It was a day before Christmas Eve and Sirius had reluctantly accepted Molly's invitation for dinner at the Burrow the following day–partly because Harry wanted to go. He had not seen Emma since that night. At the beginning, Sirius waited. He hadn't realised how much he'd been anticipating seeing her, but she hadn't appeared at the Order. He'd told himself that perhaps she needed time, that perhaps there were things she needed to process, especially after she had literally cried her eyes out…while gently rejecting him. He tried to appease his confusion but the more he thought about her reaction the more confused he was.

Every day that passed, he'd lingered in the kitchen long after Harry had left for a morning of chess with Ron, a strange mix of hope and dread twisting in his gut.

But Emma was nowhere to be found. She had not joined the closing meeting of the year, she had not been at the hospital either.

Sirius was starting to get agitated, thinking that somehow his actions had offended her–that perhaps he had acted impulsively and she was terrified, or worse, she did not want to see him again.

He had also impulsively sent her a Patronus, which he now regretted.

His last resort was the new Healers.

The young woman with a severe, boyish haircut and owlish glasses kept stirring a musky liquid and did not notice Sirius immediately.

He cleared his throat, suddenly awkward. "Erm–Hicks, I was wondering… do you know if Emma's around? I need to speak with her."

Hicks blinked at him. "Ah–you don't know? Healer Franchi won't be back until after the holidays, Mr. Black," she replied. "She notified Healer Shacklebolt last night. Family emergency, I believe. Asked for leave to be moved forward."

Sirius felt a chill run down his spine. Family emergency? Leave moved forward? What in Merlin's name was going on? "She… she left?" he repeated, his voice hollow.

Hicks nodded, her brow furrowing slightly. "Yes, last night, quite late. She seemed… agitated. Left this for you, actually." She rummaged on a nearby shelf, retrieving a small vial filled with a shimmering, emerald-green liquid.

Sirius took the vial. He recognized the potion instantly.

"But how is that even possible? Where did she even go? Did she say anything, anything at all?" he asked in an upset tone.

Hicks, clearly taken aback by his outburst, stammered, "I-I don't know the specifics. Family matters, you know... She just mentioned needing to be with her family. I think she said something about Wales?"

Sirius ran a hand through his hair, his frustration threatening to boil over. Wales? What family did she have in Wales? This made no sense. He was suddenly, acutely aware of how little he actually knew about her, about the life she led outside of these walls.

She had told him that exactly that night, though.

He caught sight of Hicks's bewildered expression and immediately felt a wave of shame wash over him.

"Right," he muttered, trying to regain some semblance of composure. "Wales. Of course." He forced a smile, hoping it didn't look as strained as it felt. "Sorry, Hicks. You get back to work. I'll, uh, I'll see myself out."

Without another word, he turned and strode out of the room, leaving the young healer staring after him, her brow furrowed in concern.

...

Sirius led Emma towards the garage, a wide grin spreading across his face as he anticipated her reaction. He pushed open the creaky doors, revealing his pride and joy: a sleek, powerful motorbike. But this wasn't just any motorbike. This was a masterpiece of magic and engineering, a testament to his younger, wilder self.

"Meet Lydia," Sirius announced, gesturing towards the bike. "The love of my life."

Emma's eyes widened as she took in the sight. "You're telling me... this thing... flies?"

"Not 'thing'," Sirius corrected, feigning offence. "Lydia. And yes, she flies. Charmed her myself, about twenty years ago. James used to joke that she was the only girl who could ever make me settle down." The memory brought him a hearty laugh.

Emma cautiously circled the bike. "And you trust this... Lydia... to get us both off the ground?"

Sirius chuckled. "Trust her? She's the most reliable girl I know!" He grabbed a helmet from a nearby shelf, offering it to Emma. "Here, put this on. Safety first."

Emma hesitantly took the helmet, her fingers brushing against his. He tried to ignore the way the simple contact sent a jolt of electricity through him. "Sirius, I don't know about this..."

"Relax," he said. "You're safe with me. Lydia wouldn't hurt a hair on your pretty little head."

He swung his leg over the bike, settling into the familiar seat. Emma hesitated for a moment longer, then climbed on behind him, her initial stiffness giving way to a hesitant grip on his waist.

"Hold on tight," Sirius instructed. He could feel the warmth of her body pressed against his back, and he fought the urge to lean back into the contact. With a flick of his wrist, he cast a disillusionment charm, rendering them invisible to any Muggle eyes.

The engine roared to life, a powerful thrum that vibrated through them both.

