So this is certainly one of my favourite chapters right here... It's just too cute and I loved writing it more than anything. Also just to let you all know I'm going to start responding to any questions/enquiries/guesses you all have, so feel free to ask in the comments. Furthermore, PLEASE leave your review its helps me so much more than you know. Hope you all enjoy!
Late April 1978
Hogsmeade Village
Blanche looked up and was met with the doily-trimmed, pastel façade of Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop. Her stomach lurched again.
"Care for a cuppa?" Sirius grinned widely, catching her reaction to the shop.
"I'd rather be dead," she shook her head. "Anyway—you can't mock Madam Puddifoot's. James and Remus've told me you've been in there nearly a hundred times."
"Only because nearly every girl I've been with makes me take her on a date before she's willing to get down and dirty," Sirius defended. "That's the only place they like to go!"
He realised he shouldn't have said anything by the look on Blanche's face. Every part of her face wilted in a sour frown. "You make me feel sicker than does Madam Puddifoot's."
"I'm sorry. I'm an imbecile—really, I am. I regret it all," he genuinely apologised. He didn't feel as though she'd grasped his sincerity when she ripped her arm away from him and walked down High Street past the couple snogging in the window of Madam Puddifoot's. Sirius followed along, trying to make excuses for his previous actions and failing miserably. He ran into her when she turned sharply to enter Tomes and Scrolls.
By the time Sirius walked in after collapsing in the snow when Blanche pushed him over for running into her, she was already deep in conversation with the bookstore owner, a middle-aged, ruddy-faced wizard by the name of Ceolmund Stump. After a decent amount of time of Blanche racing through the aisles with Sirius following after her offering to pay, she dropped a massive stack of books on the counter. Sirius tilted his head to look at her selection: Confronting the Faceless, all seven volumes of Chadwick's Charms, Protection Charm Your Mind: A Practical Guide to Counter Legilimency, Alchemical duodecimo, Brains Before Blood: A Quidditch Strategist's Guide to Calculated Victory, Olde and Forgotten Bewitchments and Charmes, Living With Legilimens: Choose Your Mind Wisely, something in Russian, Magical Translations from Russian for the Over-excellent Wizarding Student, and The Beaters' Bible.
Sirius looked at her oddly for a moment whilst Stump rung up the books, but fished into his pockets when she looked at him expectantly. He didn't bother enquiring about the odd and plentiful selection of books she insisted on carrying herself as they walked toward the Three Broomsticks. Only when she slammed the two stacks of books down on the table did he wonder: "So…"
Blanche pulled out the viridian book Sirius had been most curious about before—The Beaters' Bible. She slid it over to him and he took it in his hands, opening it. It was quite an old book, but Sirius grinned upon seeing the first rule was singularly and boldly put: 'I. Take out the Seeker.'
"James'd like that," Sirius laughed to himself. He looked up. "Did you get this for me?"
"Yes. Well, you did pay for it. But I went to Madam Hooch about Slytherins' dirty game and she told me that the only way to recover now was to demolish Ravenclaw in May. She recommended a few tactic and strategy books—that was one of them. The other Quidditch book's for James. He'd like that, wouldn't he?" She wondered.
"Are you kidding? I reckon he'd wank to it," Sirius laughed, then stopped himself. He'd been really trying to clean up his parlance whenever he was around Blanche, seeing their new status in relationship… Whatever that was, seeing she resisted all of his attempts to talk about it. He never spoke nastily around any of the girls he'd dated before, but none of those girls had been his best friend before his girlfriend. Sirius was just used to talking to her like he did with James, Remus, and Peter. She'd never really liked it, but she'd usually ignored it. Sirius now realised that it was his responsibility to make sure their relationship would not be about 'ignoring it.' "Sorry about that," he apologised.
"About what?" She looked up from the book she'd opened. It appeared she hadn't really assumed Sirius would make a difference in the way he spoke and acted around her. In fact—as Sirius really thought about it—she didn't act much differently around him at all than she had before. He'd give that they nearly spent every waking minute together now, but none of that time was spent flirting or kissing or even talking about how they felt. And not that Sirius enjoyed a constant outflow of emotional attachment, but he'd like if she reminded him that she'd admitted she loved him several weeks ago.
Sirius reached out and took her hand upon the table, gently enclosing it in his own. He watched Blanche's eyes move from the page to their hands, then up to Sirius' face with a judgmental look on her own. "Yes?"
