Chapter 6 – Tight Muscles

Time was flying by.

With every passing day, Sirius could feel a cold fury growing within him at what the Ministry was putting them through: the disingenuousness of it all; the hollow simulation of what should have been a happy event; the parading of his life once again for total public consumption.

Sometimes, though, that righteous anger warred with flashes of hilarity and closeness with Hermione that were entirely because of planning that damn wedding.

Not that he'd been much help in that regard. His daily goals were to maintain his sanity and, if possible, to make his fiancée – and that was a word that still made his head spin – laugh or at least smile, even if only for a moment.

Soon after arriving back from a few days with her parents, where she'd ironed out the ceremonial details with the Muggle church officials, Hermione had affixed the Edict's bit of purple parchment to the mantlepiece with a sticking charm. Now the four provisos to the Pureblood Marriages Act hung down in front of the library fireplace.

Inspired by her resourcefulness, Sirius had used a similar sticking charm on the other side of the library to pin up an old dartboard he'd found in the cellar. It hung on the opposite wall, festooned with several of Rita Skeeter's simpering, hypocritical articles about Sirius and Hermione's engagement, pictures of Fudge and Umbridge, and a 50-item list on wedding traditions that Andromeda had found in one of the Muggle wedding magazines lying about. When Sirius wasn't throwing darts at the lot, Hermione would occasionally sprint over and either add checkmarks to the provided boxes on the list or scratch out certain suggested activities.

The first to be nixed, ironically, was the only one Sirius had found rather entertaining: removing the bride's garter at the reception.

"A garter?" he'd asked, his eyes widening with delight. "Muggle brides wear a garter the entire day?"

Hermione had sniffed. "Some do."

"I'm to put my head up your skirt in front of everyone and take it off your thigh using only my teeth?"

"Not at my wedding, you're not," she'd growled.

Sirius' lips had curled into a sinful smirk as he looked at her face. "Don't be hasty now, Hermione! This is the first Muggle tradition I've heard of that shows some real promise!"

Leaning in, she'd whispered to him sweetly, "We won't have to worry about me saving your hide from Azkaban if I've already killed you."

Her sassy response had made him both choke and grin. "Is that so?" he retorted. "Will that be before or after I've got your garter between my teeth?"

"You're incorrigible!"

"Am I?"

"Yes!"

"Well, then…" His eyes flashed. "You know what you can do about that."

Despite her best efforts to keep glaring at him, Hermione had given up, laughing softly instead. "Stop teasing me!" she'd smiled, giving Sirius a half-hearted push against his mid-section.

Immediately, his hand had caught hers, holding it to his chest. "Make me," he whispered.

Both had realized in the same instant that they were touching one another for the first time since that moment in the hallway, the night they had found out about the marriage law. Frozen in place, they had simply gazed at one another until Harry had sauntered over and interrupted them. Without a word, Sirius had dropped her hand and quietly backed away.

Now, with only ten days left before the wedding, they'd been joined by Remus, Tonks, Harry, and Ron – Andi had begged off helping that afternoon in order "to see to a few things" herself. Sirius dreaded to know what that could mean.

What set him even more on edge, however, was the permanent scowl that seemed to be etched on Ron's face. He'd thought he and the lad had come to some sort of silent agreement to move past their run-in the previous week; Ron had even nodded pointedly at Sirius when he'd entered the library that day. But Sirius still thought something was a bit off – that Harry's other best friend was casting a pall over the room.

Sirius, himself, was sitting in his favourite leather wingback, leaning deeply into its seat, while Hermione sat cross-legged nearby on the carpet in a veritable puddle of bridal mayhem: torn-out coloured photographs, sketches, checklists, scattered quills, and scribbled notes.

"But we've got most of the ceremony sorted now, yes?" asked Tonks hopefully.

"Yes," agreed Hermione. "We've got St Bart's booked for a week from Saturday; and the vicar, the order of service, and the marriage licence are all set. The invitations have gone out, and the music's mostly been picked, too. Sirius?" She looked up.

"Yes, love?"

He caught himself while saying it and then wondered why. He'd called the women he knew 'love' for most of his life. He was a Londoner, for Circe's sake! It was a benign nicety towards the opposite sex. So why did that one, single word suddenly feel so heavy, as if it had left a weighted impression of itself in his mouth as soon as he'd said it?

Hermione seemed to have coloured a bit, too, on hearing it.

