Sirius woke with a weary gasp, drawing air sharply. He panted a little, as he took in his surroundings, and let out a weary sigh.
There was the same dream, as ever, only this time thankfully Dumbledore hadn't infiltrated his sleep–Sirius had forgotten to take the Dream Intrusion potion.
His mother came first, turning her back to him as she crossed the narrow portrait-laden hallway, ever bitter, ever cold. Then Bellatrix was rounding him, haughty and crazed-looking as he had seen her at Rookwood's. Only now she was whispering things in his ear, mostly threats and muted obscenities. Then, Bellatrix faded and he suddenly materialised in his own bed, at Grimmauld, where he was standing now, drenched in sweat.
It was not the cold dark evening of claustrophobic walls that usually frequented his dreams, but a warm morning. In fact the warmth was radiating from the woman who was sleeping beside him.
He couldn't see her face immediately, only the curve of her neck, the delicate slope of her shoulder. He could see an array of soft brown waves of hair all over her face like a halo.
But he knew, with a certainty that defied logic, who it was.
Need , raw and demanding, surged through him, and he pulled her close, burying his face in the warmth of her neck, inhaling the scent of her, a heady mix of chamomile and something comforting, like the potions she made him weekly.
He wanted to see her face, needed to, and with a groan that was half-demand, half-plea, he urged her upwards. His hand tangled in her hair, holding her gently but firmly as she rose. And then she lifted her head, her eyes meeting his, and the world tilted on its axis. Emma.
His palms prickled with her skin, still.
Emma's face looked up at him, whispering something he could not hear, and he was close, awfully close to her nude form. Her hands on his chest, now, his on her back. He dropped his head to place kisses on her chest and felt the familiar pressure, an unmistakable desire that existed between sleep and consciousness—
That's when he woke up with a gasp.
Sirius threw the duvet back and stumbled out of bed, his bare feet sinking into the worn rug. The room was dim, lit only by the faintest sliver of pre-dawn light filtering through the gaps in the heavy curtains. He could see Marlene's form beside him, her bare back still with each peaceful breath.
Sirius averted his gaze, his gut twisting with shame. He crossed the room quickly, needing to get out, to wash away the lingering heat of the dream.
The bathroom was cold, the tiles frigid beneath his feet. He splashed water on his face, the shock momentarily chasing away the remnants of sleep. But as he looked up at his reflection in the tarnished mirror, he saw it – the unmistakable evidence of his body's betrayal. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes weary, his whole body still tingling. He tried to push away the thoughts, convincing himself they were forbidden, inappropriate musings of a man plagued with nightmares.
Although the part about Emma was not a nightmare, an insidious voice told him.
He stayed in the bathroom for a long time, leaning against the cool sink, long after the chill of water had seeped into his skin. He couldn't shake the feeling of wrongness that clung to him, the unsettling knowledge that he'd betrayed Marlene in the hazy realm of sleep.
He couldn't look at Marlene, not now, not with the echo of Emma's soft touch still clinging to his skin. What on earth was wrong with him? He was a thirty-seven year old man and not some randy teenager who could not control himself, he thought, berating himself.
Did he want Emma that way? Why on earth would he have this dream? He was obviously not blind, he was not a man immune to beauty even though he was stunted–but to have these dreams, fantasies, even–he was never like this.
Back in the bedroom, he pulled on a shirt, the fabric cool against his clammy skin. He couldn't bring himself to slip back under the covers, not yet. Instead, he sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the wall.
"Sirius?"
Marlene's sleep-roughened voice cut through his thoughts. He turned to see her blinking at him. "Darling, what is it? Another nightmare?"
She reached for him, her hand warm on his arm. He flinched involuntarily.
"Grab me the potion, Lena," he mumbled, his voice rough with fatigue. "Nightstand."
Marlene frowned, pushing herself up on her elbows. "Sirius, I don't think you shouldn't rely on those things. It's not good for you."
"Just give me the potion, Lena," he snapped, hating the harshness in his voice, hating the way his skin felt too tight when he spoke to her like this. "Please," he croaked.
She sighed and retrieved the vial from the nightstand. He snatched it from her, downing the liquid in one gulp. The potion worked its magic quickly, dulling his anxiety, leaving behind a familiar numbness.