It took Sirius a significant effort not to break out into laughter when he was struck with the irony of it all. For when he saw the look of harsh appraisal on her face, he saw his own self reflected in her. He couldn't count how many times a girl had made an unnecessary move on him—one which only irritated him.
Sirius let go of her hand and let out an exasperated breath. He watched her eyes zoom through the lines on each page and realised she was much more interested in her books than him. He considered making a move of defiance—ripping the book out of her hands, talking animatedly to the couple two tables down from them, getting irritatingly drunk… All things that would annoy her.
"My shoulders hurt," Sirius announced. Gradually, as Blanche realised that was all he was going to say, she looked up at him.
"Why?" She enquired hesitantly. They rarely talked about their own small problems in such a casual way.
"Quidditch practice. James has been mad with it lately. He charms the Bludgers so they come after me and won't stop until half of practice is over. Every time I beat one off, the next comes over and knocks me off my broom."
"Is that why you've been zooming around aimlessly?" Blanche smiled. Whilst she divided her time between watching Sirius practice and doing her homework, she had managed to notice Sirius would spend at least an hour flying in circles—pausing—beating—getting hit—repeat.
"It's not aimless," Sirius insisted. "I'm trying not to get killed. You missed a practice a few days ago where I fell off my broom from ten metres up. James just laughed at me. It was lovely."
"Of course he did," she shook her head. "No wonder your shoulders hurt."
"No—I landed on my back, so that's just covered in bruises. My shoulders hurt because I have to hit those bloody Bludgers every ten seconds or else I'll be beaten to death. You've never hit those, but it's like slapping a comet with a twig. Throws my right shoulder out four out of every five times."
"Oh," Blanche frowned. "It's sore?"
"Like you wouldn't believe."
"In Herbology we made Butterfly Weed Balm. When you rub it on your skin over sore muscles, it alleviates the pain. It's quite handy for everything, really; sort of a panacea. Also a disinfectant for wounds. I can give you some, if you'd like," she suggested pleasantly. Sirius smiled as he saw her making an effort to be kind to him. A couple of months ago she would have said 'get over it' or 'you'll live.' Now it seemed to Sirius as though she wanted him to be comfortable. It was a small change but a change nonetheless.
"Okay, good. I can't wait to force James to put that on me," Sirius laughed.
"I can do it."
Sirius' grin left his face slowly as he looked up at her, watching a faint blush blossom on her ivory cheeks. Her bright blue eyes flitted and widened slightly in shock to what she'd just said.
"Alright," he nodded. She swallowed visibly and looked back down to her book. Her eyes weren't coursing over the page as they were before, though; she was thinking about something else. He wanted to reach out and hold her hand again in the strange domesticity they'd just stepped in and the affection she'd just managed, but he thought she was nervous enough for the time being.
"Sirius, haven't seen you 'round here in a few weeks! Where've you been?!" Madam Rosmerta was hovering beside the table before Sirius could realise. Shortly after processing her words, he registered that he was not in a good situation. He watched Blanche look up to the shapely, blonde-haired barmaid who'd always gotten on her nerves. What was worse was that sometime before Christmas, Sirius had found himself in Rosmerta's bed one evening.
"Uhm… Around. Could we have one Butterbeer and…?" He looked to Blanche.
"Two Butterbeers, mine with ginger."
"Sure thing, sweetheart!" Rosmerta said to Blanche. Sirius internally cringed at the term of endearment. Rosmerta turned back to Sirius. "How've you been? Still playing havoc with Hogwarts?"
"I've been really great—having fun with Blanche over here," Sirius said as he slung an arm under Blanche's and pulled her closer. She looked up at him in annoyance and pushed his arm away. Sirius looked up at Rosmerta with bulging eyes—hoping she'd get the message. "And yes, still laying waste to Hogwarts."
"Lovely, darling! Well listen—if you ever want to lay waste again somewhere else, you know where to find me," she winked at him and walked off back to the bar, leaving Sirius in a defeated slouch.
Blanche cleared her throat and raised her eyebrows, then pursed her lips in the way she did whenever she found something monumentally distasteful. That look could break the hearts of thousands. "That was just—"
In truth, she'd had enough after Rosmerta sauntered over and called her 'sweetheart.' And after she drifted back to the bar, Blanche was—once again—bitterly reminded that Sirius was an accomplished philanderer, and Blanche was—well—a prudish virgin who shied away from most physical contact. In a flicker of typical pessimism, Blanche decided these two types of people could not be meshed into whatever relationship she and Sirius were trying to construct. And as per usual, the thought grew into a virulent weed with vines that confined any open space in her mind.
