A/N: Thank you for the reviews! And thank you so, so much to my beta, Classic Cowboy :)

Chapter Ten

The first thing Helena did was to write to Dragonbeard-Griswald & Sons, to verify that what she'd had delivered wasn't some kind of hoax. They wrote back politely confirming that it wasn't—and that the first payment of twenty thousand galleons had already been wired to her Grigotts vault. It was followed by an owl from the bank with her statement. Helena couldn't stop staring at it. What should she do? There seemed endless possibilities, but at the same time she would be attending Hogwarts until the end of June.

Added to that, she had no idea how much twenty thousand galleons would buy her. It was certainly not enough for some ancestral pile like Mafoy Manor, or probably not even a Georgian townhouse somewhere. But hopefully somewhere small-ish. A flat in London somewhere. Which could mean having to go to a muggle estate agents, and finding a flat through one of them. She would have to take Lily with her in that case, otherwise she and the estate agent would be speaking utterly different languages. Coming out of Charms on the way down to the greenhouses one afternoon, Helena pulled a galleon out of her pocket and glanced at it.

"Lily, what's the conversion rate at the moment?" she asked thoughtfully.

"You mean how many quid to a galleon?"

"Yeah."

"Um...about three, I suppose. If you had twenty galleons you'd have about sixty pound."

"Ah okay."

"Why?"

"Just wondering. I'm not sure how much I have to spend on a place of my own."

"Oh I see. When are you going to have time to do that?"

"Not sure. There isn't another holiday now until summer—and that's when I'm being turfed out completely. Do you think Dumbledore might let me stay in the castle a few weeks longer over the summer while I look for somewhere?"

"Dunno," Lily said doubtfully. "I mean, I don't think the teachers stay at the castle over the summer. Pretty sure McGonagall has her own place somewhere that she goes to once the students have left."

"What, so no one's in the castle over summer? That seems a little reckless."

Lily shrugged. "There're always the ghosts aren't there? And I'm sure the portraits can get to Dumbledore if they need to. Famous wizards, they're going to have other paintings around Britain."

"True." Helena sighed, then bit her lip. "Well there are plenty of weekends between now and June, but…can I just go to London? It's not exactly Hogsmeade."

"Talk to McGongall. She's head of house, she can give you permission for a weekend in London."

Helena snorted. "Yeah, McGonagall letting me go off swanning around London, that'll happen."

"You never know. If you approach it in the right way she might say yes. All it needs is for you to explain yourself properly. With an academic angle if you can wedge it in."

With that in mind, Helena spent most of Herbology formulating her 'pitch' to McGonagall, working out what she was going to say. There seemed no way she could get an 'academic angle' in there, so she decided to throw herself on the Transfiguration mistress's compassion. It was there, though she could count on one hand the number of times she'd seen it emerge, in seven years of studying at Hogwarts. And really, her request wasn't unreasonable. She did need somewhere to live after all, otherwise all the amazing work (she was going to call it that) McGonagall and the other teachers had put into her future was going to waste.

When she was finally feeling prepared, she approached McGonagall after Transfiguration the next day. "Professor, may I have a word?"

McGonagall looked up sharply, studying her keenly in a way that made her even more nervous. "Of course. Come up to my office and we'll have a cup of tea," she added, gesturing for Helena to leave the classroom.

"Um, okay."

They walked briskly—something which she had expected, thankfully—to McGonagall's office on the fourth floor of the castle. She indicated Helena to a hard-backed chair on the opposite side of the desk. Before saying anything, she served tea and pushed a tin of biscuits at Helena. She picked one up like she was unsure what it was.

"You- You like ginger newts," she said, idiotically.

"I have a feeling I know what this is about," the older witch said.

"You do."

"Yes. The letter from home you received on Monday."

"Um, yeah, actually. You see, Professor, over the Christmas holidays my family and I had a…falling out. A pretty big one, and it's been coming for a while, and the letter on Monday kind've…solidified that. My father's now paying me an annuity, but past that he—they—want nothing more to do with me." She glanced up at McGonagall's face, which was as impassive and impatient as ever.

"Anyway, what this has to do with you is that—well, after term ends in summer I've nowhere to do. This money from my father gives me the opportunity to put a deposit down on somewhere in London, preferably near St Mungo's."

"And you have no time to do that," McGonagall nodded, suddenly looking relieved about something.

"Exactly. I was wondering if it might be possible for me to go down to London for a weekend and find myself a pad."

"I see." McGonagall stopped there, sipping her Earl Grey and tapping her finger gently against the side of the cup. "I would prefer you didn't go alone, Miss Malfoy. You are over seventeen so I can't stop you, but you understand why it may not be safe."