He lay back against the pillows, pulling Marlene towards him. She nestled against his side, her warmth a stark contrast to the coldness that had seeped into his bones. He held her tightly, burying his face in her hair, trying to ignore the scent of ginger and chamomile that clung to his senses – the scent of Emma from the dream. In an embarrassing moment, he wondered if that was her actual smell.
He felt like a fraud, a cheat. Marlene's familiar warmth usually soothed him, chased away the shadows that lingered from Azkaban. There were still unspoken words, unresolved arguments that hung between them like ghosts. He knew that she hoped this time would be different, that they could rebuild what they had lost, piece by fragile piece.
But as he held her, the guilt gnawed at him, sharp. He wanted to be filled with relief, with gratitude for the woman beside him. Instead, he felt a growing sense of hollowness.
...
Nagini curled up on Lord Voldemort's side, moving through the lustrous oak table where a handful of Death Eaters were assembled. Voldemort welcomed the snake, and caressed its sleek reptilian skin with a long pale finger. He hummed slightly, as his cold hand clutched his wand on the other side of the snake.
"My devoted Death Eaters," he breathed a slow greeting as faces nodded and heads bowed around him. "We have been awfully quiet all this time, especially since the visit at your home Augustus," Voldemort gestured to a tall bear-like man who simply groaned in acknowledgement. "That time is over. It's time to make an appearance, don't you all think?" Voldemort whispered in a seductive voice and Bellatrix Lestrange next to him shivered and held her hands together.
"Severus," he addressed the sallow-faced man standing to his right. "The Order. Report."
Snape inclined his head, his expression flat. "Recruitment is proving difficult for them, my Lord. They are trying to spread the word, but I am afraid they are limited to…Muggleborn housewives. No one of interest or skill. Dumbledore remains their figurehead, as always, though his power wanes, I assure you. He is as frail as ever."
"Frail," Voldemort echoed, a hint of amusement in his tone. He paused, his gaze sweeping over the assembled Death Eaters. "Yet he is still around, isn't he not? I would be most disappointed if he remains so until the spring, Draco. As will you be," he said, coating the threat in a soft voice. The pale blonde teenager at the far end of the room looked ill, his lip quivering with a distinct tremor.
Voldemort, however, did not want to dwell on Draco. He turned his gaze to a tall figure seated near the back. "While some of you continue to disappoint, others surprise me with your devoted talents," he said. "And this I shall reward. Let it be a lesson for all of you," he said in a detached voice, looking around the room.
"Amycus. You have proven… eager, in your service."
Amycus Carrow bowed his head. "Anything, my Lord."
"Then indulge yourself," Voldemort said, his voice smooth as silk. "A Muggle family, perhaps. A reminder to our enemies."
"It will be my pleasure, my Lord," Carrow rasped, his eyes gleaming with sadistic anticipation.
Voldemort turned his attention to a hunched figure seated near the foot of the table. "Wormtail," he said.
Peter Pettigrew flinched, his watery eyes darting nervously around the room. "Y-yes, my Lord?"
"Even a coward has his uses," he said in an explanatory tone for the others to hear. "Consider it a necessary part of the… ecosystem." A ripple of laughter ran through the assembled Death Eaters. Voldemort ignored it, his gaze fixed on Pettigrew.
Pettigrew swallowed, his face pale. "Yes, my Lord."
"I have a task for you, Wormtail," Voldemort continued. "A simple task, well-suited to you. You shall go to Godric's Hollow."
Pettigrew's eyes widened in alarm. "Godric's Hollow, my Lord?"
"Yes," Voldemort said, his voice dangerously soft. "You will make yourself… inconspicuous. A rat in the walls, nothing more. Watch, listen, and report back to me. Black and Potter… they will show themselves, in time. I can feel it."
Wormtail , short, balding and more sickly than ever bowed his head fervently although his eyes remained fixed on the table, panic dancing in the small bead-like orbs.
...
Emma swirled the last dregs of Polyjuice Potion around the vial, the pungent aroma of different peoples' hair filling her nostrils. She wrinkled her nose, grimacing.
"Morning, Em," Tonks announced, as she made her way into the cavernous kitchen. "Hope you have some nice Polyjuice for me this time, mate. Mad Eye's hair tonic was absolutely nasty–"
Before Tonks could say more, however, Emma pulled her into a tight hug. Emma looked at Tonks with a grateful smile. "I did it!" she whispered, her eyes beaming. "I conjured a Patronus the other day!"