Blanche piled up her books and gathered them in her arms once again. Then she stood and sighed before releasing: "You're disgusting."
"Blanche—"
"If you ever want me to think you're something more than a bed-hopping, self-obsessed libertine who's incapable of any relationship that doesn't consist of purely mindless shagging and well-disguised self-hatred, I highly recommend you stay out of my sight for a few hours."
The bells at the door rang behind her as she left the Three Broomsticks. Sirius buried his face in his hands. Then the bells rang again, and Blanche was back with a horribly familiar scowl on her pretty pink lips. Sirius stomach churned.
"And in those few hours, I want you to seriously consider what you think you're getting into—because if you haven't noticed, sex is a very foreign concept to me and I don't plan on venturing into that anytime soon. So why don't you determine if your insatiable libido can handle that and come back to me when you realise I'm nothing more to you than a long-awaited page in the sodding shag book under your bed. And yes—I do know about that, you filthy lecher."
Then the bells rang behind her for the last time. Sirius collapsed in his hands once again.
"Was that my fault?" He heard Rosmerta ask nervously. He looked up at her and rubbed his eyes exhaustively.
"You didn't know," he sighed and stood up, watching Blanche Disapparate. He really would like to check on her and ensure she didn't splinch herself… but she'd surely kill him if he wound up in the Forgotten Grounds beside her. Plus, Blanche was not one to splinch herself.
"I just assumed you two were still best friends," Rosmerta frowned. "I'm really sorry. At least you're together now—been in love with one another for long enough."
"To be honest, Rosmerta, I don't even know if we're together," Sirius exhaled, threw some coins on the table in spite of never receiving their drinks, and left the Three Broomsticks.
As much as Sirius wanted to chase after her, he knew that when Blanche asked for space he had to give it to her. Otherwise matters would just descend into absolute calamity. He wandered down High Street before finding himself inside Honeydukes, looking for something to sweeten Blanche's heart.
Blanche extended a finger to tickle the pale green pear in the painting before her. The fruit giggled and shimmied around before swirling into a tight knot—then out popped a doorknob the same colour as the pear. Blanche opened the painting and stepped into the kitchens.
"Misses Lestrange!" The high-pitched, high-spirited voices chorused when she walked into the kitchens. She looked around to see waves of short, ugly house-elves coming toward her—all adorned in dirty teacloths.
"Hello," she greeted them. One house-elf that she was particularly friendly with, Wibsey, pulled at her robes. Blanche looked down to see her offering her a mound of Eccles cake on a silver platter.
"For the stomach—Misses Lestrange!" Wibsey exclaimed happily. Blanche took it and laughed to herself as Wibsey kept on tugging at her robes. Blanche was unsure what other organ would use the cake.
"Thank you , Wibsey. It's delicious."
"Blanche Lestrange is too nice to lowly house-elves. Wibsey is happy to provide the sweets! It is Wibsey's job!"
"You're not lowly—you're quite noble little folk down here," Blanche took another bite of the cake. "Why don't you all just carry on? I just wanted a place to sit for a bit."
Wibsey and a few other house-elves instantly provided a chair and insisted upon offering Blanche seven more pastries and treats before she forced them to go back to work. As she took a bite of a cream horn, she worried that Sirius may have splinched himself on the way back. She nearly got out her chair at the thought and decided to make the thirty-minute walk back to the Forgotten Grounds, but then convinced herself he was alright. It wasn't a hard Apparition.
Sirius, in fact, had been a major topic of thought in her head the entire walk back. She'd begun to think she'd been too harsh on him, but every time she felt sympathy for him, an image of him in Madam Rosmerta's bed wiped away any pity. She supposed it wasn't his fault for his penchant for casual sex, but she couldn't get the gnawing notion out of her mind that he didn't know what he was getting into with her. Blanche had no plans to consider going beyond kisses—even though she imagined delving into that mysterious world with Sirius quite a lot. And she really hadn't meant what she'd said about her being another 'long-awaited page in Sirius' shag book'—as she'd so harshly put. She knew his feeling went beyond that—the trouble was whether he could survive an indeterminate dry spell.
Wibsey came back over with a new tray full of éclairs, fig rolls, mince pies, and milk-cream strudels. "Wibsey, I really don't need all of this."
"Well—Wibsey can take it back, but Wibsey is more than happy to fill Blanche Lestrange with delicious treaties. Why doesn't Blanche take a tray up to Mister Sirius Black? His favourites are the chouquettes—a tray for Mister Black!"