"Of course. So…I can't go, then."

"Well, you may. But you should take a friend with you. I'm sure you can book two rooms at the Leaky Cauldron easily enough for Friday and Saturday nights, and then return here on Sunday evening to resume lessons on Monday morning. I do not expect either of you do be late, is that understood?"

"Yes, Professor. Thank you."

"You may leave Friday evening after class," was the crisp reply, opening the office door for her.

"Goodnight, Professor."

"Goodnight."

She smiled all the way back up to Gryffindor Tower, wondering how she'd managed to swing that. She'd actually just got McGonagall to give her time away from school during term time, to do something which by rights she should have deemed too frivolous. Lily wasn't going to believe it—time off from essays and exam revision and-

Ah. That is going to be a problem… Lily wasn't likely to agree with that. Not when there were essays and revision to be done. She wouldn't take time out of that just to go flat-hunting, even if it meant a weekend in London. But if, on the other hand, she substituted Lily for Sirius…then a girlie weekend suddenly became a dirty weekend. And while she liked Lily's company, that was a much more appealing prospect. Plus, she was saving herself some money—this way they only needed one room to sleep in. Not that she was anticipating much sleep going on…

When she got to the common room, she found Sirius and pulled him aside. "What are you doing this weekend?"

"Um…Quidditch practice, maybe some homework if I can be bothered-"

"Nope. You're coming to London with me and shagging me for a weekend. Courtesy of McGonagall," she grinned.

"How did you manage that?"

"My natural charm."

He snorted. "Yeah right. Hellfire, between this and the money, I'm beginning to wonder if you're not some kind of master of the dark arts."

She frowned, feeling stung. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, you seem to have the whole castle imperiurised."

She rolled her eyes. "I'd tell you, but I'd have to kill you. So are you coming or not?"

"Sure. But why are we going to London? I'm pretty sure McGonagall didn't have 'fucking for two days' on her mind when she gave you permission to go."

"No. Technically we're going to look for somewhere for me to live. She didn't want me going on my own in case the Death Eaters showed up I think. Apparently twenty thousand galleons gives me about sixty thousand pounds, so I figured it'd be enough for a down-payment somewhere in London. Though I've no idea what that'll buy me."

"They always have property listings in the back of the Prophet," Sirius suggested. "I'm sure you could make a list and book viewings. Then we can spend Saturday morning seeing them and afterwards-"

Helena pulled him into a searing kiss, pressing her body the length of his. "Leave something to the imagination, Sirius," she whispered when she pulled away briefly, before returning to bite gently at his bottom lip.

"I don't think there's much my imagination hasn't come up with already."

She reached down to rub her fingers where the bulge of his cock was already developing through his trousers. He drew in a sharp breath while her smile widened suggestively. "Well, let's wait and see, shall we?" She kissed him again and sauntered away.

Two days later, Sirius was just resurfacing from the haze of pleasure Helena had just inflicted on him. The girl herself was lying at the opposite end of the bed, stretched across it looking quite at her ease, and very relaxed. "How are we getting down to London?" he asked.

"Floo. I've been in touch with of the property vendors advertising in the back of the Prophet, like you suggest, and there're four viewings booked for tomorrow night. Another three on Saturday morning. I think there'll be one I like the look of. The pictures all look fairly impressive. You don't have to come with me if you don't want to. To the houses, I mean. I know McGonagall thinks it could be dangerous but I don't think I'll get into any real trouble."

"No, I'll come. Besides, once I've seen where you're going to be living come summer, I can imagine all the ways we can christen your new home," he added with a wink.

"After we leave school? No exams then, Padfoot—who says you're going to be the one I christen it with eh?"

"Self-confidence."

"Bloody arrogance you mean."

"Potato, patarto."

Helena rolled her eyes and then frowned at the bruise which was now fading across his shoulder. "How'd you get that again?"

"Quidditch."

She nodded, and though her eyebrow rose, she didn't say anything. Helena wasn't stupid, and she certainly knew him well enough to know when he was lying. Equally she knew that if he was lying to her, he had a good reason for it. She picked up her wand. "Accio clothes!"

The curtains twitched aside slightly as her school robes flew inside the confines of the four-poster; she pushed back the covers and dressed. "Don't be late, will you? Apparently we're using the fire in Dumbledore's office. I forget what the password will be, but the map will show us that won't it?"

"True."