Bloody hell.

"Th—the music, yes?" she stammered slightly. "You'll give it a final lookover before we sign off on it?"

"If you like."

"It would help," she urged.

"Right, then. Although, I'd probably be better with a playlist for the party afterwards, yeah?"

Hermione sighed, her chin dropping down to her chest. "I haven't even gotten to that part yet," she admitted.

"It'll be fine," Tonks quickly reassured her. "All of it. Better than, even." She then hit Remus in the side when the werewolf wasn't fast enough in providing his own measure of reassurance.

"Agh—of course!" he strangled out, looking up from the reception seating chart he'd been trying to conquer. "Hermione, with you running this show, it will be a wedding for the ages."

A sour snort filled the room. Ron didn't say anything from where he'd been flipping through books on marriage customs, but his crossed arms and narrowed eyes spoke volumes. Sirius felt something inside of him spike hotly in response.

Soldiering on, Hermione added, "That just leaves the flowers, the transportation, the attendants, and what everyone's going to wear."

"Just that?" asked Tonks faintly.

Hermione nodded.

Harry cocked his head. "You can't just fly in and out on Sirius' motorcycle?"

"No, of course not!" said Hermione sharply. "Only Muggle things allowed, remember?" She began to pin her hair up on top of her head, securing it with her wand. "That's the ceremony, but there's more of the reception to plan, too, especially if the Ministry is insisting on official photographs for the newspaper. My parents' back garden will work – Kingsley's agreed we can use a very discreet enlargement charm to fit everyone in the tent, and we won't have nearly as many guests there as at the church – but we can't cut any other corners." Resting her elbows on her knees, she began to rub her temples, the dark circles under her eyes suddenly seeming quite visible.

Sirius leaned forward, concerned. "You all right?" he asked softly.

"Fine, thank you." Her prim façade fell just enough to give him a small, real smile. "Just fine," she repeated.

Tonks caught her cousin's eye from the other end of the couch and pursed her lips. "Don't listen to her, Sirius. She can barely see straight."

"Hermione, do you think you need a break?" asked Remus. "Even for just a cup of tea?"

"Maybe later."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!"

Harry, who had briefly started flipping through one of the well-thumbed bridal magazines, then piped up. "'Mione, if it has to be Muggle-based, don't you have any old friends in London who might give us a hand with this? Some of it, at least?"

Hermione glanced down at the carpet, before admitting, "I… ah, I don't really have that many friends in the Muggle world anymore. I lost touch with most of them years back."

Ron shrugged. "Does it matter?"

She looked up at where he stood near the mantlepiece. "It does if we're having a traditional wedding day. Sirius and me, I mean," she corrected herself.

"I didn't think you meant us," he shot back swiftly.

"Right. Sorry." Clearly flustered, she tried again. "It's just that this wedding keeps getting bigger and bigger, and the Ministry seems to want things in a certain way, but I'm not sure which Muggle traditions they really know about because the Edict isn't overly clear."

Remus cleared his throat. "We're probably safest if we assume that everything we can think of, they will, too. Fudge will be highly suspicious of anything that doesn't smack of a Muggle cliché. We have to convince him and nine-tenths of the guests that this is real."

"Why?" asked Ron.

"The more we can convince Fudge, Umbridge and the rest that Hermione and Sirius are not only willing, but eager to comply with the new law, the less likely they are to question the legality of the marriage. The last thing anyone wants is for the Ministry to add in some kind of pregnancy clause after the fact."

Sirius and Hermione shared a fast glance, while Ron rolled his eyes. "Fat chance of that working out," he grumbled.

"As things are," continued Lupin, seeming to ignore the younger man, "we can put on a splendid show, fill the front section of The Daily Prophet with more photos and quotes than they know what to do with, and then politely tell them all to bugger off. The newlyweds will want to be left alone and not have Ministry lackeys constantly checking in on them."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Let me know, Moony, when I can watch you tell Fudge to go fudge himself. In the meantime, it's going to have to be one hell of a performance."

"You're up to a bit of spectacle, surely, Padfoot."

"No pressure, 'Mione," smirked Ron, looking down at the witch. There was something about the way he said it that made Sirius scowl immediately. To distract himself, he slowly started naming ancient runes in his head.