Before Blanche could even object, Wibsey had run off to prepare the tray. She didn't bother getting up and stopping them, though—Sirius did adore chouquettes. She took an éclair and pushed two milk-cream strudels to save for Sirius—he loved those too. She began accidentally feeling that familiar and newly labeled sensation of 'love' for him. She wanted sincerely to see the grin on his face when he ate the first chouquette, and to see the way his eyes would light up at the sight of the tray. Sirius had a sweet tooth.
When Wibsey delivered the new tray of chouquettes—which was also adorned with chocolate almonds and dollops of whipped cream, Blanche had already sunken into a sea of regret for the way she'd treated Sirius. Even if he didn't know what he was getting into with her, he deserved a chance to try.
She thanked the house-elves and left as they snuck more pastries onto her plate on the way out.
Without the Marauder's Map or the Cloak of Invisibility, it was a rather risky walk to the Gryffindor Tower. Blanche missed Peeves within an inch of her life whilst passing the antechamber to the Great Hall. She safely made it to the portrait of the Fat Lady, however, and entered the Common Room.
Blanche was subconsciously thankful Sirius was sitting on the sofa before the hearth rather than bleeding out in the Forgotten Grounds from a splinch. She watched his untidy head turn around when she entered, and then she stood there with her platter staring at him. Eventually she moved toward him and sat beside him on the sofa, laying the platter in her lap. Sirius reached beneath his robes that were strewn across the floor. He pulled out a rather large, hexagonal box with a lavender bow on it. She felt a smile peek at her lips as she pulled it onto her lap, undoing the bow and pulling the lid off. Within was a massive array of delicate chocolates, nougat chunks, squares of pink coconut ice, diamonds of treacle fudge, toffees, and sugared butterfly wings.
Sirius picked up a chouquette, grinning with a full mouth as he ate it. Blanche picked up a sugared butterfly wing whilst Sirius took a few chocolate almonds.
"Blanche," he said after he swallowed. He had a smear of chocolate on his lower lip. "It seems you've grievously misinterpreted what you are to me."
She reached out to wipe away the chocolate on him, leaving her finger to hover at the pink corners of his lips. She then looked away and picked up a piece of pink coconut ice. It melted on her tongue in a cool burst of tropical flavour.
"Alright," she answered. Sirius felt doubt in her voice, but wasn't sure how to show her the way he felt.
"Blanche?" He asked, eating another chouquette. She looked to him curiously. "Why did you say sex was about 'well-disguised self-hatred'?"
Blanche looked at her tray of sweets and fought an urge to walk away in her inability to answer. But she tried—for him: "That's just what I think it is sometimes. Is it something else?"
"That depends. But why self-hatred?"
"I don't know," she forced a laugh and shrugged. "Making yourself feel better with another person… because you can't do it alone, I suppose. I was angry, Sirius—you know better than anyone that you can't take any of that legitimately."
Sirius nodded slowly, thinking on her words. Did he shag girls to make himself feel better? Because he couldn't do it himself? "I have something I want to show you."
"What?" She asked and followed suit when he stood up. He didn't answer her—only walked toward the boys' dormitory. Hesitantly, she followed him up the stairs. Their staircase was not protected like that of the girls' was; no boy they knew was going to complain about a girl walking into their bedrooms. Regardless, Blanche had never been there.
He peaked inside his room to see the status of his roommates—all tucked in and sleeping. He gestured her into the room and she tiptoed in. Blanche wished it were lighter in the room so she could see it—mainly the designated area belonging to Sirius. She managed to see a Muggle motorcycle magazine beside the bed and a few cutouts of girls from the magazines—not much different from those he hung in his room at 12 Grimmauld Place. More noticeable were the pictures of his friends plastered to the wall—many of them photos of her. Each was charmed to move, and Blanche watched herself dance, laugh, spin, and smile.
"Get on the bed," Sirius pointed to the unfolded four-poster behind him. Blanche wasn't sure what he wanted to do but she quickly understood it was either that or wake up the others. She crawled on top of his mattress and sat waiting for him until he'd kicked off his shoes and went in with her. He untied the drapery held to each poster and let them fall around them, so it was only them two within the small, warm, swathed space. Sirius momentarily broke it to reach for something beneath his bed, but soon returned with a thick leather notebook. Its cover was faded and heavily worn, and his initials—S.O.B.—were inscribed in elegant, golden script in the leather.