Tonks's eyes widened in surprise, then her face broke into a delighted grin. "You did? That's brilliant, Emma! Come on, then, let's see it! Have a go!"
Emma stepped back, drawing her wand with a flourish. She closed her eyes and focusing on the memory of the robin, she whispered the incantation, " Expecto Patronum."
A silvery mist erupted from the tip of her wand, swirling and solidifying into the form of a slender female dog. It bounded around the kitchen, its tail wagging furiously, before settling down at Emma's feet, its head resting on her knee.
"She's gorgeous," Tonks whispered, looking at the Patronus. "I am so glad!"
"I would not have done it if it weren't for you," Emma said to her, smiling. "And Remus," she added. Tonks looked a bit downcast at the mention of Lupin but smiled back and clapped Emma on the shoulder.
"Well, this is a cause to celebrate for. I will write Bill and Fleur and Charlie, and we could go to the pub after–" but she was immediately distracted by a horse voice coming from the staircase.
"Oh, hello Marlene, didn't see you there," mumbled Tonks, shooting Emma a side-look.
Marlene McKinnon, back from a mission, leaned against the doorjamb, her eyes curious. "What a solid patronus, that is," she said looking at both Emma and Tonks.
Tonks beamed. "Isn't it brilliant? Emma only just managed it!"
Marlene's gaze shifted to Emma, a hint of surprise on her hooded eyes. "Really?" she said, now making her way to the kitchen in full. "That's your Patronus, Emma?" she asked.
"Yes," Emma said neutrally, staring at the Patronus.
McKinnon kept staring at her and slowly nodded, but she had a suspicious look on her face.
"And…what prompted such a sudden need for a Patronus charm? Not many Dementors lurking about Grimmauld Place, last I checked," she said.
Emma felt a blush creep up her neck. Marlene wasn't wrong to be suspicious–but at the same time, she felt a wave of annoyance because she knew that the Auror just wanted to be argumentative.
"No, no Dementors," replied Emma carefully. "Although, you know, with the war and everything I want to keep my skills sharp," she replied and felt Tonks smile.
"I see," said Marlene, looking curiously at the Patronus now. It was still at Emma's feet, protectively guarding her. "If you don't mind me asking, how did you manage to conjure a solid Patronus like this? If you are a novice it must have taken you a while," she said assessing Emma's face for a reaction.
But Emma didn't want to give her any. She simply shrugged.
"I actually taught her," Tonks interjected.
"You did?" said McKinnon, raising an eyebrow. "So you learned from the best…a full Auror at your disposal," she said simply looking at Emma.
"Don't you have to meet with Moody, Marlene?" asked Tonks flatly. Emma could see that her friend did not appreciate the interrogation either.
"I have a few minutes," said Marlene. "Forgive my curiosity, I just find these underground Patronus lessons in the kitchen…interesting," she said, looking at Emma again.
"I don't know why you are so surprised," Emma told her in a tight voice. "It's not odd that I wanted to learn how to conjure a patronus. It's strong defensive magic–"
"For those who go on missions," said McKinnon. "You don't," she added.
Emma scoffed, any pretence of nonchalance gone. "You make it sound like I'm planning to storm the Ministry single-handedly, Marlene," she retorted.
"Well, nothing tells us that you won't," said McKinnon provocatively.
"And why on earth would I do that?" Emma asked.
"I don't have an answer to that," laughed McKinnon mirthlessly. "But you know, we all have our different motivations for…joining the fight, right? Some want some action and others, well–what I mean is that sometimes we keep to ourselves what really motivates us to join the anti-Voldemort movement," she said sharply.
Tonks was looking confused and Emma wanted to end this discussion but the Auror did not seem to let go. She knew she should have kept a low profile and ignore her, but Emma wanted to answer back.
"So, why not tell us what motivated you to return to the Order, then, if that's what you are asking me?" asked Emma in an equally sharp voice that surprised Tonks jerked a little.
"Pardon?" McKinnon laughed in response, as if the answer was ridiculously easy.
Tonks, sensing the change in the atmosphere, decided to intervene. "Alright, you two–let's not," she started to say but Emma cut her off angrily.
