Hours later, Sirius fingered the new ring on his left hand.
He wasn't used to feeling anything there. It was curious. The urge to move the thick circle of gold back and forth against his skin was quickly becoming addictive.
"Does it feel different?"
"What's that?"
Harry appeared at his godfather's side. For a brief moment, they watched the wedding guests mingle beneath the tent in the Grangers' back garden. Then he motioned towards Sirius' hand. "The ring. Does it feel different somehow?"
"Nah. It will do, of course, if I muck things up."
"How?"
"Fidelity charm," explained Sirius, shooting his godson a wry look. "Fudge brought them directly from the Ministry this morning. Probably had goblins working on them all night. That's why he had to be the one to give them to Remus during the ceremony. Pompous git."
"It was a bit distracting when he got up," admitted Harry.
"He meant it to be. Tonks told me just before the ceremony started. They're testing out a new spell on us, to keep all the happily married couples in line. It's very binding, apparently. The offending spouse will be right buggered if they have it off with anyone else."
Sirius held his hand up to give Harry a better look at the innocuous gold band encircling his finger, before clicking his tongue. "A lie detector and a locator spell all in one. Hermione's is the same. We'll just have to hope to hell the damn things have been spelled enough to know the difference between hugging a friend and something actually worthy of a proper bollocking."
Harry's mouth twisted. "I don't think they'll be very popular."
"I don't think they will, either. Of course, that's presuming any of the other Pureblood heirs even make it to the altar," said Sirius. He snorted loudly. "I've got severe doubts on that score. We're being made an example of today because everyone knows this is the only damn wedding that will ever happen under the marriage law. Fudge can pretend all he likes that this is setting a precedent, but we know better, don't we?"
Harry sighed. "I'm sorry, Sirius."
"Not your fault, lad. You've been a star through all of this. Best bloody bridesmaid I ever saw."
"Thanks," muttered Harry. "It doesn't end here, though, does it? For you, I mean, with all the pretence. It's just starting. For both of you," he added after a moment.
"Cheers for the reminder." Standing up, Sirius stretched and shifted the ring again on his finger. "Speaking of, have you seen… ah…"
"Your bride?"
Sirius' eyes narrowed. "Don't say it like that."
"Like what?"
"Like it's a joke."
Harry shook his head. "I wouldn't! You didn't hear me properly."
Sirius paused, then nodded and stared at his feet. "Maybe I didn't. I'm a bit tetchy. Just for now, though. You can have a proper go in another day or two. Might be well used to having a trouble and strife by then."
Harry adjusted his glasses. "I think I saw her heading inside a few minutes ago."
"She's a hard one to miss."
"She's never looked better," said Harry. "I'm serious. I've seen Hermione when she's been furious, swotty, ecstatic, tortured, triumphant, and a cat."
"A cat?"
Harry ignored him. "All of it. But I've never seen her looking the way she did today."
"And how's that?"
Harry sized up his godfather, suddenly looking more like James than he could have possibly known. "I don't know what's going on with the two of you," he said softly, "and I won't pry too much because I don't want any visual imagery that will scar me for life—"
"Harry."
"—but I've never seen Hermione look more stunning than I did this morning. She was… she was radiant. So, thank you for that."
"I didn't do anything. Not yet, anyway."
Harry swallowed awkwardly and fumbled with his glasses while Sirius chuckled.
"Despite you being an evil git," grumbled Harry, "all of that was to say that I think you're doing a pretty good job as her husband so far."
"High praise indeed, lad, considering it hasn't even been six hours since the ceremony. But, thanks." With one last twist of his wedding ring, Sirius sighed, "Alas, now I need to tell the new Lady Black that we have to pose yet again with the Minister for Magic. She'll be overjoyed."
Harry winced. "I think I'd need a drink to get through that."
"You and me both, son."
"I'll see what I can find?"
Sirius gave him a grateful smile. "You're a good man."
