I know it's been eons since I've updated. Truth be told, I've actually still been writing this story and have finished the first book finally! I'm now writing the second book... But I don't have many readers or commenters on this story so I don't feel particularly urged to update regularly. At this point I mostly write for myself. However, I hope those who do read enjoy! Please comment, favourite, and follow so I know I'm posting for something!

Mid May, 1978

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

It was the morning of the final Quidditch game and Sirius had gotten just a couple hours of sleep. He was truly at the end of his tether. James was annoyed with him for his ruin of their Last Ball, Remus was angry with him for sending Snape to him whilst he was in the Shrieking Shack, and—worst of all—Blanche was keeping some distance between them for all of this. He was an honest wreck, and the only person who would hear him out and provide him with half-decent commentary was Peter.

Sirius lay in bed with eyes wide open, just as they had been since dawn. A glint of fresh sunlight cut in through a crack in his bed's curtains and he painfully shielded his eyes with his hand. He felt like he had a hangover, even though he had stopped himself from drinking the night before for James' sake. If he was drunk the day of the final Quidditch match, he'd likely piss James off for a month.

"Rise and shine!" Thinking of James seemed to summon him, and he threw Sirius' curtains wide open. In spite of his past few days' irritation with him, a great grin was splitting James' face in two. "You know what day it is!"

"Sod off."

"Nope!" James delightfully answered, cheerful despite Sirius' obviously sour mood. "It's seven-fifteen and we're already running late! We've got to be out on the pitch at eight thirty, which leaves us time for a big breakfast and some love from our ladies—"

"I lost my lady. Remember?" Sirius grumbled.

"I reckon she'll give you some attention on this big day. She isn't that cruel."

"Not so sure about that."

"Then," James continued without missing a beat. "At eight forty-five we've got a meeting with the referees. From nine 'til ten we're stretching, ten 'til eleven we're doing drills, then eleven 'til fourteen we are practicing. Now get the hell up!" He shouted.

Following James' pestering voice, Sirius heard the sound of trumpets break through the room. He looked at the entrance of the Seventh Year boys' dormitories and saw a crowd of people led by Remus and Peter. All Sirius wanted was to melt into his bed and drone out the migraine-inducing song of nearly every Gryffindor marching into his dormitory.

"G-R-Y-F-F-INDOR! Why even bother with the score? We'll beat your arses one by one, until we're the sole champions! Why, Hufflepuff will eat our dust—and Slytherin, you'll never win! Ravenclaw is doomed to fall, 'cos we're the greatest of them all!" The crowd chorused. They continued with the following verses of the rally cry, and Sirius tried desperately to untie his curtains from their posts, but James had cleverly triple-knotted them so as not to let Sirius crawl back into his cave.

"Let's get Sirius out of bed!" James shouted over their voices, and suddenly the crowd began to chant his name.

"Si-ri-us! Si-ri-us!"

And Sirius, otherwise naked from his black boxer-briefs, stood up and flipped them all off. "I am UP!" He cried in a hoarse voice, but they still continued chanting.

"Alright, you rascals! He's had enough! Go down to the Great Hall and we'll meet you there! It's time for the champions to get a good luck…kiss…from their ladies before heading to war!" James yelled, causing the crowd to break out in a tidal wave of laughter. "Is someone going to tell me Lily is urgently waiting in the empty Seventh Year girls dormitory?"

"Yeah, we've all cleared out, you salacious cretin," Sirius heard a familiar voice tucked behind a corner.

"Well, would you look who showed up!" James exclaimed, elbowing Sirius in the ribs knowingly. "That's the signal, folks. Everyone out!"

The entire population of Gryffindor slowly filed out of the single-door exit. Their sounds seemed to fade away, all alongside the excited whoops of James Potter as he ran to Lily, who Blanche herself had prepared in red and gold lingerie and with an empty room.

Sirius watched Blanche remain whilst the rest shuffled off. Her hair was curled and glittering with two golden hair-clasps, and she wore a scarlet blouse with a low neckline and flared, light-wash jeans. Two yellow backpack straps were looped around her arms, and Sirius recognised it as the hilariously hideous lion-head backpack he'd gotten her in a store in Diagon Alley three summers ago. She'd charmed it once she got it so it had an interior ten times the size of its exterior; with this, she could fill it with enough water balloons so she could hit every Slytherin in the face at Quidditch games.