"Ready?" he asked, turning his head slightly to look at her.

Emma let out a startled shriek as the bike shot forward, her arms tightening around his chest instinctively. He felt the press of her cheek against his shoulder, her breath warm against his neck. He had a feeling he was going to enjoy this.

He soared into the night sky, the city lights blurring beneath them. The air was cold, but Sirius cast a quick warming charm, ensuring he and Emma wouldn't freeze. He felt her gradually relax against him, her grip loosening slightly as she lifted her head, taking in the breathtaking view.

Sirius navigated the deserted streets, the city lights painting streaks of colour across his vision. He felt exhilarated, alive. The wind whipped past them, carrying away the stale air of Grimmauld Place. For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, he was just Sirius: reckless, impulsive, and completely captivated by the woman clinging to him, which was something he didn't expect–at all.

The wind whipped past them and soon he felt a pang of disappointment as the warming charm he'd cast on them began to fade. He wanted to prolong this ride, yes, but more than that, he wanted to savour the feeling of her pressed against him, the way her arms tightened instinctively around him whenever he took a corner a little too fast. He was acutely aware of every point of contact, the way her breath fanned his neck, the subtle scent of chamomile that clung to her hair.

He followed her directions, guiding Lydia through a labyrinth of winding roads until they reached a sprawling block of flats.

He slowed to a stop and the street was almost deadly silent. Two stray cats, startled by the sudden presence of the motorbike, hissed at each other from their perch atop a nearby dumpster before disappearing down a shadowy alley.

Emma dismounted first, her cheeks flushed, her braid coming loose from the wind. She pushed a stray strand of hair away from her face.

He swung his leg over the bike reluctantly. He didn't want this night to end, not yet. He drank in the sight of her: windswept and radiant, a stark contrast to the controlled, composed Healer he'd come to know.

Emma fidgeted, her gaze darting between him and the brightly lit entrance of her building. "Well," she began, her voice a bit breathless, "thank you for the ride, Sirius."

He felt a surge of something reckless, almost arrogant, course through him. It was the thrill of the flight, the lingering magic of his bike, his youth even, but most of all, it was the way she was looking at him, her eyes wide and expectant.

He couldn't let her just disappear into that building. Not yet. He had to do something, say something.

"How about a nightcap?" he asked in a brisk voice.

He saw her surprise, the way her eyebrows shot up in question. But he pressed on, emboldened.

"There's this little place I know," he continued, his voice taking on a conspiratorial tone. "Just a few streets over."

Emma pushed a stray strand of hair away from her face, her fingers lingering near her temple as if unsure what to do with themselves. Sirius fought the urge to reach out and tuck those strands behind her ear, but he restrained himself.

"Well," she said, her voice a bit higher than usual. "That's… awfully kind of you, Sirius, but it's quite late, and I have an early shift at the… at Mungo's tomorrow."

She winced slightly.

"Just one drink," he pressed, his voice dropping to a husky murmur. "My treat–come on," he added.

A slow blush crept up her neck as her gaze swept over him, lingering for a fraction of a second too long on the way his leather jacket hugged his shoulders.

"Sirius–" she began, her voice taking on a warning tone that did little to quell the desire thrumming through his veins. She offered him a small, apologetic smile, and for a moment, Sirius felt a pang of disappointment so sharp it nearly took his breath away.

"Goodnight," she whispered. He felt a wave of disappointment all over him.

As she was walking toward her building, his hand instinctively reached for the ignition, the roar of Lydia's engine suddenly the only sound that made sense in the face of his disappointment. He was about to kickstart the bike, to disappear back into the night with his tail between his legs, and right then, he felt another surge of impulsivity.

He dismounted the bike once more and strode toward Emma, who was at her door.

She turned around, startled, her light brown hair catching the warm glow of a nearby lantern, her eyes wide with surprise. The sight of her, vulnerable and beautiful in the dim light, banished any lingering hesitation.

He stopped a breath away, close enough to see the question forming on her lips. "Did I misread this?" he asked quickly, without hesitation.

She sighed, a soft, almost mournful sound. "No, Sirius," she whispered, "You didn't misread anything."

He felt a flicker of hope ignite in his chest. He smiled, unable to help himself, and before he could overthink it, his hands shot out, grasping her upper arms, pulling her gently but insistently closer.

"Then why are you saying goodnight?" he murmured, still smiling.

She stumbled slightly, her back meeting the cool brick of the building as his body pressed closer. "Oh, Sirius..."