Looking around to make sure they weren't being overheard, Harry leaned in close, hissing, "Just remember that next time you want to torture me with thoughts about what everyone else thinks you're doing to my best friend tonight. All right? Thankfully, I know better. I'll go ask Rosmerta if she's serving up anything stronger than champagne."
Sirius huffed a laugh. "Cheers, mate. And what's all this about a cat?!" he called out, but his godson just waved him off without ever looking back.
Walking away from the garden and its massive white tent, Sirius glanced around and then slipped through the glass doors into the Grangers' house.
Musing to himself, he wandered through the empty rooms, the din of the party outside buzzing through the walls like a beehive.
He and Moony had had a chat the night before. Sirius hadn't said a word to the werewolf about Hermione's devious brilliance in thinking of a way around the chasteness of their union. That was none of Moony's concern. But at least now Remus didn't think Sirius had flashed his dangly bits at the witch in the early hours of yesterday morning. In fact, his fellow Marauder had seemed rather relieved on finding out about the engagement ring. They had then come to a perfectly amiable gentlemen's agreement to be mature adults about all things Hermione-related — but only after Moony calmly had threatened to rip out his best mate's throat if Sirius was ever a prick to the bushy-haired witch.
Hell hath no fury like a pissed-off wolf guarding his pack.
Once he'd sensed Sirius' complete lack of guile on the subject, Remus had given him a nod, cocked an eyebrow, and then quipped, "Your cousins will be disappointed. They were quite intrigued at the thought of you having done something else."
"Fucking hell, Moony. Did you have to tattle to them?"
"They want a word before the ceremony."
"You can all go and take a flying jump."
They hadn't of course. If anything, Andi had gone on enjoying herself far too much.
She hadn't been the only one.
Cornelius Fudge had practically beamed when they'd reached the point in the wedding service when the priest had asked for the rings and Remus had had to turn to the Minister for Magic with empty hands, the latter having seemingly forgotten to pass them on before the ceremony had kicked off.
Despite Fudge acting like a twit and trying to steal the limelight, Sirius had to admit that the rest of the wedding had gone off smoothly. When they had signed the register, he'd watched his signature carefully, just in case anything magical did happen on the official paperwork, but Hermione had been right on that score: no golden shimmering anywhere to be seen. The contract between them was just a piece of paper.
In fact, all the Ministry had been able to do to control them during the service was to provide the rings, ensuring that Sirius didn't step out on his new wife — not that he ever intended to.
Vows made and registers signed, he and Hermione had made their way back up the aisle to the polite applause of the congregation and the strong, rolling chords of the organ.
"Thank goodness the music's loud," Hermione had whispered to him, nodding tightly at Fudge, Umbridge, and the rest of the Ministry toadies as they passed them and processed out of the church.
"Why?"
Sirius had thought the march rippling around them was pleasantly heroic, but not much beyond that.
"No one can hear my ankles cricking."
"Are they?" he'd asked, looking down towards her feet.
"Every step," she muttered. "You try being in high heels all day."
"Thank you, but no," he'd whispered back. "Tell you what, though. Lean on me. I've got you."
It had been one of their only shared, secret moments in the midst of all the formality and demanded traditions of the day.
As soon as they'd walked out of the church and into the streets of London, there had been a barrage of thrown rose petals and curious onlookers and bright camera flashes that had followed them all the way back to the Grangers' house and the magically-enhanced reception tent in the back garden.
First, they'd endured the official photographs — Rita Skeeter constantly making suggestions to her photographer for different poses — but Sirius had found the receiving line to be the worst of the mandated requirements, beset as it was with so many fake good wishes from Ministry lackeys and magical folk he honestly couldn't stand.
It was all just a part of the show: the Granger-Black wedding on display for the masses.
If this had been a day that really meant something on a personal level, Sirius knew the guest list would have included just a handful of the witches and wizards currently milling about the tent, and not one shred of it would have felt so… manufactured.