Hermione, who had been going through her notes again, raised her head briefly to look at her ex-boyfriend. Sirius took a deep breath as he watched her. Tonks was right: she did look stressed – and Ron wasn't helping. Again. Sirius didn't like that. Not one bit. Blinking several times, he forgot about the runes and instead tried to focus on what Hermione had started to say.

"I think I'll walk down the aisle alone. That way, my parents can sit on the bride's side and fill it out a bit more. Maybe my aunt, too, if she comes over from France."

"Ron and Ginny and I can sit with them, too," offered Harry, trying to be helpful. "That'll be six on your side."

"Yeah, out of two hundred," quipped Ron.

"I need you and Gin somewhere else, actually." She gave Harry a sheepish look. "You two have to be my attendants."

"Come again?" blinked Harry.

"I need you two to be my bridesmaids."

"What?!" squawked Ron, jumping in before Harry could say another word. "Hermione! Are you dense? You can't have a boy bridesmaid! Muggles don't do that! Sheesh, even I know that much!"

Hermione shut her eyes. "Ron, please don't."

"And what about me?" he added testily. "What am I supposed to do at this stupid thing? Do you even want me there?"

"Of course, I do! Honestly!" Hermione crossed her arms, clearly put out. "I need bridesmaids and at least one of them has to know how a Muggle wedding is supposed to work. Harry's the only one here who does, so it has to be him."

"Even though I've never been to one?" clarified Harry.

"You grew up in Little Whinging. You know exactly what this wedding is supposed to look like."

Nodding, he relented. "Yes, I suppose I do." He paused, and then gave her a strangled look. "That doesn't mean you want Dudley and my aunt and uncle there, too, right?"

"Oh, for heaven's sakes!" snapped Hermione, throwing down her quill and getting to her feet. "Why is everyone being so unreasonable today?" Fuming, she went over to one of the large picture windows and stared out at the trees behind Grimmauld Place.

Sirius thought she looked terribly alone, standing there in the cold sunlight. He wanted to go to her, but he also knew he hadn't been much help up to now. Different urges warred within him; his hands flexed against the chair's leather armrests.

"What's got her knickers in a twist?" Ron asked Harry loudly.

"Ron. Don't."

"She started it."

"And I'll end it," Sirius warned Ron sharply, glaring at the ginger as he got out of the chair. "Don't push it."

Finally deciding to join Hermione at the window, Sirius had just started moving when Ron spoke up again.

"Say, Sirius – I've been wondering. Why did you never get married before now?"

Caught mid-stride near where Remus and Tonks sat on the couch, Sirius half-turned and then shrugged one shoulder. "Couldn't be bothered," he said simply.

Ron rolled his eyes. "That can't be it."

"But it is."

"No. Really. Why not?"

Remus held out a hand warily. "Ron. There's no need to—"

"No, I mean it!" insisted Ron, verbally batting away Remus' calming gesture. "What happened?"

Sirius tilted his head back, praying for patience. He could feel the reins on his temper slipping away. "Do the words 'prison' and 'Veil' ring any bells for you, Ron?"

"I'm talking about before that. Harry's parents got together at Hogwarts. My parents married young. Why not you?"

Harry looked up at his best friend. "Ron, who cares?"

"I do. I think it's something we should know." As he continued to speak, Ron's tone turned increasingly nasty. "If Sirius had a wife already, none of this wedding garbage would have to happen now. Why is he always single, if he has such a reputation with witches? Merlin, he's never even had a steady girlfriend that I know about."

Sirius shot him a frosty stare. "Do as everyone says, Ron, and give it a rest."

"Why should I? Why are you so different?"

"You don't know what you're talking about."

Ron's eyes narrowed as his mouth pinched together. "Is there something wrong with you?"

Sirius bristled visibly. "Just what did you have in mind?"

"That's enough!" growled Remus; at the same time, Tonks snapped, "Stop it, Ron! You're well out of order!"

Ron ignored them completely. "There must be something off, or you wouldn't have been alone all this time."

Pulling down his shirt cuffs sharply, Sirius tried to put an end to it. "Who says I have been?"

Ron made a dismissive noise. "Oh, please! And don't tell me you're gay, because you're not. I've seen enough witches leaving here in the morning this past year to know that much."

Sirius' eyes immediately shot over to Hermione to see if she'd heard that. She stiffened visibly and he felt the fury that had been brewing inside of him surge forward.

"I warned you," he growled.

"Ron," said Harry sharply, "leave it!"