They packed lightly, or at least Helena did. She didn't think she'd be needing too much in the way of clothing, or at least not clothing that covered more than her boobs and…other parts. By the time Friday's classes were finished, she was waiting in front of the griffon which guarded Dumbledore's office, McGonagall with her. They were both equally annoyed with Sirius, who was late.

"I shouldn't be surprised," Helena sighed. "Sorry about this, Professor."

"Yes, well. I do believe you might have picked a more punctual companion for the weekend," was the reply.

Yeah…but not one as good at fucking, Helena thought privately.

After another moment or two, Sirius did turn up, carrying a canvas bag over his shoulder and grinning in the disarming way that made everyone melt. Everyone except the two women waiting for him. "Sorry I'm late. Been waiting long?"

"Too long, Mr. Black, hurry up," McGonagall snapped.

"Sorry, Professor, I was trying to decide which of my books I should take with me-"

Their teacher turned to the griffon and simply said, "Humbug."

"It's not- Oh, I see."

Helena grinned at his expression as a spiral staircase rose up with the griffon at its head. McGonagall stepped onto it while it was still moving, obviously expecting them to do the same. Sirius gestured. "Age before beauty, Hellfire."

She smacked his arm, but did go first. McGonagall was waiting for them at the top, standing beside the fireplace. Helena didn't pay much attention to her at first—Sirius had been in Dumbledore's office before, though never for the right reasons—but she never had. It was a beautiful room; entirely circular and oddly noisy in a quiet, busy sort of way. Helena reached out to touch a silver instrument that was sat on the mantlepiece. When her skin touched it, it emitted a puff of golden steam and then went back to its whirring.

"Heavens, don't touch that!"

She jumped, and looked up at one of the portraits on the wall which had snapped at her. It was of an elderly woman dressed in fifteenth-century clothing. Helena drew her hand away quickly. "Sorry."

"If you're quite finished fiddling around with things that do not belong to you, Miss Malfoy?"

"Sorry, Professor."

"Very well. I expect you back here at seven thirty exactly on Sunday night, is that understood?"

"Yes, Professor."

"Alright. Take your floo powder and have a constructive weekend."

They did so, and in a few seconds were stepping out of the fireplace in the Leaky Cauldron. Sirius found Helena already greeting the barman like an old friend. "Long time no see, Tom."

The toothless landlord beamed. "It's good to see you, Miss Malfoy. Not with your mother today?"

"No, she's at the manor. Did you get my owl?"

"Of course, of course. My best room is all ready and waiting for you and your…friend."

"Thank you, Tom. I'll just take my bag up-"

"You'll do no such thing, miss, if you'll forgive me. I couldn't allow a lady to carry her own bag."

"Oh, thanks," Sirius smiled, tossing his over to Tom as well, who threw it right back. His face fell. "Right. I'm not a lady, am I?"

Helena laughed and ordered a bottle of firewhiskey for the pair of them when he came back down. When he returned, he sat down and motioned at the barman. "Tom?"

"My mother used to come here and drink. A lot," she elaborated. "More often than not with me with her so she could find her way home. The last time we were here I was about fourteen—she managed to make such a public disgrace of herself that Father forbade her from coming back. Now she does her drinking at home."

"Oh right. Bit early for you to be drinking then."

"Just a bit. Now, however…" She poured the firewhiskey into the shot glasses and clinked hers against his. "To new starts."

They toasted and threw the first one back quickly, locking eyes and daring the other one to cough first. Eventually though the burn was too much and the smoke needed to come out; they both choked at the same time. After that they drank more slowly, chatting freely about anything and everything that didn't involve schoolwork. It probably would have felt more like a date than anything else with another girl, but with Helena being polite or not ogling the other good-looking witches who walked past didn't matter. The worst she did was roll her eyes and call him a man-whore. Which, he had to admit, was a pretty accurate description. The bottle lasted them several hours, with dinner in between. Fish and chips for him, stick ribs for Helena, which she ate without getting all precious about the sauce going everywhere. They followed it up with a huge ice cream sundae which disappointed rather severely.

"Fortescue's tomorrow?"

"Definitely. I forgot how rubbish other ice cream is."

The plates were cleared away and the firewhiskey still hadn't run out, so by the time eleven rolled around and the barman rang the last orders bell, Sirius was feeling pleasantly buzzed. Helena was hiccuping at regular intervals.

"You're drunk."

"I am not drunk," she protested, followed by a proud smile. "I'm merely tipshey."

"Merely what?" he laughed.

"Oi, you two gonna be much longer?"

They both looked over to where Tom the barman was leaning on the bar, looking impatient. The rest of the Cauldron was suddenly empty. "I wanna close up."