Kissing Hermione, in fact, had been the only part of the reception thus far that had been at all satisfying.
With no chance to snog her during the church service, Sirius had been impatiently biding his time until he could rectify that situation. He'd sat, trying not to grumble or glare, through the many courses of a lunch he could barely taste, and speeches he only half-pretended to hear. Instead, he had focused on the way Hermione's arm had brushed against him at odd moments, at the intoxicating scent of rosemary and eucalyptus that haunted him every time she leaned close, at the startling whiteness of her voluminous skirt below the table, and the intriguing way she'd made a face and batted his hand away when he'd started to run the back of his knuckles against the rich satiny fabric, trying to feel through the layers to see where her skirt ended and she began.
It was only once they were dancing that he'd finally had his chance.
As the music had swelled and they'd begun to move around the parquet floor, he'd done his damndest to ignore just how right she felt in his arms.
It hadn't worked.
What began as a stiff formal waltz had devolved into something slower and more suggestive, even with all their guests watching them.
Sirius had looked down at Hermione, thoroughly taken with the way her cheeks flushed as they moved together.
"How are you?" he'd murmured.
"I think it's all beginning to sink in."
"Feel like running?"
She had wrinkled her nose at him and given him a saucy smile. "No. You?"
"And miss the intimate romance of hundreds of people watching our every move, judging and simpering and feeling smug? Not on your life."
Spinning her in time with the music, he'd spied a bit of movement in a far corner of the tent. Ron Weasley sat at one of the circular white tables, scowling at the dancing couple as he took a long swig from his drink. A fair number of empty pint glasses was already in front of him.
Muttering a brief hope that the silly sod could hold his liquor better than he could his temper, Sirius had swirled Hermione in the other direction. One more deep gaze into the bottomless eyes of the woman in his arms had then completely banished any lingering thoughts about sulking, red-headed pissants.
He'd pulled her closer, interlacing their fingers as they danced.
"I have a question for you," he'd whispered in her ear.
"Yes?"
"I want to kiss you right now." She'd stiffened slightly, which had only encouraged him. "Do you think that would be acceptable?"
"In front of everyone?"
"Is there anyone else here?" He'd pretended to look around the dance floor. "I hadn't noticed."
She had grinned at his glibness and then met it with some of her own. "Do you think you're capable?"
"Excuse me?"
"Of kissing me without giving anything away."
Sirius had snorted. "Let's not forget, love, that any shenanigans ahead of us tonight were your idea. I believe I was the only one yesterday morning advocating restraint."
"You want to kiss me the way you did yesterday morning?" she asked impishly.
"I only ever want to kiss you like that," he growled, his breath a teasing whisper along the side of her neck. "But even I know that might be too much for present company. Can you imagine Molly's face if we went for it?"
A giggle escaped Hermione, despite her best efforts. "Oh, Merlin! It's almost worth trying just for that."
"I'm still waiting for an answer," he pressed.
"Yes."
"Yes?"
When he didn't do anything immediately, she cocked her head. "Are you going to, then?"
"Try to behave," he whispered hotly.
"You first."
And then Sirius had laughed for the first time in days — a real, true laugh that had him tilting his head back as the mirth bubbled out of him.
"I knew it," sighed Hermione dramatically, but still softly enough that no one else could hear. "All talk and no action. No wonder I had to be the one to make lurid suggestions."
Slowing them down so much, it couldn't even be called dancing anymore, Sirius had gently taken her by the chin. "This might be for them now, pet, but later, it'll be for us."
"Us?"
He nodded.
Something skittish had bolted through her eyes, but he'd done his best to ignore it by closing the final inches between them.
Briefly, Sirius had hesitated a hairsbreadth away before pressing his mouth against her upper lip as if he had all the time in the world.
He had done his best to keep it sweet.
Chaste.
Safe.