"But it's a valid question, isn't it?" Emma said, refusing to back down. She knew it was dangerous ground but she was also done with Marlene McKinnon constantly berating her. "We are all risking our necks here for some reason or another. I just think it's a bit rich for you to be questioning my motives when you haven't exactly been forthcoming about your own," Emma told Marlene.
Malene's eyes narrowed, but she kept looking at Emma, assessing the situation like before, only now there was a hint of disbelief in those grey eyes. "My reasons are my own, and they are none of your concern–I simply asked you a question–" she started saying but Emma was faster.
" Oh, you have asked me many questions. In fact, you think you are the only one who can ask the questions," Emma returned.
"Again, my reasons are my own and none of your concern," said McKinnon with a hoarse laugh.
"Maybe not," Emma shot back. "But you seem awfully invested in mine," she said.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound was Tonks' awkward little noises. The silence, however, was not long as Sirius and Harry strode into the kitchen, clearly coming from outside because they were covered in snow.
Sirius stopped mid-step at the sight of the Patronus and looked surprised, while Harry made an approving exclamation.
"Now that," said Sirius, "is a gorgeous Patronus. Whose is it?"
All eyes turned to Emma. She lifted her chin slightly, meeting Sirius's gaze directly, a newfound steel in her eyes. "Mine," she stated simply.
Sirius, about to launch into enthusiastic congratulations, was cut short by Emma's next words. "Though Marlene seems to think there must be some ulterior motive behind a Healer learning such magic. Apparently, we're not to be trusted with anything beyond bandages and potions."
Tonks was averting her gaze awkwardly and started to take off the snow from Harry's hair. Harry looked oblivious.
Sirius's brow furrowed, his eyes darting from Emma's rigid posture to Marlene's surprised expression.
"Well, that's bollocks," said Sirius eventually and Marlene shot him an angry look. Harry was trying not to laugh at his godfather's ill-timed spontaneity.
"Now, listen–" started Marlene angrily, looking at Emma, who was stuffing her things in her potions boxes. Emma ignored her.
Instead, she gave a curt nod in Harry's direction. "Good day, Harry," she said. Then, without another word, she turned and swept out of the kitchen, leaving them all stunned. The Patronus followed her, its tail dancing in all directions.
...
A haze of smoke hung heavy in the air of the drawing room, the scent of firewhiskey mingling unpleasantly with the smell of burnt wood from the fire.
Sirius, slumped in a worn armchair, took a long drag from his cigarette and let out a deep sigh. He was glad that Harry was at Grimmauld for Christmas, even though he surprised his godson with his rash decision to go and pick him up from the school earlier. He had really fought Dumbledore and McGonagall on it.
He was not naive, he knew that his decision would create more tension, conflict and even gossip at the Order–which it did. Moody and Kingsley gave him quiet reproachful looks while Molly was more upset and more critical than ever because he had disrupted Harry's education and had caused fret and panic. But Sirius could not be bothered with the lot of them. He did not care anymore, he had decided. So, he openly questioned Dumbledore's decision-making and he did not have any qualms in expressing his views on the matter even though he was promptly dismissed by Dumbledore over and over again.
The old man was hiding a lot from them and ever since he gave Sirius a little snippet of information about Voldemort's Horcruxes, Sirius could not live with the fact that Harry was at Hogwarts alone, at the mercy of Dumbledore and Snape, whatever he was up to when he told the Malfoy boy to confide in him. He did not have a good feeling about this at all, and no matter what Dumbledore was saying, Snivellus was not to be trusted.
And there was also Marlene. They had reconciled, sort of, but he knew the old argument would resurface eventually. He felt guilty, however, at how much Harry was fond of Marlene. But he could not stand her constant picking up arguments and antagonising the other Order members–a certain Healer in particular.
A Healer about whom Sirius had a full-blown erotic dream, like he was some awkward teenager who needed—
The door creaked open, and Emma stepped cautiously into the room, her brow furrowed in concern.
Sirius," she said softly. He stood abruptly, the sudden movement sending his armchair scraping against the floor, the sound jarring in the quiet room. "Emma," he rasped, his voice hoarse.
"Everyone else seems to think celebrating is in order," Emma's voice was low, laced with an amusement that tugged at his lips. "But you seem to have other plans." it was true, everyone was having a little pre-Christmas dinner downstairs. But he did not feel like joining them.