"Come on, tell us!" yelled Ron, flinging his arms out. "We're all dying to know! What, are you off shagging everything in sight because you missed out for so long?"

"Fuck off," sneered Sirius.

Ron smiled cruelly. "I'm getting close, aren't I? What is it? You into some really kinky shit?"

"Ron!" yelled Harry.

"You shut your fucking mouth!" snarled Sirius.

"I don't hear you denying it!" Ron hollered back.

Sirius looked down his nose at the younger wizard. "You've really cocked it up this time, mate."

"I am not your 'mate'."

"Too right, you're not," agreed Sirius.

With a jeering look on his face, Ron pointed at Hermione. "She'll be in for a bit of a wake-up call being married to you, won't she?"

"That's none of your fucking business!"

Hermione looked at him. "Sirius—"

But Ron's snide accusations ran roughshod over everyone and everything in the room. "It is my bloody business if you're suddenly marrying my ex-girlfriend without so much as a by-your-leave!"

"Are you telling me I need your fucking permission?" bellowed Sirius in disbelief.

"Yes!"

Hermione's face was deathly pale. "Ron!" she yelled. "Stop this, now!"

Ron looked disdainfully around the room. "This is such a joke! It's all so fucking pathetic!"

Hermione's voice was like ice. "I'm so glad, Ronald, that we can provide you with some cheap entertainment."

"Cheap is one word for it," he fired back. Still glaring at Hermione, he now waved a hand at Sirius. "He's bought you for a fucking song, hasn't he? What are you getting out of this? Some sad little ego trip? Hermione the Heroine? Hermione the Saviour? Get over yourself. You think someone like you can keep his attention for long?"

"Like Sirius said, that's none of your business."

"Did you make some deal in the hallway that night? Is that it? Is he paying you to keep him out of jail? You disappoint me, Hermione. I never thought you'd sell yourself like this."

Tonks took in a sharp breath, while Harry's eyes widened behind his glasses.

"I am not selling myself!" Hermione yelled back. "How dare you say that to me?"

Ron leaned in, his face twisted and sour. "You give him cover so he can keep fucking his dirty slags on the side, right? He'll have to look elsewhere for a decent shag, won't he, since he won't get anywhere with a frigid freak like you!"

"You little shit!" barked Sirius. He pointed lividly with one finger. "Apologise! Now!"

Ron looked at him with total disgust. "Never," he sneered.

"You stupid fuck," ground out Sirius, making ready to lunge at him.

"No, Padfoot!" Remus shot to his feet and held Sirius back from tearing Ron to pieces. As he struggled, Sirius almost felt relieved to see the yellow ring of Moony clear as day around Remus' irises. Someone else was pissed with Ron, too. Good. But his friend's lycan strength was also not letting him get any closer.

"You can't," Remus growled in his ear. "He doesn't know what he's saying."

"Let go of me!"

"He's jealous!"

"Too bad!"

"It's not your fight, Pads!"

Sirius blinked at his fellow Marauder. "What?!"

"Let her do this. Watch!"

Still pushing against Moony's grip, Sirius managed to stay silent as Hermione stepped forward, commanding the room's attention.

"In case you haven't noticed, Ron," she hissed, "I want to do this for Sirius. I volunteered. But putting someone else before yourself isn't something you've ever been very good at, is it?"

Ron scowled at her. "What are you on about?"

"I once thought that destroying Voldemort's horcruxes had done something for you – made you better. But it never really did, did it? You've never wanted to help others since then. Not really. If you can't get what you want, then no one else matters. You're angry and selfish and cruel."

"Shut up! Why should I listen to someone wh—"

"Why?!" she yelled. "You conceited ass! First you beg me to take you back, then you rail at me for ages for not being with you, and now you treat me like this?! I've not wanted to hurt you again by telling you off, but not anymore. Do you hear me? I'm done! This ends now! I won't have it any longer! I don't want to hear about Sirius or me or any of this! Not from you!"

"Hermione," panted Ron, his face completely red, "you don't know what you're doing, giving yourself to him."

"Yes, I do."

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do! I know exactly what I'm doing! I'm doing everything with him I never wanted to do with you!"

Ron reared back as if he'd just swallowed something vile.

"'Mione…"

"Don't call me that!" she shouted.

"What?"

"Don't!" Hermione's chest rose and fell with each shuddering breath she took. "You don't get to call me that any longer."