She'd tasted like the strawberry dessert he'd seen her sampling earlier, sugary and tart in equal measure.
One of his hands had drifted up to cradle her face. He had then recentred himself, uncoupling their lips only to find her again, teasing the soft, pink petals of her mouth as the space between them disappeared completely. When each soft breath between them had ended, he kept kissing her, three… four… five times in slow succession. Only when a dull roar began to infiltrate his senses did he move a bit more quickly, trying to catch the last traces of her taste before the noise drove them apart.
The guests had begun to applaud around them, every flash bulb in the tent going off at once.
Sodding hell, he'd thought. Fine, though — let them have their show. The only performance he cared about hadn't even begun yet.
He had led a blushing Hermione off the dance floor, squeezing her hand once more before they were separated by the congratulating throngs.
Dolores Umbridge's toad-like features had been the first he'd focused on after letting go of his wife's fingers, a vicious sneer hiding just behind the smarming pose she'd struck in her shapeless pink dress. Umbridge's simpering, sharp gaze had made him want to snarl, but Sirius had held his temper.
From the look on her face, Dolores certainly hadn't been expecting that kind of a kiss between the bride and groom.
Like or lump it, you evil bint, he'd thought, flashing her a heartfelt grin.
Mentally ticking off 'first dance' and 'first kiss' from the list of Muggle wedding traditions he'd memorised, he'd then made his way through the crowds to get a drink.
A large one.
When they had cut the cake a while later, Sirius had flashed back to James and Lily's wedding: the joy that had been on everyone's face at the marriage of two people clearly meant for one another. He'd been so happy that day.
What would Prongs have made of all this?
Of Hermione?
Would he have liked her?
Smirking to himself, he'd known he already had his answer: James would've adored her.
For a moment, Sirius had imagined his dearest friend in all the world standing next to Moony in the crowd, the glint from the tent's fairy lights shining off Prongs' glasses. No doubt, his brother Marauders would have traded smug looks at Padfoot's final comeuppance, even as they'd cheered the couple on. Remus and James always had been fairly insufferable when they'd ganged up on him.
And Lily—
Lily would have been truly happy for him, as he once had been for her. Sirius' heart ached at the thought.
He knew she'd have loved Hermione, would've been the first to say that here was the witch who could truly put Sirius Black in his place and keep him there; that of course Hermione was the only choice to be his Muggle-born wife. She'd have known innately that Hermione was strong enough to deal with all the consequences of agreeing to marry Sirius, that she could bear up, despite everything.
Prongs' girl also would have been just as evil as Andi and Tonks about the wedding planning — probably more so — and even worse at interfering than Molly Weasley had been.
And, bang to rights, Lily Evans Potter would have killed him a dozen times over for going through with Hermione's secret plan, if he'd ever been dumb enough to tell her about their goal of corruption-by-mutual-consent.
If she had been the one interrupting them the other morning, when Hermione had been staring down at his waist so intently, Sirius knew there would have been no wedding at all. Lily'd've cornered him in the kitchen straight away and made him confess everything. And if he was still alive after that, which was doubtful, there certainly wouldn't have been much left between his legs for Hermione to play with.
Sirius knew he'd have given anything for Lily to have been at his wedding today; he also knew that it was a very good thing for his cock and balls that she wasn't.
But, damn it, he missed her. Missed them both. All the damn time.
They would have loved today.
If it had been a real wedding, that is.
If it was real.
If…
And then Sirius had blinked and forced himself back into the moment where he stood with his arms wrapped around Hermione as they pressed the long knife through the ridiculously tall cake covered in white icing, all the while smiling stiffly for the cameras.
Forget the society pages in the Sunday paper — The Daily Prophet could print a full commemorative issue with all the bloody photos they'd taken that day.
Then, just when the required festivities had finally seemed to be on the cusp of dying down, when they might have had a chance for a few moments to themselves after sating Fudge's ego one last time, his bride had disappeared.