"Celebrations aren't really my thing," he said, his voice rougher than intended. "Do—do you need something, Emma?"
The question sounded as awkward as it felt, and he mentally berated himself for his clumsiness.
"Perhaps," Emma's lips curved into a smile, and he felt his insides clench in response. She didn't elaborate and the silent challenge in her gaze sent a jolt of something hot and reckless through him.
"May I?" she asked softly, gesturing towards the empty armchair opposite him.
He simply nodded, his throat suddenly too tight for words. He moved towards the cabinet, grabbing another glass with a hand that trembled slightly. He poured her a generous measure of firewhiskey, his hand steadier now, and resumed his own seat, his eyes locked on the amber liquid swirling in his glass. He felt her gaze on him.
"It's Harry, isn't it?" she ventured.
He let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. He recounted the recent argument with Dumbledore, the frustration of being sidelined, the fear that gnawed at him, the fear for Harry. He told her about Snape, about the lingering threat of Voldemort, his voice raw with barely suppressed terror. He told her about last year, and the year before, about the night he met Harry again at the Shrieking Shack. She was right, he realised, he did need to talk, to share the burden that had been weighing him down for far too long.
Emma listened intently. "Is this… about how he grew up? With those… relatives?"
He looked up sharply. "You're perceptive," he admitted, his voice rough.
"And… you blame yourself, don't you?" Emma said softly. "For not being there, for…"
"For so much," Sirius said gruffly.
Emma hesitated, then asked gently, "What were they like?"
"Who?" he asked, knowing the question.
"Harry's parents," she said softly.
Sirius looked at her then, really looked, and saw the genuine curiosity in her eyes, the soft curve of her lips, and felt a warmth spread through his chest, a stark contrast to the icy grip of guilt that usually held him a brooding mess.
"They were meant to be, those two. James, he was a right showman. Could charm the socks off a banshee when he wanted to. A natural leader, everyone just gravitated towards him. But loyal to a fault, he'd walk through fire for the people he cared about."
He took another swig of firewhiskey, the burn a familiar comfort. "Lily," he continued, his voice softening slightly, "she was something else entirely. Fiery, brilliant, had this way of making you feel like you could take on the world, even when you were knee-deep in dung." He shook his head, a humourless laugh escaping him.
"She saw right through my bullshit, always calling me out on it. But she never gave up on me, not really." He met Emma's gaze then, and he did not see pity or sadness, but a soft smile, as if she knew them too. "They were good, you know? Too good for the likes of this world…" Sirius's voice trailed off. He took another drag from his cigarette, his gaze distant.
"I'm sorry," he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. "Rambling on like this. Shouldn't subject you to… well, me."
Emma's brow furrowed slightly, and she pleated the fabric of her sleeve between her fingers. "Why not?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper, but there was a hint of steel beneath the shyness. "You think I can't understand?"
The quiet challenge in her voice was doing strange things to him, he felt this warmth suddenly and it was not from the drink. He scoffed, but he could feel her words landing, unsettling him in a way he couldn't quite place. "It's not that…"
"Then what, Sirius?" She surprised him by meeting his gaze, her eyes surprisingly steady. "You'd rather stew in it."
He started to fire back a retort, but the words died in his throat. He would usually bristle, but there was a strange rightness to it that stole his anger. "It's not that simple," he mumbled, looking away.
Then, instead of responding, she did something that stole the breath from his lungs. She reached out, her touch featherlight yet electrifying, her fingers brushing his before settling on the back of his hand.
He didn't pull away. Merlin, he couldn't have even if he tried. The warmth of her touch spread through him like wildfire, chasing away the chill that had settled deep in his bones. He wanted to reach back, to lace their fingers together, to hold on and never let go. But something held him back, a mixture of fear and uncertainty that he couldn't quite place.
He'd always known she was observant, but this quiet intensity surprised him. Those few words, hesitant as they were, did more to soothe the ache in his chest than any amount of firewhiskey ever could. He wanted to hear more, wanted to pull her closer and— No, that was madness. She was Emma for Merlin's sake.
"Maybe not," she conceded, her voice softening. "Forgive me," she said, a wry smile touching her lips. "I'm not sure what came over me. As if I could possibly understand everything you've been through."