"Why not?"

Breaking free of Remus at last, Sirius roared, "Because you're being a fucking pillock! Now shut your stupid gob or fuck off! Either way, I don't want to hear another word from you unless you're apologising to Hermione for being your usual fucking self!"

Ron's eyes flashed and he puffed up, taking a step towards Sirius with his hands already clenched into fists, but Harry leapt up between them before either man could get closer. Remus, meanwhile, locked his hands again around Sirius' arms.

A muscle in Ron's face twitched as he looked at Sirius, then at Harry, and finally at Hermione. "Piss off," he said at last, the words teeming with bile. He stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

For a moment, no one moved.

Harry broke first, sighing and pushing his glasses higher up on his face. "Shit."

"I want him gone, Harry," spat Sirius, still seething. "I won't have him here if he treats her like that."

Nodding, Harry said, "I'll deal with him. I promise. He's just being… yeah."

"I don't care if he's a jealous prick or just fucking dim. Either way, keep him well away, all right?"

"Not a problem."

"Good."

Harry then stared at the woman standing alone in the centre of the room. "Hermione—"

"No," she said, wrapping her arms around herself. "Please don't take his part again, Harry. Not today."

Lifting up his hands, Harry stammered, "But—but I've never…I haven't—" Sirius watched as his godson let out a deep breath, his face falling with resignation. "I'm so sorry, 'Mione."

"There's no need," she replied, her voice still a bit stiff. "You didn't say any of those things."

"There's every need," countered Harry. "I should've realised that he—I hadn't seen that—" He broke off again, bowing his head. "I'm sorry."

"Thank you."

Catching his godfather's eye, Harry tilted his head toward the door. "I'll go downstairs and make sure he's gone."

"Do that," agreed Sirius, still feeling the aftershocks of hot rage echoing through his veins.

An odd hush filled the room after Harry had left, as if he had taken all of the oxygen with him. Hermione sat with a flump on the floor, surrounded once more by her piles of papers and quills.

Exhaling slowly, Sirius jerked his chin at Moony and Tonks. "Can you two give us a minute? Please?"

"Of course," said Remus. The werewolf's eyes were entirely green once more. "Take as long as you need."

Sirius followed them to the library door.

"We'll be in the kitchen, if you need us," said Tonks, patting his arm gently on her way out. "I'll make some tea."

"Do you even know how?" he asked tiredly.

Her pat turned into a slight shove. "Git," she muttered, before softly pulling the door closed behind her.

Thinking briefly, Sirius lay his hand on the wooden door, feeling the grain and smoothed-over knots beneath his fingers. What on earth was he supposed to say now? he wondered.

Walking over to where Hermione sat, he knelt down on the floor beside her, the knees of his dark jeans making contact with the carpet just near her leg.

"How are you, love?"

"Peachy."

Sirius' mouth twitched as he glanced down at the swirling patterns on the woven fabric. "Well played. No, really," he said, when she gave him a skeptical eye. "It takes a lot to call out a friend like that."

"If he still is a friend."

"That's entirely up to you," he said cautiously. "Ron's the one who needs to make amends. After he tries – and he will, if you let him – then you can decide what you want to do from there."

"He was horrid to you, too, Sirius," she said in a soft voice.

He wrinkled his nose. "Nothing he could say about me would ever really hit the mark. But you're a different story. Do you have any idea what set him off like that today?"

"Ever since that night" – he knew instantly which one she meant – "Ron's been completely horrible."

"He's jealous," said Sirius knowingly.

"He has no reason to be!" she exclaimed, throwing the quill in her hand to the ground.

Passing a hand over his mouth, Sirius tilted his head to watch her. "Have you ever heard the story of the dog in the manger?"

"A favourite of yours?" she retorted, one eyebrow quirking upward.

"Touché. But I do think it rather fits what just happened."

"But why? He and I have both known for a long time there's nothing like that between us."

Shaking his head, Sirius said, "Doesn't matter. He thinks there still might be – always has done, from what Harry told me a while back. At the very least, he can't stand seeing you with someone else."

"Even when it's not real?" she asked. "He knows that."

Sirius shrugged. "He's so consumed with bitterness over what you're doing for me, he can't see straight. Total piss and vinegar, but that will wear off. I should think he's already regretting what he said to you."