Not finding anyone in the main part of the house, Sirius made his way up the stairs. He paused for a moment in the stairwell in front of a series of pictures of Hermione at various ages: a buck-toothed, bushy-haired terror waving a bunny overhead at a birthday party; a little ballerina in a pink tutu scowling at the camera; an older child — seven, maybe eight? — bending over a cake with really too many candles, her hair almost falling into the flames; a proud young witch smartly holding out her Hogwarts acceptance letter with both hands; and a slightly more haunted, beautiful young woman, unaware of the camera as she stared off at the horizon.
He must have met Hermione in the Shrieking Shack in between when the last two photos had been taken. The thought made Sirius shake his head.
They'd come a long way since that first dark night when she'd hesitatingly called him 'Mr Black' to get his attention.
She's going to call you 'Professor Black' and get your attention in an entirely new way, if this all goes to plan, snarked a voice in his head.
Eyes widening, he quickly turned away from the photos.
This was not a day to think about Hermione as a child.
Coming to the top of the stairs, Sirius listened for a moment, and then made his way further down the hall.
He found her standing in the middle of what had to be her childhood bedroom, staring off into space. The room was white and rather small; full of books, and non-moving posters of gelled-up boy bands; a red-and-gold Gryffindor scarf hanging haphazardly from the nearest bedpost. It was quite clearly the bedroom of a twelve-year-old girl. The adult Hermione looked madly out of place in it, doubly so because the full skirt of her wedding gown filled nearly every bit of available space between the nearby bed and the door.
Sirius watched her silently for a moment as he leaned against the doorframe.
"It's cute."
She jumped, clearly startled. "Sirius! I didn't hear you come up!"
"I'm a stealthy one, remember?"
"Of course," she said, her smile not quite reaching her eyes.
"Your room?"
"Yes. Not for a while now, but once…"
"I can see you here."
"It's not the same as Grimmauld Place."
"I'd've picked different ones," he grinned, gesturing towards the pinned-up snaps of the boy bands.
Hermione immediately turned red.
As her eyes darted back and forth between the real man in her room and the faded pictures on the wall, Sirius chuckled. There was quite a bit of a difference between those blonde wankers with their stiff, frosted hair, and, well… him.
"What are you doing up here?" he asked, leaning in to catch her eye.
"I don't really know. I suppose I needed a breather? Ron and Molly's combined scowling was becoming a bit much to bear."
Sirius rolled his eyes. "You don't even have to say it. They can glare with the best of them. No point, though."
She raised her eyebrows, questioning him.
"They kept it buttoned at the church," he explained. "If they were going to be a problem today, that was their moment. A bit late now, isn't it?" he finished, holding up his left hand and wriggling his ring finger.
His eyes then narrowed slightly, trying to read her. "It's all been a bit mad, hasn't it? You were spectacular, though. Everyone's completely fallen for the notion that you're the blushing bride. Totally convinced. So was I — just for a moment, of course," he added hastily.
He was supposed to reassure her about that kind of thing, wasn't he?
Something flickered across her face again, just like in the tent earlier, but he still couldn't quite place it.
Shit, he thought. Now I've done it. Remember, you git, none of this is real.
None of it — everything from here on out was just pretend… just 'practice.'
No word had ever rankled with him more… but what else could he do?
Sirius knew he had to take his cues from Hermione on all of this, or the entire mess would blow up in his face.
As if it hadn't already.
But if she thought she needed someone to teach her about men, then by Merlin, he'd be the best fucking professor she'd ever had. He'd make her his star pupil. He'd blot out the memory of any other male she'd ever fancied or mooned over — even those poncey fuckers on the wall beside him.
And then, once he'd had her like that, once they'd started something physical and raw and real between them, then maybe… just maybe…
…and that way madness lies, he carped at himself. Idiot.
Sirius looked down at the floor, the heavy pause between them deepening.