He leaned in, his lips brushing against her cheek, the scent of her, clean and subtly floral, filling his senses. "I was about to kiss you senseless before," he whispered. "And you slithered out like a silverfish escaping the light."

"Sirius..." Her voice was a plea, a lament. He didn't give her a chance to pull away. Instead, he pressed his forehead against hers, his hands moving to cradle her head, fingers tangling in her hair. He felt her tremble. He was desperate to know what had stopped her moments ago.

"It's here, this... am I imagining it?" His words tumbled out, raw and unchecked, a vulnerability he hadn't allowed himself to show in years. "Just—don't go like this," he pleaded.

She shook her head, and that's when he saw them – tears glistening on her lashes. He pulled back slightly, just enough to see her face, his brow furrowing with confusion.

"Emma? What is it? Tell me."

"Some doors are better left unopened," she said in a rough voice.

"What–Why are you crying?" He tilted her chin up with a finger under her jaw. "Talk to me, please."

Her eyes, wide and shimmering with unshed tears, held a depth of sadness that stole the breath from his lungs. Something was wrong, terribly wrong, and a cold knot of dread began to tighten in his gut.

"I can't," she whispered, her voice choking with tears. She gently pried his fingers from her chin. "Please, Sirius... just let me go."

"No," he said, his voice firm despite the turmoil raging within him. "Not until you tell me what's going on." He stepped back, giving her space, but he wouldn't leave, not until he understood the reason for her tears, the reason for her cryptic warning.

Emma took a breath, trying to compose herself, but the tears still welled in her eyes. The sight of her struggling, so unlike her usual vibrant self, twisted a knot of anxiety tighter in Sirius's gut. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket, fighting the urge to reach for her.

"Sirius," she began. "What happened tonight... It was wonderful, truly. But..."

"But?" he prompted, his voice low and encouraging, willing her to continue.

She hesitated, her gaze darting towards him, then away again."I can't...We can't."

"What are you talking about? I thought..." He trailed off, suddenly unsure. "Didn't we just establish that we weren't misreading things?"

"I can't... we shouldn't... There are things you don't know, things about me, about my life, you have no idea."

"Then enlighten me," he urged, his voice softening. "What is it, Emma? What's got you so terrified? Did someone say anything to you–" he did not know what to assume.

But she did not answer him. She just shook her head. "Please, just... forget this ever happened."

He stiffened, his shoulders squaring as a wave of icy rejection washed over him. They were simply staring at each other for a long minute, and he tried multiple times, but he didn't know what to say.

He took a step back eventually, out of respect for her wishes.

"If that's what you want."

She was gone after a curt nod, and he kept looking at her sad figure, entering her apartment, trying not to look back toward him.

A hollow ache had settled in his chest as he saw her disappearing into her building.

...

The next day, Sirius was a simmering cauldron of barely contained frustration. Every clink of a teacup, every rustle of the Prophet, grated on his nerves. Marlene, seated across from him at the long kitchen table, watched him with a mixture of barely suppressed fury and poorly disguised hurt.

"For Merlin's sake, Sirius," she finally exploded, slamming her cup down with enough force to slosh coffee across the table. "This brooding silence is getting tiresome. Either spit it out or find someone else to glare at."

He slammed his own cup down, the china rattling precariously on the table. "Don't," he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

"Don't what, Sirius?" Marlene shot back, her voice rising in challenge. "Don't tell you to act like a functioning adult? Don't point out that you've been a complete arse all morning?"

"What in the bloody hell happened last week? And don't you dare give me that 'nothing' rubbish. We both know you didn't spend the night polishing your broom."

"I don't owe you an explanation, Marlene," Sirius shot back, his voice tight. He was about to add that she wasn't his girlfriend, that they didn't have that kind of claim on each other, but the words died in his throat as he caught the look in her eyes. The hurt that flashed across her features was visible.

Marlene, sensing his hesitation, let out a humorless laugh. "Right," she said, pushing back from the table, her chair scraping against the floor. "Because that's exactly the point, isn't it? We're nothing. But for Merlin's sake, Sirius," her voice cracked slightly, "I'm not a naive little girl to be treated like this, used and discarded when it's convenient. So, you figure it out. Either fix this..." she gestured vaguely between them "or...I am done."

The kitchen door swung open, and Harry Potter, looking slightly bewildered, stepped into the room.

"Everything alright?" he asked cautiously, his gaze darting between Sirius and Marlene.