"Good morning," she smiled at him. He loved the clothes she wore when she didn't need to wear a uniform. The scarlet looked beautiful on her, drawing out the soft blush upon her cheeks. And the jeans hugged her flared hips and small waist tightly, stirring something deep in his stomach.

"Morning," he greeted, still unsure how to act with her. The previous few days' behaviour—ever since the night of the Last Ball—were strained. She'd requested they spend those days apart, and the only time he could see her was at meals and when she was studying in the Common Room. Merlin, he'd even gone to the library just to catch a glimpse of her.

"How are you feeling?" She enquired tentatively.

"Not great," he laughed curtly and self-deprecatingly. "Haven't been sleeping much."

"Yeah, I haven't really seen you eating either," she commented and he shrugged in response. The sunlight streaming through the window in a white beacon behind him illuminated grey flecks floating through the air and cast harsh shadows against even the smallest raises of the splinching scars on his chest.

Blanche took an empty mug from his bedside table and filled it wandlessly with freshly-brewed breakfast tea. She brought it to him and he took it hesitantly. "Why are you here now?" Sirius asked.

"I haven't been taking care of you, especially when you need it most," she admitted. "Which is absurd, because I was disappointed with you initially because you took too much care."

"I don't deserve your care. I'm thoroughly unworthy of such a delicacy."

Blanche's lips lifted in levity, then she took his hand and led him to the largest window in the boys' room, which was between Sirius' and James' beds. A scarlet-cushioned, wide windowsill for star-gazing was attached to the window. The Seventh Year girls dormitory had one too—it was where Blanche did most of her non-academic reading. Blanche sat cross-legged at one side of the window and took off her bag, pulling out several small wrappings. She untied them and Sirius spotted a familiar raid of the kitchen. It looked as though the house elves had stuffed her hands with treats once again.

"Eat with me?" She offered. He nodded, walking over to the window and sitting opposite her. She prepared him a freshly-baked scone and applied clotted cream to its insides, then adding a layer of raspberry jelly from a glass jar. She handed it to Sirius and he smiled gently. She knew what his favourite breakfast was before a big game. James always tried to force Sirius to have at least four eggs, a plate of bacon, haggis, and fatty sausages the morning before playing, but Sirius only ever wanted the sweet and empty calories of a heavily-dressed scone.

Blanche unwrapped a golden-crusted croissant for herself took a bite, watching Sirius lick maroon jam from his fingers. She was never one to eat more than half a plate for breakfast. James' full Scottish breakfasts disgusted her, and she often made her opinion known.

"Are you nervous about the game?" She asked after finishing her croissant.

"Honestly, no," he shook his head. "It's the last thing I'm thinking about."

"If James knew that—"

"I don't care about that. I just care about you."

"Oh, stop. We both know that's not true," she turned him down.

"Fine. But without you, I don't enjoy anything. I don't even have an interest in playing if you're not watching."

"Sirius," Blanche laughed. "You were never without me. You'll never be without me," she promised, taking his sticky hand in hers. She leaned over the unwrapped food between them and took his unshaven cheeks between her hands, pulling his mouth to hers to place a long-awaited kiss upon his lips. He was still at first, as though he were afraid he'd ruin it, but reacted when she deepened the kiss. She brushed her tongue over his bottom lip and he responded graciously, bringing his hands to her stretched torso and sliding up the exposed skin of her flat belly.

Blanche pulled her face a few inches away from his. "How do I make you feel better about the game?" She had missed him these past few days as well, even though she was the one who'd requested the space. She knew she had to discipline their relationship to some degree or else it would run amok, but she'd missed the sight of light captured in his grey eyes and the sound of his laughter. Even more notably, she'd missed the wandering hands and the lingering kisses, desperately trying to achieve a contact they couldn't yet obtain. She missed the sounds that left his mouth when she lifted her hips to press into his, and she missed the hesitancy with which his hands avoided the swell of her breasts and the warmth between her legs.