"You looked very handsome up there," said Hermione, breaking the awkward silence.
"Did I now?" he preened. "Glad to hear it." Coming further into the room — as much as he could, given her dress — he gave her a searching look. "Tell me truly: are you all right?"
"Never better."
"That's not at all reassuring."
"You don't believe me?"
"I know how I feel," he shrugged, "so I can only imagine you're going through something similar. We knew today was coming, but now we're in the thick of it."
As he watched Hermione twisting her hands together, he noticed that she, too, was worrying at her new rings, turning them back and forth, pushing them as high up as they would go on her finger.
The ruby looked good on her. Alphard would have approved.
"Did you need me for something?" she finally asked.
Nodding, Sirius gave her a small smile. "One more duty before we can head out. The photographer wants some last shots. Brace yourself, love, because it means Fudge and Umbridge being right next to us for a few more minutes. Do you think you can bear it?"
"Can you?"
"I can if you can, pet."
The look that suddenly clouded her eyes made him come up short. "What is it?" he asked quickly.
"Have you ever called Tonks 'pet'?"
"Merlin, no!" quipped Sirius, cringing. "Lord, woman, that'd just be… weird."
"Then why me?"
"Why you what?"
"Why me 'pet' or 'kitten' or 'love'?"
He chewed on it for a moment before shrugging, "Don't know."
Hermione shook her head. "That's not an answer."
"You just… are." One corner of his mouth turned up as he said it.
"What?"
Only when she tilted her head in the other direction did Sirius realise he'd been staring at her without answering. Shaking himself, he gave her his most dashing smile. "You know what? I don't know."
"Sirius!"
"Well, you're just... Aren't you?"
Hermione screwed up her face. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Trust me. You are to me."
"What?"
He closed the distance between them in one long stride, dress bedamned, and wrapped his hands around her waist. "You," he said, ghosting a kiss across her lips.
Even that scant brush of her mouth tasted delicious.
Just a few more hours…
"Now," he said, giving her waist a lingering squeeze before stepping back and taking her by the hand, "we have a flock of Ministry gits and sycophants outside for whom we should pretend to be the happy couple. Fancy giving it a go?"
"And then? Where are you taking me tonight?" A playful spark appeared in her eye that hadn't been there when he'd first entered the room.
"Now, that would be telling."
"Am I not to know anything?"
"Apparently not. Ah, ah, ah!" he said, holding up a finger to cut off her immediate protests. "I have it on the best authority, you won't be disappointed."
She shot him a truly delicious side-eye. "You certainly think highly of your abilities."
Sirius' mouth fell open. Then he grumbled, "I was talking about the hotel."
"Of course, you were," she smiled slowly, that spark now flickering as she looked up at him.
"Minx."
"What else could I possibly have been thinking about? Do you know?"
"Oh, I know," he replied, his voice dropping low.
Her eyes shone.
Merlin, he liked her this way.
All Sirius could think of was how she might be looking at him by the end of the night. Would her eyes flash like that even more if he made her come? Would that blush he always tried to provoke in her flare up the entire length of her body? What would she sound like then?
He began to grow hard as the different possibilities cascaded through his mind.
How many times today had she turned him on? Honestly, he'd lost count.
The witch could make him rock hard without even knowing what she was about.
Yes, Lily would've killed him for this, but James would've understood. Prongs would've approved.
Approved? Hell, Prongs would've pushed him through the honeymoon suite's door.
One more round of blasted photographs, and then they could escape. Sirius could hardly wait.
Extending out an arm, he grinned roguishly at the young woman looking up at him.
"Shall we?" he asked, giving her a slight bow.
"Whyever not?"
Why indeed, he thought, before whisking her away on his arm.
Two hours later, when Hermione's eyes grew large and round as she took in just where Sirius had booked them for their wedding night, he knew it had been the right choice.
Three hours after that, they were running for their lives.