"I don't care." The crispness in her voice made him lean back slightly, and she gave him a fast glance. "I mean, I'm used to it," she clarified. "Ron just hasn't ever been that crass before."

"There's been something about him I haven't liked the past few days," confessed Sirius. "I shouldn't have snapped like that, either. I just… couldn't help myself." Reaching out, he covered her hand with his own. "He was bang out of order saying any of that to you."

"He had no right to talk about your… private life… either."

"Like I said, he was well off the mark. Doesn't mean much if what he says is total bollocks. But I wasn't about to give him any insights, either."

"I already knew about the women you've brought home." Hermione's voice was barely above a whisper. "I just didn't think it was my place to say anything."

Sirius noted her eyes were fixed on where his fingers rested on top of her hand.

"This is your home, too," he said, rubbing her skin with his thumb. "I'm sorry if I ever made you uncomfortable."

"You didn't," she said, looking deeply into his eyes. "How could you? We're just housemates."

"Housemates," mused Sirius. Gazing at her, he lifted his eyebrows. "A bit more now, perhaps, don't you think?"

She gave him a small smile and looked again at their joined hands. He didn't know if he should pull away or not. The indecision overwhelmed him.

"I haven't noticed anyone staying over for a while," she ventured.

He swallowed before answering. "That's true."

"Why not?"

"Like I said earlier. Couldn't be bothered."

"Really?"

A bit flummoxed at where this was going, Sirius squeezed her hand and then gently let it go, her question remaining unanswered.

"Poor Ron," said Hermione. "He's always looked up to you, you know. He'll be reeling that you've taken against him."

"I'm more concerned about you right now. Are you all right?"

She exhaled deeply, blowing the air up so that small tendrils of her hair briefly floated about her head. "It's just a lot, you know? All this. I want to do it, but I didn't know that meant I'd have to do everything." She waved a hand at the piles of pictures and notes about the room. "Never in a thousand years did I imagine that I'd be getting married like this, and everyone just seems to be getting in the way the closer we get to the day, and I'm not even sure if any of it matters since it's not going to be a real marriage, but if we mess anything up in the process, then you'll pay the price, and it will all be my fault."

Sirius let her words wash over him and then shook his head. "It won't be your fault," he insisted, "and it will all be fine. Trust me. We'll help more. I'll help more. Just tell me how."

She gave him a tight smile. "Something like this – a wedding on this grand a scale – it usually takes months to plan, but we barely have days. There are professionals who do it, but they have to be booked long in advance, and even if one was available, I can't hire a Muggle for obvious reasons, and a magical coordinator wouldn't know what they were doing with the Church of England, and the Ministry might find out it's all a sham..." Hermione tilted her head back, closing her eyes. "It's exhausting – and I'm already exhausted."

Sirius chuckled softly.

"You think I'm pathetic, too?" she asked quickly, her eyes snapping open.

"No," he firmly replied. "I don't. I'm just floored that you're bothering to help me. Again."

Amber eyes met slate grey. "You need me… for this," she added lamely at the end.

"I know I do."

Sirius came forward then, repositioning himself directly behind her. Moving her hair out of the way, he began to knead the muscles of her upper back through her thin top.

Hermione froze.

"Is this all right?" he asked belatedly.

"Um… of course. I just didn't expect it."

"I'm only trying to help."

Hermione turned to look at him. His fingers stopped moving, but they stayed in place, gently touching her shoulders. She peered at him for a long breath, then tilted her chin down. "I'm just not used to it. That's all."

"We're both going to have to get used to it, aren't we? Being easy with each other, I mean. For appearance's sake."

"I suppose so," she agreed.

Tilting one eyebrow, he asked for permission to continue. She nodded and presented her back to him once more, leaning into the pressure of his hands as they worked her tight muscles.

Not too long after, he pushed a bit harder. "Too much?"

"No! No… it's—" She stifled a moan. "You're very good."

"Thank you," he smiled. "Now, I'm going to keep doing this for a while, and you're going to talk me through it all, okay?"

Sirius couldn't see her face from this position, but he felt her tense shoulders slowly relax under his touch. After another few moments, she began to speak.

"The other night, all I could think of was making sure they couldn't win – that Umbridge and the others couldn't hurt you. But the rest of it—" She sighed. "They want a wedding as Muggle-like as possible, but still on a scale that only a Pureblood would want."

"Not all Purebloods, thank you very much."

"They're mostly aristocrats, aren't they?"