Sirius' eyebrows raised sinfully, and her wish to see the light captured in his eyes was satisfied. But there were still many unsatisfied wishes left. He swiped his hand across the window cushion's surface letting the food and cheesecloth and jars of jam fall several inches to the ground. He pushed her down so she lay on her back and pulled her hips down, so they forcefully matched with and clashed against his. She brought his face back down to hers in order to resume the passionate kiss, which only increased in eagerness and pace. One of Sirius' hands was sliding back up her belly, just so his fingertips brushed the lace lining of her bra's underwire. Without processing, she pushed his wrist up so his tentative hand was forced to take her breast in his hand. She sighed into his mouth at the sensation, which was so incredibly unlike that made by her own hand. A pleasured whimper left her mouth as he kissed down her neck, lapping at the tender spot just below her ear. She said his name loudly, which elicited an extremely frustrated rumble from him.

Feeling more bold than usual, she slid a hand down his chest and across his hard abdomen, lingering upon the few inches of warm skin just before his underwear.

"Woah there, Blanche," Sirius pulled away, his lips tinted an abused pink and his eyes glazed over in lust. "That's dangerous territory."

"Oh, come off it," she rolled her eyes and pulled his face back down into her neck then reaching to touch him through the thin material. Never having had such direct contact with it—or any one of them ever—she was shocked at what her hand met. Sirius reacted in a forcibly tamed frenzy when she moved her hands—not really trying to achieve anything except exploration.

"This is actually going to kill me. I reckon we should veto it whilst we're ahead," he panted into the dewy skin of her neck. She silently laughed to herself as she drew a single finger up his length, but then choked on her breath as his hands groped her breast pleasurably, but still he fought it: "Blanche, this is not funny."

"I think so," she coquettishly argued. "Let me just investigate."

"As much as your investigation of my body sounds like the best game you've ever wanted to play, I will have blue bollocks for the rest of the day and sitting on a broom will be like getting punched in the cock every other minute. Let's postpone this."

"But I don't want to," she pouted. Her teasing difficulty was only making matters worse for him. She dragged her fingers experimentally around, feeling the gently ridges of his large covered length and finding rivulets of engorged veins.

"I don't have room in James' schedule to wank this one out, Blanche. I beg of you, cruel Delilah," he groaned.

Then—speaking of the devil—the door to the dormitory was thrown wide open. "Oh, Sirius!" James voice, lightened and painfully effervescent with post-coital glee.

"Get the fuck out!"

"I'm sorry mate, but it's eight fifteen," James walked over to look over Sirius' messy-sheeted bed to see Sirius lying on top of Blanche, who was hanging partly off of the windowsill bench. "Oh, glad to see this is back on. As much as I'd hate to prevent the sexual liberation of Sirius Black with his dreamlike inamorata, we've got to get cracking."

Sirius rolled off of Blanche and landed on his back on the rug, and Blanche stood up instantly, smoothing her jumper and tidying her hair. Lily walked in as well, looking equally frazzled. Her cheeks were bright like red roses and her orange hair was quite a mess.

"Blanche, we've got get breakfast then go to Hogsmeade. Everyone's meeting there to get wrecked before the game."

"Right," she nodded, then cast her eyes downward at Sirius. "Good luck, sir."

"Thank you, temptress," he saluted her with a hand upon his forehead.

Blanche was just about blasted by the time the game came around in the late afternoon. The Three Broomsticks had been a true carousal; nearly every student who didn't play for the Gryffindor or Ravenclaw Quidditch team was there taking Goblins' shots and playing Butterbeer-pong. The locals had smartly cleared from the tavern and abandoned their usual late-morning brews in the hopes to avoid the rambunctious behaviours of the entire student population. Not even Rosmerta nor the other pub workers seemed to be disrupted by said conduct. They were quite familiar with the high spirits found on the day of the year's last Quidditch match, plus they made quite a pretty penny through it.

"Avis!" A drunken Fifth Year near her shouted, ejecting a twittering bird from his wand towards the dartboard. The bird headed leisurely towards the bulls-eye, but flew away before it could hit the centre. He finished his pint in response to his failure.

On the end of the table at which Blanche sat, a pompous Sixth Year Ravenclaw was guessing the flavours of a deluxe addition Bertie's Botts. "A New World Merlot with a dark body, hints of plum and… tea leaf?" He chewed. "From western America—most likely mid-Californian, on the coast," he finished. His friends looked at the box and shook their heads in disbelief, most of them finishing their pints in one sip as the price of losing the bet.

Opposite Blanche at a round table tucked in a corner, a couple snogged feverishly. A friend shouted at them: "Evander! Zora!" They broke apart at their friend's angry shout, leaving a silvery string of pubescent saliva between them. Blanche grimaced.