Helena lifted the bottle of Ogden's and swilled it around. From the sounds of it there was still about a quarter left. They hadn't been drinking quickly after all. "Looks like it," she said. "Sorry Tom. But we're staying, why don't you lock up now and we'll lock the inner door on the way up."

He looked at Sirius dubiously—who did his best to look innocent—but finally nodded. "Alright, I trust you. Leave the key in the letter box next to my room, okay, Helena?"

"Got it."

Tom left them to it, though he didn't stop glaring at Sirius. "I must just have a face that people don't trust," he mused.

"You do. It's sort of weasel-like in quality," she answered cheerfully.

"Why pick me to come anyway? What's wrong with Lily?"

"Nothing," Helena shrugged. "I just figured she'd be less receptive to a weekend of hot and heavy sex than you would."

"That, and Prongs would kill you," he grinned.

"True, especially now that he's making progress. That's the other thing—with you and me both out of the castle they have more time to spend with each other."

"Crafty, aren't you?"

She only sighed. "I wish she wasn't being so bloody dense about it though. It's sheer pride, that's all—she's being deliberately blind and denying how she really feels, which would be fine, except that she's hurting James while she's doing it. She can be such a stupid cow when she wants to be. And selfish too," she declared, a scathing note clear in her voice.

"Wow you can be a bitch sometimes."

She shrugged. "Does that bother you?"

"No. As long as you're my bitch."

She laughed in an outraged way. "In your dreams, Padfoot. Have you not noticed I'm in control of this? If anything, you're my bitch."

She stood, and then swayed her hips over to the bar, pouring more whiskey out for herself. He moved silently, getting up and moving without sound—the firewhiskey went smoking across the bar when he grabbed her hands from behind, spreading her arms and pressing himself against her back. Neither of them heeded the sound of the glass shattering as he ran the tip of his tongue up the side of her neck. "You sure about that, Hellfire?"

She ground her pelvis back at him. "Absolutely."

He gripped her hands a little tighter, put them where he wanted them holding onto the side of the bar. "Don't move them." He took his hands away, then slammed them back down when she did move to take them away. A quiet gasp left her lips. "I mean it, Helena," he growled. "Do not move."

She didn't reply, but didn't move when his hands left hers again, trailing up her arms and then up her stomach, finally reaching her breasts. Her nipples were hard even through her top. He wasn't particularly gentle when his fingers closed around them, pinching and pulling. Helena shuddered, moaning through slightly parted-lips. "Sirius, this is a pub-"

"Quiet."

He undid the straps on her top, then pulled it down and exposed her breasts properly, massaging them. Helena was now rocking her pelvis rhythmically against his, a movement as unconscious as her heavy breathing. He let go of her boobs, then flipped her skirt up, pulling down her panties. He undid his fly quickly.

Helena turned her head with a slight smile. "You think you're so hot, don't you?"

He moved two fingers into her core, taken aback himself at how ready and wet she was. "You certainly seem to."

He rubbed her clit roughly, causing a pleasured mewl to escape her lips. "Sirius, please-"

Without giving her time to adjust to his size, he thrust into her, hard. Her cry couldn't be stifled, echoing around the empty bar loudly. He set a fast, almost brutal pace, hands on her hips, fingers digging into her skin. She'd probably have bruises later, but for the moment neither of them was worried about that. Sirius certainly didn't—there was no desire to punish her, he'd just gotten lost in the sensation of her. There was none of the contempt born from familiarity, If anything, she somehow seemed tighter than she had the last time they'd been together, hotter and so wet her juices were running down her inner thighs. He'd have to remember this position; she obviously liked it. She was clenching around him every time he pushed into her further, slamming her hips back to meet him thrust for thrust. Her moans were growing louder in volume, higher in pitch the longer they continued. She'd never been a very quiet lover, but neither had she been particularly loud. Now he wouldn't be surprised if the whole inn could hear her. She was holding nothing back, but she hadn't climaxed yet, and it was becoming a struggle to keep his in. He brought one hand up to her left breast, back to the nipple, twisting it in the way that always got her going. It and the plunging of his length was enough; pushed over the edge, Helena let out a long wail of his name, spine arching. Her inner muscles pulsed around him, and with a shuddering groan of his own, Sirius followed her over the brink into utterly black pleasure.

She was still limp and boneless with the afterglow when his reason managed to reassert itself. When he did turn her around, her arms went around his neck, her mouth against his blindly. She kissed him passionately, deeply—and was blushing when she pulled her lips away. She was still relying on him for most of her support though, he noted.

"So… That was…"

"Still think you're in charge?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow.

She kissed him again. "Shut up."

A/N: Review please!