Sirius stuck out his bottom lip, thinking. "More or less. They'd like to think so, certainly."

"And the Blacks are – or were – the most famous of them all?"

"Well, we've been around for bloody ever. Although" he stressed, pressing his thumbs into the soft skin on either side of her neck and then dragging them down along her spine, "'notorious' might be a better word than 'famous'."

"Which is why the Ministry feels justified in including you in the Act."

"Precisely," he agreed. "Wankers."

"So, if magical society had something like a Pureblood royal family…"

He smiled ruefully, knowing what she was getting at. "Then you'd be getting yourself a crown in ten days, yes – or at least a coronet."

"Merlin," breathed Hermione, before letting out a long sigh.

Sirius wasn't sure if her reaction was from the idea of his historic bloodlines or from the way he was touching her. She shifted further back into his hands and moaned. Heat shot through him as he listened to her soft cry.

It suddenly struck home to Sirius exactly what he was doing, and how alone they were while he was doing it. Sounds like the ones Hermione had just made were usually caused by a very different kind of touch.

Taking a deep breath, he tried to concentrate solely on the composition of muscles and sinews in her shoulders, and not on how satiny her skin felt against the pads of his fingers as he worked her back. He swallowed loudly, waiting for her next sigh. When it came, as he'd hoped it would, he shifted slightly behind her, pressing one of his knees lightly against her lower hip.

"It's always been Pureblood marriages for the Blacks?" she asked, her voice slightly muffled as she bent her head forward to reveal more of her bare neck.

"Always. The few who bucked that trend found themselves quickly burnt off the family tree. You've seen the holes in that tapestry. There've only ever been a few holdouts. But the pickings did get slimmer as the years went on."

The tips of his fingers ran up the length of her neck to the bottom edge of her hairline, moving in slow, firm circles.

"My mother's maiden name was Black and her married name was Black. No one was shocked."

"That's a bit… unsettling."

Sirius huffed a laugh. "She and my father were second cousins."

"Oh. Well. I suppose it could've been worse," said Hermione, trying to sound bright. "They could've been first cousins."

Leaning in past her curls, he whispered in her ear. "Love, I'm just grateful they weren't sodding siblings. Toujours pur, right? It's amazing that gene pool didn't do a number on my good looks."

She turned quickly and then giggled when she met his saucy grin.

Gently, Sirius turned her forward again and moved his hands further down her back to the bottoms of her shoulder blades, pressing his thumbs in deeply. "Harry and Arthur and Molly are all distant cousins of mine. Most of the Sacred Twenty-Eight families have been inter-related for generations. But the Blacks—" He paused, thinking of how to phrase it best. "My family have been the smug bastards crowing at the top of the shit-heap for as long as anyone can remember."

"Oh. Ohhhhhh!" Hermione groaned, her head-bob of understanding turning into one of intense pleasure.

Sirius had been doing his level best to ignore her tiny, keening sighs as they continued to talk – he truly had – but it was very hard and now, after hearing that particular gasp, so was he. Merlin, those notes she hit! His hips rocked forward in a natural response to her soft cry, seeking more of her; he caught himself only moments before he would have made contact.

Then a new torture took hold.

With each roll of his thumbs across her back, since he'd sat beside her even, he'd picked up different scents from Hermione's skin: rosemary and eucalyptus and a low, delicious hint of musk.

But now the muskiness was getting stronger. As he continued to touch her, it flooded his senses. Sirius slammed his eyes shut, trying not to notice and, simultaneously, to smell more deeply.

Good Godric.

Not wanting Hermione to think anything was amiss, he kept up the massage – somehow – praying that she wouldn't suddenly lean back against the front of his jeans.

Only when he felt he had a shred of control again did he open his eyes.

Another pass of his hands and her spine curved distinctly upwards, lifting her chest. Her head rolled back towards his shoulder. Sirius realised with a start that, in their present configuration, he could now see quite nicely down the front of her low-cut top – and there was a lot to see.

His mouth dried up.

If this had been any other witch, his hands might next have happily drifted down across her breasts, palming them, filling his hands with their supple weight while his pelvis ground up against her backside.

He felt an almost overwhelming desire to lean down and taste the curve of her neck.

But this wasn't anyone else.

This was Hermione and he had to behave, even if it killed him.

Rigidly determined to ignore the throbbing in his jeans, Sirius gave her shoulders one last squeeze and then moved away, needing to break the contact between them before he lost his mind.