"It's your turn, Blanche!" Jayne Hopkins called from two seats down. Blanche was pulled back into the game with a drunken mind and tongue.

"Oh, right," she nodded heavily. The table was fuzzy before her and when she reached out to pull a card from the circle splayed around the half-full glass. She looked at it and pursed her lips. "Crikey."

Blanche stood and read aloud: "Morgan le Fay," she announced, too drunk to be able to pull off a decent lie. "Do with me what you will."

"Four shots of Fijian Firewater!"

Blanche wanted to melt back into the chair. True, she had a high tolerance for alcohol in spite of her willowy form. But she'd been truly done in.

"Burn the witch! Burn the witch! Burn the witch!" They chanted.

Four shots were poured of the strong alcohol, and Blanche almost gagged between the third and the fourth as she downed them. When she felt as though she were about to be sick after the fourth, a cough of fire came up. It felt like the most horrible of sneezes. She reached to her ears as those also tickled with flames. When the drink-induced blazes died down, Blanche collapsed back into her seat.

"Blanche!" Lily drunkenly called from a chair beside the door. "I feel so ill."

"I think I already have a hangover," Blanche answered, sliding deeply into the chair. "But we still need to walk back with everyone. It's tradition."

"How's you and I go back now and watch the last of the practice. I think we could both use the walk there anyway," she said, slurring heavily. "Need the fresh air."

"Fine," Blanche sighed with a heavy tongue, shooting the last mixed drink that had been bought for her by a Hufflepuff boy who seemed to be unaware of her relationship status. "Let's sod off together, then."

Blanche looped her arm through Lily's elbow and tugged her from the bench, pulling her through the door. They both took a long breath, letting the newly-arrived spring breezes soak into their lungs.

"Oi," Lily exclaimed, falling slightly to the side. "Let's move!"

Blanche and Lily tried to pull one another along, falling every twenty metres and crumbling onto the damp ground with a chorus of giggles. It took them about three times the time it took an average person to make it from the Three Broomsticks to the pitch.

When they reached it, they both slivered past the professors guarding the stairs with surprising grace and emptied onto the sidelines. Blanche caught Sirius flying up towards a Bludger soaring towards James. She felt Lily lean in against her before they both crumbled to the ground. "Oh, look at them!"

Blanche hummed euphorically in response, watching Sirius hit the Bludger so hard it flew from her sight. James and Sirius were certainly the most talented on the field. James could fly with astonishing speed and Sirius could swing his Beaters' bat like nothing she'd ever seen. Perhaps the only one who came close to rivalling their talent was their Fourth Year Keeper, Xanthia Burke, who was just about as quick off the mark as they came. She would be able to sense a Quaffle coming her way if she was blindfolded.

"What the hell are you doing, James?!" Blanche heard Sirius' echo throughout the pitch stadium

"I'm trying something new—bugger off!" James argued.

"Are you still charming these Bludgers?!" Sirius accused. "I thought we talked about this!"

"We've thirty minutes until the game, Sirius! It is crunch time!" James retorted. The Bludger Sirius had so recently hammered into the sky had come shooting back at him from behind, and he raced around to slam it again with his bat. The Bludger sped like an aeroplane through the sky and shot through the highest middle goal post.

"Now, that's what I'm talking about Sirius!" James cried. "I've got to offer my thanks to Blanche later for whatever she did to you!"

Blanche looked at Lily and shook her head, swearing they had hardly done anything. She eventually gave up and screamed: "Hey, I'm right here!"

Sirius' broom did a swift turn beneath him and he was indelicately flipped, as though the broom was more in touch with his thoughts than any physical part of him. A wide smile lit his face.

"No distractions, Sirius—" James tried to begin, but Sirius was already racing towards the sidelines.

"Come here, James!" Lily shouted with a drunken grin, urging him over. He groaned over his inability to resist her every beck and call.

Sirius gracefully dropped the broom from his hand and met Blanche's embrace. He hugged her tightly—missing her desperately in the few hours they had been separated. Sirius realised how inebriated she was when she publicly pressed three kisses across his damp neck, jaw, and chin. When he met her eyes, he the noticed the wide blue irises were glazed with verglas—not in her typical, withdrawn iciness, but more so in the mirth of drink.