Before Sirius gave any explanation, he pulled out his wand. "Muffliato," he whispered as he dragged his wand tip in a circle around them. Blanche's heart began to pick up at the reasoning to why he might want no one to hear.
"Isn't that Snivellus' spell?" Blanche whispered.
"You can talk normally," Sirius answered in his full, deep voice. "And yes. He doesn't seem to realise I remember all of the charms and curses he uses on me. Lumos," he cast and the end of his wand illuminated.
"What do you want to show me?" She asked.
"The shag book," he answered, opening it up. Then he put it in her hands after nervously expelling a short breath. Blanche read the title and date of the first page—Lucinda Crowes, 17 October 1973.
"Well, congratulations. Are you trying to upset me?" She asked him harshly, setting down the journal.
"No. Keep flipping through," he urged, putting the journal back in her hands. She sighed in irritation as she began to flip—many of the pages were blank, or just inscribed with a name or date with not much else. Some of them were free of ink. In the centre of the journal was an increased thickness in page. The binding instantly flipped to this section. Blanche saw her own name titling the page.
Right beneath the title was a picture that was taped onto the page—it was the first photo they'd ever taken together, she recalled. Remus had taken it with the Canon camera he'd gotten for Christmas in his Second Year. They were standing beside one another—hardly teenagers with their childlike faces. They both fawned over a toad in Blanche's hands they named Mulciber in honour of the cruel, overweight Slytherin they shared a mutual hatred for.
"Oh, I remember that," Blanche laughed. "And later I put it in the sleeves of his robes and he screamed like a little girl in front of all Potions class."
"And who did Slughorn give detention for it?"
Blanche rolled her eyes and remembered: "You, because you're an honourable gentleman and volunteered for the lady," she laughed and looked at the picture beneath it. It was she and Lily in their gowns from Third Year Ball. Blanche had gone with Sirius—who she'd gone with to nearly every ball since—and Lily had gone with Bertram Aubrey, a Hufflepuff in their year.
"That dress," Blanche scowled at the frilly blue dress with the sweetheart neckline she'd worn. "What was I thinking?"
"Are you kidding? You looked incredible in that dress," Sirius fought.
"I don't think so," she shook her head. The next image was much more recent—it was Blanche and Sirius dancing at the Evanses on Christmas. In the moving picture, he spun her around under his arm and broke into laughter when she nearly fell on the polished, wooden floor. "How'd you get this?"
"I sent an owl to Lily's mom. She sent all of them from that night to me," Sirius answered, flipping to the next page to pull out a stocky stack of photographs. He'd charmed every one so it moved in the moment. Behind Rose's pictures from Christmas, there was stacks of others from many years passed—Blanche and Sirius playing chess at one of the infamous Pureblood balls, Blanche atop Sirius' shoulders as they tried 'hillwalking' one Easter Holiday, Blanche wearing the tiara Lily had given her for Christmas several years ago, Blanche dangling a rat (really Peter) from its tail in front of the fire, Sirius sleeping on Blanche's lap after a party in celebration of Gryffindor winning the Inter-House Cup, Blanche sleeping on Sirius' lap after one of his birthday parties in the Common Room, Blanche and Lily standing stiffly beside Slughorn at a Slug Club dinner, several other balls Sirius and Blanche attended together, pictures from the Three Broomsticks and other pubs they shared a Butterbeer at, Blanche sleeping in Sirius' bed at his new flat during Christmas break…
"What—you think you're just another blank page to me?" Sirius asked as she laughed at a photograph of Sirius giving her a piggyback ride between classes during Fifth Year—he'd lost a bet to her. Next to that was an image of Sirius and Blanche practicing their secret handshake from Fourth Year.
Blanche looked at him and felt unintentional tears well at her eyes. She looked back to a picture of them holding hands in Sirius' bed at his flat—she had no idea who'd taken it. "I'm sorry… I don't know why I'd say that."
She picked up the stack of photos and held them to her heart over her button-up blouse, trying to keep them as close to her as she could. It struck her then—for perhaps the first real time ever—that it would all be over come June. These would all only be photographs—pieces of evidence for a different time that existed only in her memory.
"It's alright," Sirius forgave her, and she knew she had a lot more apologising to do.
"I didn't know you had all of these," she spoke with a sniffle.
"I've always had them. I don't even really use this book anymore, aside from using it as a place to keep the pictures."
Blanche flipped through the pages now that the stack was removed—she came across one that she scowled at. It was her, her mother, and her father standing stiffly in a line. They were at some event her father had organised. They were in the ballroom at Lestrange Grange, and Blanche was quite sure Walburga Black had insisted this photograph be taken.