The self-deprecating humour in her voice, the way she brushed off her own empathy as if it were nothing special, only intensified the warmth that bloomed in his chest. He couldn't let her dismiss it, not when it meant so much.
"Don't," he said, his voice rough with emotion. For a moment he wanted to reach for her hand, to touch the delicate spot of her knuckles. But instead he held her gaze and slumped back into his armchair. "Don't apologise for caring."
She smiled back and took a sip of her drink.
Then, as if remembering something, his expression turned serious. "Oh, by the way, I spoke to Marlene."
Emma raised an eyebrow, her amusement fading slightly, as if he had said something she did not like. "You did?" she asked, averting her gaze.
"Yes, I had a word with her about the ordeal with your Patronus and the way she speaks to some of the others," Sirius clarified, taking a drag from his cigarette. "Sam and… what was her name?
Emma shot him a sharp look. "It's Healer Hitchins and Healer Hicks, Sirius."
He waved a hand dismissively. "Right, right. Anyway, I told her to tone it down a bit. You know how she can be."
Emma's expression remained unconvinced. She pursed her lips. "And what did she say?"
Sirius shrugged. "Oh, you know Marlene. She brushed it off, said something about everyone being a bit on edge these days."
"So, nothing's changed," Emma concluded.
"Look, it's not personal," Sirius insisted, meeting her gaze again. "That's just how Lena is. Always has been, always will be."
"And that makes it okay?" Emma challenged, her voice quiet but firm.
Sirius hesitated. He looked away, taking a slow drag from his cigarette, then met her gaze again. "No," he admitted, his voice subdued. "No, it doesn't make it okay."
Emma studied him for a moment. "Thank you for saying that, Sirius."
He offered her a wry smile. "Marlene's still a good friend of mine, even if she can be a right pain in the—"
Emma studied him for a moment. "Is Marlene… Harry's godmother, then?" she asked, her tone tight.
Sirius let out a bark of laughter, nearly choking on his cigarette smoke. "Merlin, no!" he exclaimed, waving his hand dismissively. "Not a godmother," he said, brushing off embers from his black trousers.
"Oh," Emma said softly, her curiosity piqued. "Why not?"
Sirius took a long drag from his cigarette, buying himself a moment to gather his thoughts. He was very aware of the gossip that swirled around him and Marlene, especially within the Order. He could tell Emma was fishing for information, but he wasn't sure how much he wanted to reveal. He was tempted to be crass, to brush it off with a flippant remark about Marlene being an old flame, nothing serious. But something in Emma's direct gaze made him hesitate.
"It's… complicated," he finally admitted, his voice low. "Marlene and I… we have a history."
Emma nodded slowly, sensing his reluctance to elaborate. "A history," she echoed, her tone neutral.
Sirius felt awkward discussing his situation with Marlene with Emma and he could not understand why. Why was he being so cagey? It wasn't like they were talking about anything important. And yet, the thought of Emma having the wrong idea about him and Marlene… it sat wrong, like a mouthful of stale firewhiskey.
"Look, it's not… It's not what people think," he said, his voice taking on a defensive edge.
Emma was looking at him, a momentary impatience in her features.
He hesitated, then muttered, "That Marlene and I are… well, that we're…," he gestured in the space above his lap.
"Together?" Emma supplied.
Sirius looked up at her, surprised by her directness. He opened his mouth to deny it, then stopped, realising the futility of lying. Emma was too perceptive, and besides, a strange sort of guilt twisted in his gut at the thought of misleading her or being callous about what was happening with Marlene, as Marlene did not deserve that.
"It's not… serious," he finally said, his voice barely a whisper. And for the life of him, he couldn't figure out why he felt the need to qualify it.
A flicker of something crossed Emma's face, something that Sirius couldn't quite place. Relief? Satisfaction? He couldn't be sure, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a carefully neutral expression. He also noticed the way she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, her fingers lingering against her cheek for a fraction of a second longer than necessary.
"I see," she said simply, her voice giving nothing away.
But Sirius had seen it, that flash of… something. It niggled at him, fueling a sudden, inexplicable urge to probe further.
He surprised himself by asking, his voice taking on a teasing lilt, "What about you, Emma? Anyone special in your life?"