Blanche hiccuped loudly and a short burst of flames left her ears, nose, and mouth. "Ow…" she mumbled, rubbing her nose clumsily with her palm.

"They burned the witch whilst playing the Ring of Black Magic," Lily explained as Sirius confusedly looked to her.

"Fucking… Fijian Firewater," Blanche scowled and stumbled backward. Sirius caught her.

"Wow, you two really went for it at the Broomsticks, I see," James surmised, catching Lily from a tumble himself.

"So many people…" Lily began.

"Bought us drinks…" Blanche finished sleepily. "But then again, I did get pissed as a newt without spending a single knut."

"Drunk as an emperor," Lily word-found.

"Proper kaylied," Blanche responded in a Yorkie accent that Peter would be thrilled to hear. "Oh, how am I going to make it through the game?" She asked, holding her head in her hand.

Sirius placed a kiss on her forehead, pulling her shoulders into his chest and chuckling into her hairline. Then a loud sound echoed through the pitch—they all looked to the opposite end. Ravenclaw was loading into the pitch. They'd previously been playing on a makeshift field on plains a ten-minute broom-ride away; their team captain had lost a coin toss with James a week ago regarding practicing fields.

It seemed one of the professors was beginning to prepare the stadium for the penultimate battle. Checkered flags unfurled and dropped across the wooden towers.

"Lily, we should probably scram. If a professor comes out on the field, we'll be—"

"Oh, Merlin!" She said, placing a kiss on James' cheek and a word of good luck before running off as the nervous little Head Girl she was.

"Sirius—three minutes," James alerted him before jumping onto his broom and flying off to meet with the Ravenclaw team captain.

Blanche picked off a few blades of grass from Sirius' Quidditch jumper, which she had always admired as a flattering choice for the broad-shouldered, slender Quidditch player. His neck-length hair was tucked behind his ears and some of it pulled back with an elastic. The sheen of sweat from James' vigorous warm-ups was on his forehead and an exhausted blush at the apples of his cheeks.

"How are you feeling?" Blanche asked coherently.

"Like I could take on the world."

"How's that?"

"You," he grinned, taking hold of one of the ringlets she had curled her hair into earlier that day. He tucked it behind her ear and noticed she was wearing a pair of small golden hoop earrings; she rarely ever wore earrings.

"Stop it," she giggled loudly.

"I mean it," he stated. "What are we going to do if we win?" He enquired excitedly.

"Oh, Lily and I have this whole thing planned. Reckon you'll be properly amused, don't worry," she said, hiccuping again with a blaze of fire. "I did the dirty work and threatened all the Gryffindor underclassmen to prepare—in success or failure. You'll like it."

"What, a party in the Common Room?" He asked, to which she nodded.

"But—shhhh!" She placed her finger on her lips, missing by a centimetre. Sirius moved her finger over to the right to fix her gesture. "'Posed to be a secret."

"I wanted to celebrate with you, though."

"You will be," she answered.

"Just you and I," he whined.

"Sirius Black, if Gryffindor wins the final Quidditch game of your entire career you want to celebrate with me curled up in bed? Sober? Not partying?"

Sirius shrugged. "Sounds good to me. I don't want to deal with everyone at a party."

"Well, too bad. You've got to have one last party to end all parties."

"Miss Greengrass!" Blanche recognised the stern voice of Professor McGonagall from the Ravenclaw bleachers. "All students, save the players, are banned from the pitch the day of the game—you know that!"

Blanche rolled her eyes. "I cannot wait until I see you after your victory. Score some points for me?" She raised her brow.

"All of them for you," he answered. She brazenly pulled his face to hers and connected their lips in a deep kiss—instantly skimming his bottom lip with her tongue. He parted his lips and accepted the sweet depth of her mouth, losing himself in her liquor-candied kiss and dipping his hands beneath the hem of her shirt, smoothing them along the small of her back. Blanche struggled to part from him—drunkenly enraptured by the expert of his lips. She sighed into him when he tightened his grip around her waist and pressed her breasts into his chest.

"Miss Greengrass and Mister Black! There is literally an audience!" McGonagall shouted.

"Sirius, get back up here!" James yelled from above. Blanche finally broke their embrace and pressed her fingers to her lips, then pushed him away with the same hand.

"I know you'll kill," she whispered in his ear before running away—leaving him with empty arms before he could even realise.