After all, he was only human.

Heaving himself up onto the couch behind them, he had assumed a neutral smile by the time Hermione turned on her knees to face him.

"Thank you," she purred, her eyes still-half closed and hazy.

For just a moment, Sirius' mind was flooded with the possibilities of their new position. One sharp tug on his knees and he'd be at her mercy, hers to play with as she pleased.

Clearing his throat loudly, he blinked and tried to pretend everything was perfectly fine.

"So," he said, "now that you're a bit more relaxed, why don't you lead me through a few of these ceremonial details? Let's see how much of a dolt I am at this kind of thing."

"You're not a dolt," she chided.

"Don't speak too soon." As she looked away to gather some of her notebooks, Sirius subtly readjusted himself in his jeans, hoping she didn't notice.

"Right, then," she began. "Well, for starters, there's my dress."

"I am aware that a frock is necessary – and I know you'll look smashing in anything."

Hermione blushed. "Thank you, but that's not what I meant. I haven't had time to look for anything yet, and now we're too late for alterations, and that's if I was even able to find something at one of the bridal shops in town, which I doubt."

"Seriously, love, it can be a sack-cloth or satin – who cares?"

Her pink lips screwed together off to one side. "If this was just a quick, private ceremony, I'd agree with you. I'd get a skirt and a matching jacket and that would do, but the Ministry is basically wanting a royal wedding ten days from now, and I—I can't believe I'm actually saying this, but I don't know what to wear." Hiding her face behind her notebook, she muttered, "This is absolutely mortifying, by the way."

With one finger, Sirius pushed down on the spiral spine of the book, revealing her face to him again. "Not a bit of it, you hear me? I won't have it."

This time, when their eyes met, something hit Sirius between wind and water. The look on her face moved him more than anything else had the entire day. Ripe tension built between them as he boldly analysed the jut of her chin and the shade of her eyes as she sat before him.

At last, he gave her a sly smile. "You know," he suggested, "this might be a time when a bit of magic really can help. In the end, a dress is a dress, yes? Can't Madame Malkin conjure you up some show-stopper? As befitting a Muggle bride, obviously."

"Do you think it's possible?"

"Whyever not?"

"If anyone were to find out…"

"Malkin wouldn't say a word," he reassured her. "She's known me for donkey's years and she was a good friend of Dumbledore's. We can trust her."

It was as if a lightbulb slowly flickered on over Hermione's head. "Can we do that? Really? It's not too risky?"

"What's life without a bit of risk?" he grinned back.

"If you're sure… Oh, I've been such an idiot! Just because the wedding is a Muggle one, that doesn't mean every single detail has to be Muggle-based, too, so long as the Ministry doesn't find out."

"Exactly – we go to people who won't betray us."

Ducking her head, Hermione admitted shyly, "I thought I had to do it all or they'd say we'd contravened the Edict and take you away."

Sirius dismissed that worry. "I'm not going anywhere. It's not a long list of helpers, of course," he added, "but, you don't have to do everything yourself. You're not on your own."

She quirked her head at him.

"You have me," he said softly.

With a deep sigh, the lines of her entire body seemed to relax even more. Sirius hadn't meant to put quite that much emphasis on those three little words – had he? – but her reaction was more than worth the many stern talks he'd have to give himself in the mirror later on.

"So the dress…?"

"I think that should work," she smiled.

"Good, then. It's settled. Let me cover it. My account at Gringotts can handle any price she puts on a rush order."

Hermione's eyebrows drew together. "Are you showing off?"

"No, I promise, I'm not," he insisted, flattening his hands innocently against his chest. "I'm asking, actually. Can I do this for you? Please? I'm going to be pants at a lot of this, but galleons I can provide."

Her answering smile could have lit up the sky. "Oh, Sirius, you have no idea—"

Suddenly, she vaulted forward, hugging him tightly. Completely surprised, his arms went around her as naturally as breathing, a shocked but delighted smile breaking across his face.

He could feel where Hermione's mouth pressed against his shoulder as she mumbled, "You're a life saver."

Sirius pulled back so that he could look at her expression as he replied, "That makes two of us."

Now she truly blushed. As she slowly settled back on her heels on the carpet, he felt something deep within himself growl with satisfaction.

"Now," he said, giving her his most dashing grin, "what happens next?"