Emma blinked, caught off guard by the question. "No," she said, her tone clipped. "No, there isn't." He couldn't help but notice the way her pupils seemed to dilate slightly, her gaze holding his for a beat too long
Sirius raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised. "Why not?" he asked, leaning forward slightly. She was a very pretty girl and she was in her prime, so he did not understand why she would be alone. He leaned closer, his voice a low rumble. "Don't tell me you've sworn off men entirely."
Emma's eyes widened, and a faint blush crept up her neck. "It's not… It's not that," she said. Sirius watched her. She was acting strangely all of a sudden, he'd give her that.
He didn't press further.
As Emma finished her drink, she glanced at the clock on the wall and sighed softly. "I should get going. It's getting late," she said hurriedly.
Sirius nodded, his mind still swirling with thoughts and emotions from their conversation, but he quickly rose from his seat, a restless energy suddenly thrumming through him.
As he walked her towards the door, the brush of her arm against his sent a jolt of awareness through him, and he fought the urge to reach out, to touch the soft curve of her cheek, to see if that blush he'd glimpsed earlier would return.
Stepping outside, the night air hit them with a damp chill. The quiet street was dark, save for a lone streetlamp casting an orange glow on the cobblestones. A group of rowdy Muggles stumbled out of a house across the street, shouting and shoving each other. One of them hurled an empty beer bottle against a wall, the shattering glass echoing in the night.
Emma visibly flinched, drawing in a sharp breath. "Merlin's beard," she muttered, "that was a bit close," moving backwards, accidentally bumping into Sirius's lean frame.
Sirius instinctively pulled her closer, his arm a reassuring weight around her shoulders. "Don't worry, they can't see us, my father barricaded the house with protective enchantments, but once you step out–" he did not want to let her leave in the middle of the night.
"Right, then," she said, her voice clipped and businesslike, all traces of earlier warmth gone. "Floo back to St. Mungo's is probably out of the question at this hour."
"And I doubt you fancy apparating in this state," he continued, his gaze sweeping over the dark street.
"Not particularly," she admitted. "Though it's the easiest. I suppose I could always hail a cab..."
"You can crash here, we have plenty of room–" he shrugged, pushing the thought away quickly. He knew how Marlene got when it came to perceived infringements on her territory, especially when it came to him.
"And deal with Marlene tomorrow morning?" she said, as if reading his thoughts. "No, thanks–she interrogated me about a Patronus, imagine what she would do if she found out her boyfriend had me stay over," she said.
Sirius frowned. "It's my house and Marlene can sort herself, besides I am not—" he started, but the words caught in his throat. What was he about to say? That he wasn't her boyfriend? That they weren't really anything at all? The thought struck him with a strange mix of anger and despair. He tore his gaze away from her, focusing instead on a drunk Muggle who was yelling and cursing across the street. "I'm not letting you leave in the middle of the night like this," he said, his voice taking on a gruff edge. "What would Kingsley say?" he added, forcing a grin.
"So, what do you propose then?" she asked briskly, all traces of shyness gone from her expression. "Find me a snug corner in the shed with that beast of yours?"
He was taken aback by her directness, the way she met his gaze head-on. It was a side of Emma he hadn't seen before, and he couldn't deny he found it... intriguing. The shifting emotions from being reserved…to this.
Then it dawned on him.
"We are going on a bike ride," he announced, the idea coming to him in a flash of inspiration.
Emma stared at him, her eyes wide with surprise. "A what?"
"A bike ride," Sirius repeated, enjoying her bewildered expression. "In Muggle London. Wherever it is you live."
"You... you have a bike?" Emma stammered, clearly doubting his sanity.
Sirius threw back his head and let out a laugh, a flash of his old, carefree self breaking through the darkness that had clung to him for so long. "Of course I have a bike," he said, giving her a wolfish grin. "What kind of bloke do you take me for?"
"One who's had a bit too much to drink, by the looks of it," Emma shot back, but there was a smile playing on her lips.
Sirius winked. "I have a strong tolerance. Twelve years in prison and all."
Emma let out a startled laugh, shaking her head at his audacity. "You're incorrigible."
"And you're going to love every minute of it," Sirius said, already steering her towards the back yard, back to Buckbeak's shed where he kept the bike. He had a feeling this night was about to get very interesting indeed.