"Why on earth would you keep this?" Blanche asked in disgust, pressing her nail deeply into the unsmiling face of Rabastan Lestrange. She wanted to vomit at the sight of his arm icily perched around her shoulder in the picture.
"Because, it's funny," he chuckled. "You see how you look over to the right of the camera just… there," he pointed out.
"Sure."
"That's because I'd made Erimentha Malfoy's ears the size of potatoes," he reminded her. "I suppose it's an odd photo to keep, but it makes me feel like I've always been there to cheer you up—even when things were especially hard. I try to make you happy."
Blanche felt a few drops of water roll down her cheek and sneak toward the corners of her mouth. It was true—he always had been. He'd never stopped trying to make her happy and lighten up the world as much as he could. Even when she fought it, he'd never stopped.
"I love you," she told him again, although it had been a while since she'd said it.
"I love you too," he answered then smiled widely. "If you haven't already noticed…" he gestured to the photographs of her that overflowed his book. She leant in and placed a kiss on his lips, allowing him to direct their mouths. His hands reached to encase her jaw in a soft grip and she reached for his shoulders—lightly holding them under her trembling hands. He moved in an unassuming manner against her—cautious but endearing.
Every time the sorrows pushed into her mind with a voracious appetite for happiness, Blanche tightened her grasp on Sirius' shirt and concentrated on him, not her. Because if she thought about herself she'd fall into that familiar web of self-loathing and guilt, and it would all be a ruin. So she only thought of him.
As Sirius brushed her bottom lip with his tongue, she pulled him down so her neck found a place in his pillow. The scent of his shampoo overwhelmed her—in fact all of her senses felt overwhelmed as his tongue touched hers and their mouths entwined in their first true kiss. Sirius let out a light rumble of reaction when she tentatively began to delve into him; one of Blanche's hands fumbled with a few loose coils of soft, dark hair whilst the other slid upward to his neck.
He never tried to push her any further than that, but when she began to emit small groans and tapered whimpers it was impossible for him to stay physically at ease. He pulled away from her when he realised he was solid as an oar and only gave her a chaste kiss to her nose.
"What's wrong?" She asked in a recovering voice. She was quite enjoying the sensation he could work out of her with his expert tongue, adroit hands, and deft lips. She didn't know if she wanted more than that, but she didn't see why he'd pulled away.
With any other girl, Sirius would have made a move to grind his arousal into her or make some sort of indication that he was willing—or at least thinking about—going farther than mouths. But he wouldn't scare her away, and he wouldn't push her into anything without her verbal confirmation. "It's nothing."
"What do you mean it's nothing?" She asked quietly, closing in on his lips so hers moved against his when she spoke.
"I just really adore you," he answered slowly. "And I'd kiss you for days if it didn't mean getting a painfully present hard-on."
"Oh," she pulled away. Sirius watched a wisp of a prideful smile line her lips. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."
"Stop it," he laughed lightly, kissing her forehead. "I can keep on."
"I wish you were a virgin," she softly admitted as she looked down at his throat and the Adam's Apple which shifted there.
"You make me wish I was too," he answered with a toothy grin. "But you wouldn't be too impressed with the results, I don't think."
"Oh, it's alright," she pressed a quick kiss to his mouth. He held her there with his own lips for some amount of time both were unsure of—all they seemed to know was one another and the dark world the poster-hangings made for them. Eventually she pulled away, satisfied with the burst of affection he'd just presented to her, and yawned.
"Do you want to sleep here?" He asked her boldly, picking up a few stray photos that'd been lost in their snogging.
"What about them?" She gestured to Remus, James, and Peter.
"They won't open the curtains," he assured her. "If you want me to, I can set an alarm in the early morning and walk you back to the girls' dormitory… Or at least as far as I can make it without being electrocuted."
"That charm has been lifted," she informed him. He looked at her with surprise. "Lily set it up to prevent James from riffling through her things and sneaking in on her changing… Not really necessary anymore, is it?"
"How did I not know this?"
"It's recent," she answered. "So you can set an alarm at six and walk me back, alright?"
Sirius grinned widely and nodded, charming the bed to wake him at the designated time. He sunk his arms around her and pulled her up so her considerably lighter body rested across his torso. He snuck kisses and caresses as they went through a few photos they'd missed earlier, and Sirius eventually slipped away to sleep as she brushed her fingers through his curled hair. When he began to mumble incoherently about a flower and a house-elf, she also fell asleep.