Marlene, sensing the shift in atmosphere, rose from her chair with a sigh. "Just your godfather being his usual charming self," she said, her tone light despite the pointed look she shot Sirius. She clapped Harry on the back as she passed him. "Don't worry, Harry, I'm sure he'll be back to normal…eventually."

With that, she swept out of the kitchen. Harry shuffled awkwardly, his gaze fixed on his godfather. "What was that about?" he asked hesitantly. "Did I interrupt something?"

"Nothing important," Sirius muttered, his voice clipped. He pushed his plate away, his appetite vanished.

"But…" Harry began, sensing the lie.

"Drop it, Harry," Sirius snapped, his frustration boiling over.

Harry flinched, his shoulders slumping. "Sorry," he mumbled.

The sight of Harry's crestfallen expression pierced through Sirius's anger. He'd been taking his frustrations out on Harry, and that wasn't fair. He owed him better.

"No, don't apologise," Sirius said, his voice softening. He looked at his godson, really looked at him, and saw the same confusion, the same yearning for answers, that he himself felt because of Emma's sudden departure. And in that moment, a decision formed in his mind.

"Listen," he said, his tone more measured now. "I wanted to ask you something. I was thinking... maybe today... would you want to go to Godric's Hollow with me?"

Harry was surprised but nodded, slowly. "To–to see them?"

Sirius smiled tightly, but it did not reach his eyes.

...

The scent of cinnamon hung heavy in the air, a comforting counterpoint to the storm raging outside. Inside the cosy cottage, Portia Pettigrew hummed a cheerful, if slightly off-key, carol as she arranged a plate of freshly baked mince pies on the table. Emma watched her recently reunited sister with a wistful smile.

Portia, twelve years her senior, was the living embodiment of their mother – same kind eyes, magnified by magically-enhanced spectacles, same plump cheeks dusted with freckles, only Portia had ginger hair. Portia also exuded a whimsical air, an almost childlike wonder that drew both magical creatures and ordinary animals to her small cottage.

It wasn't just the dozen cats that shared Portia's home; a pair of sleek black ravens were perched on the back of her chair and Emma had spotted a family of Kneazles curled up on the rug. Outside, Portia kept a pair of shaggy goats and their bells tinkled softly.

Emma knew of Portia's self-imposed exile years ago, but the details of her failed marriage with a charming albeit irresponsible wizard were ssparse in the Pettigrew household, and after Peter disappeared, even sparser.

Portia had not made reference to any of such family secrets the last two days Emma had been there. Instead, the older, slightly quirky woman wanted to know about Emma's life.

"You know," Portia said, turning suddenly, a mischievous glint in her eye, "Staring is considered rude in most circles, dear sister."

Emma blushed, startled. "Sorry," she mumbled, sinking into a chair. "It's just… you haven't changed a bit."

Portia chuckled. "And you, little sparrow, have blossomed. Though you look like you could use a good night's sleep and a mountain of mince pies." She gestured at the table laden with festive treats. "Don't tell me you've forgotten it's Christmas Eve tomorrow?"

Emma forced a smile. "Hardly. Just… preoccupied, I suppose."

Portia's gaze sharpened, her cheerful demeanour fading slightly. "Preoccupied, or on the run?" she asked softly, with a knowing smile that Emma found eerie.

Emma stiffened. "What do you mean?"

She settled into a chair opposite Emma, carefully pouring tea into two chipped china cups. She didn't use magic, not anymore. Emma knew that from Pia, but also had noticed herself, as Portia did not carry a wand. She did not feel comfortable asking her. At least, not yet.

"So," she said, her voice gentle but firm, "shall we talk about my exile from you and our dear family...or about you running away from...whatever it is you're running from?"

Emma stared at her, stunned. How could she possibly know?

Emma knew that it was true that she was running away–from everything, really, but particularly, from Sirius. Sirius whom until recently Emma thought to be completely indifferent to her presence, which apparently was hardly the case.

She was also running away from the Order by consequence, not knowing how to face everything that was occuring at the same time.

She looked at Portia, whose strong hands were softly on the table, waiting patiently for an answer, not breaking eye contact, but not demanding anything either–

And the dam was suddenlt gapingly open.

"Peter. He is alive," Emma said. "He faked his death," she said, tears spilling free.

Tears, hot and stinging, spilled down her cheeks, tracing tracks through the carefully applied mask of composure she'd worn for far too long.

Portia was calm, unresponsive almost. She simply closed her eyes and hugged her torso own with her arms, a comforting gesture.

"How long have you known that?" she asked softly.