed the challenge of running through all the back passages to reach his classes on time, and secondly, he said this one with a grin, as his eyes roved merrily across my blushing cheeks, if he was to get me used to his presence, then he had to spend as much time with me as possible.

Despite conceding this point, more from embarrassment, and also from the pleasure of his company, I refused to yield to another. I would not let him carry my bag for me. Too many times had I seen girlfriends load up their boyfriends like pack-mules, as if they were luggage trolleys rather than people. He almost won his point when I told him my bag was heavy, and therefore I didn't want him to carry it, to which he countered that his body was built to deal with heavier loads than mine. Yet I was not to be overridden. As a woman of the 20th century, in which women won the vote, and equality with men, I was going to carry my own bag. I did not care if other girls allowed their boyfriends to shoulder their bags, I did not care if physically I was not as strong as him, I did not care if it was part of the social mores of Hogwarts school, because I was going to carry my bag from lesson to lesson to lesson all day, every day, and no man was going to do it for me.

For some reason, my self-righteous tirade in defence of women seemed to amuse him, though, as I informed him, there was nothing amusing about oppression and subjugation. To which he replied, with a suppressed grin, that of course there wasn't, and that I was utterly adorable, as he tapped me on the nose. Adorable hadn't quite been what I was going for; an Amazonian crusader would have been, I think, an apter term.

Unfortunately, I had no time to expand upon this pertinent description of myself, since Sirius had seized the offending bag from underneath the breakfast table, and high-tailed it off in the direction of my next class, which upon this day happened to be Arithmancy. Of course, it was therefore necessary for me to stride off after him, in order to uphold not only my honour, but that of all women everywhere. I finally caught up with him somewhere on the third floor, as he waited for a staircase to change – thank you spirit of Hogwarts for aiding me, I can tell you are female temperamentally even if not corporeally. He was grinning as I made my way determinedly towards him, holding my bag behind him, and leaning against the balustrade.

I narrowed my eyes, scrying the method with which I was repossess myself of my bag. The playful gleam in his eyes alerted me to the fact that reasoning would do no good – he was in the mood for a game. I went for the physical approach, not modulating my steady pace until I was right up in front of him, before I darted round to his left, and tried to grab my bag. This sailed out of my grasp as he pre-empted my snatch, and he shifted his position so that his body was directly shielding my bag from me.

My next attempt, a feint to the right followed by a grab to the left, also failed: he wasn't stupid. Years of Quidditch playing had taught him that one. Twitching my nose in concentration, I swung my arm forward and grabbed the front of his shirt with my right hand to prevent him from re-adjusting his position, whilst reaching around him with my left to grab my bag. The strap rasped across my skin, and I was just savouring the taste of victory, when he caught me with one arm around my waist, and swung me around to pin me against the balustrade, my arm now miles from my bag, and his body pinning me, his stomach panting against mine. Automatically, my eyes raised to meet his, the customary flush spreading across my face and neck as my body warmed, and my heart beginning to beat a rhythmic tattoo of nervous anticipation and excitement.

I had no expertise at kissing. In fact, one of the main reasons for my avoidance of my new boyfriend, which I have as yet neglected to mention, was of trepidation at my lack of kissing. As shocking and embarrassing as this is to announce, at the age of seventeen years, eleven months and twenty days, I had exchanged two kisses. These consisted of one awkward fumbling moment with a boy I "dated" and another which was the result of a dare, which I won't go in to as yet. These had been closed-mouthed, brief affairs, hardly the stuff that I imagine Sirius had carried out in most of the broom closets, empty classrooms, alcoves, niches and hidden corners of the castle. Not to mention Hogsmeade and the castle grounds.

So, with those two kisses, and a brush of the lips from Sirius in that corridor, after which I recall that my knees gave way, under my belt, I had many qualms about kissing Sirius. Any kiss that happened between us would have to be initiated by him: if I attempted anything, it was more likely to result in pain than pleasure. I was acutely shy in any case: the one time before that Sirius had inclined his head towards mine, as we sat together in the Library, I had leapt backwards, citing stubbing my toe on the table leg as my excuse for such a violent jerk away from him.

Duality of emotion were my principle feelings around Sirius. At that very moment, I was as nervous as a patient about to undergo limb amputation with no pain relief, but as excited as, well – a girl about to receive a kiss from the guy she had fancied for just over seven years. A small part of me wanted to freeze the moment, from preventing the kiss from happening, whilst the other part of me would have been bitterly and piercingly disappointed had he not kissed me.

Unfortunately, it was the former emotion I was to satisfy, and the latter to fulfil, for as I was dragged into the depths of his stormy eyes, a sharp "Ahem!" resonated behind us.

"Mr Black, how many times do I have to tell you not to publicly display the many affections you possess in the hallways? You should be getting to your next class." Professor McGonagall's voice was stern and disapproving. "As should the lovely - " She shuffled round to ascertain my identity.

"Miss Logan? I would never have thought - ! I mean, - uh – Miss Logan. Please travel with all alacrity to your next class. The bell is about to go."

Her shock and disappointment at seeing me, one of her best and most well-behaved pupils caught inflagrante delicto – okay, almost inflagrante delicto– with Sirius, a notorious womaniser, was difficult to bear. I hung my head, and skirted around Sirius, ducking to retrieve my bag. Sirius fell in to step beside me, before McGonagall's ringing enquiry:

"Mr Black – your Library study period is down that staircase, and a further three floors. Why are you heading towards the Arithmancy classroom?"

"Well, Professor, I - " he broke off at her inexorable expression. "Yes, Professor."

He turned and slowly made his way back down the stairs, but not before gently brushing his fingers over mine.

Awwww. See you soon! No really, I promise. Love EllieBaby xxx