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Chapter Text

Potter Cottage looks a lot different than it did since he was last here twenty years ago, when the roof was blown away and the living room floor covered with shards of glass and debris. Repairs and renovations were completed a few months prior when Harry decided, after the war, that he wanted to fix up his childhood home and fill it with new memories— a new life. With time, they managed to make the cottage look the same it did before it was destroyed. It was important to his Godson that the home look exactly the way it did before that fateful night, enlisting both Remus and Sirius to help him bring it back to its former glory as best they could.

After months of reliving happy, special, and equally painful memories with his oldest friend, Harry moved into the cottage.    

It’s been years since the small home was filled with this many people. Filled with smiling faces and laughter. Filled with love. So why’s he so miserable? 

It isn’t like him to drink this much— enough to forget. Sure, there was once a time when Sirius drank alcohol like he was wandering the desert, desperate for water but these days he usually only has a drink here and there. A drink to relax after a long day, a drink to celebrate loved ones and their milestones and, although rare, maybe even a drink to calm his nerves.

The last time he got this pissed was three years ago, after the war ended, when Remus told him the truth about Regulus. About how his brother, his stupid brother, defied Voldermort and died while doing it. Guilt flooded him quicker than the firewhisky he poured into his glass and all he could think to do was drown himself in it. He gave himself time to feel sorry for himself, to reprimand himself for not trying harder, for not believing the best of his brother and for not realising that their ways of surviving the miserable and suffocating life that Orion and Walburga forced upon them were vastly different. Where Sirius rebelled and fought tooth and nail for his individuality and freedom, Regulus obeyed and followed the plans their parents had made out for him. 

He’d woken up the next day with a random witch sleeping beside him, clinging on to him like a niffler that’d just found gold. He didn’t know who she was, he didn’t even remember leaving the house, but Sirius was polite. He woke her up, offered her use of his shower and a cup of coffee, then walked her out. He refused himself a Sober Up potion, instead choosing to spend the entirety of his morning sick over his toilet. Sirius purged out all of his guilt. Instead of spending the rest of his life regretting the choices he did or didn’t make, he vowed he was going to live it remembering his brother as the hero he was. He might have been a Slytherin, but he was as brave and courageous as a Gryffindor.

He promised himself then and there to never get that pissed or sick again.

So how does he find himself downing his eighth shot of Muggle vodka? Because he’s a bloody fucking liar and he’s weak, that’s why. Weak against long chestnut curls that he wants to run his fingers through to find out if they’re as soft as they appear. Weak against honey brown eyes that remind him of his favourite brand of firewhisky and plump lips he wants to kiss to find out if she tastes just like it, too. He’s weak against a button nose and cheeks covered in freckles that he wants to lose himself in, freckles that remind him of the nights he used to spend up in the Astronomy tower at Hogwarts, looking up at the stars and the constellations they held. The only way to keep his sanity at this blasted party with her wearing that dress that hugs her curves perfectly is to be so drunk he can’t think.

Except all he can do is think, and what’s worse is that all his thoughts are about her. Since his last binge, Wizard alcohol has since been unable to get him completely pissed which is exactly why he’s chosen to consume as much of the Muggle alcohol, kindly provided for his consumption, as possible. 

He reckons about ten shots gets him to the point of no return.

Two more to go.

Sirius tilts his head, knocking back the shot he poured for himself. The liquid burns down his throat, down into his chest. He lets it settle for a moment, lets it warm him up as he takes a few deep breaths. For a moment, Sirius reconsiders his plan. He doesn’t have to be here. He could just leave and go home— where it's nice and quiet…and where his thoughts would be even louder and consume him. So, bollocks to that plan. Besides, he promised to be here – and stay – for Harry. Sirius’ presence at his Godson’s boyfriend’s party is important to him. 

Sirius takes a final deep breath in and lets out a frustrated sigh. He shakes his head as he reaches for the bottle, about to pour another shot, when a scarred hand wraps around the bottle’s neck and pulls it away.

“You alright there, Pads?” Sirius’ mercurial eyes follow the hand up along its arm and is met with deep forest-green eyes watching him carefully. Sirius glares. 

“‘M fine, Remus,” Sirius growls, reaching for the bottle once more only for the werewolf to yank it farther away. “What the fuck?”

“Think you’ve maybe had enough, hmm?”

He slams his fist on the table, coming face to face with Remus. “I’m bloody forty-two years old, Remus. I don’t need to be treated like a fucking child.”

“Then stop acting like one who’s throwing a tantrum over a toy he can’t fucking play with.”

Sirius fumes. He couldn’t give less of a shite about Remus’ concerns for how he chooses to deal with his problems but what he can’t and won’t accept is him calling her a toy. 

“Fuck you.” He seethes, curling his lip and baring his teeth before he walks away, slipping and knocking into a few bodies. 

Remus follows close behind him. “I… fuck. I didn’t mean it that way, Pads.”

He stops abruptly and turns on his heel, rounding on Remus, causing the werewolf to crash into him. “She’s not a fucking toy.”

“That’s not…” but Remus cuts himself off, taking a step back, pinching the bridge of his nose. “How long is this crush going to last, Sirius?”

His chest is rising and falling, anger building up inside him, ready to explode. 

Doesn’t Remus know that if he had the choice, he’d have rather had that blasted curse his psychotic cousin threw at him kill him instead of having to live with this crush? Fancying a woman twenty years his junior, a woman he’s known since she was a teenager because she’s his godson’s best friend, isn’t necessarily Sirius' idea of fun. 

He’s about to yell some more but Potter Cottage is small and it’s full of people and although music is blasting and no one is likely paying any attention, he won’t risk anyone picking up on his conversation with Remus. Instead, without even thinking about it, his eyes find her across the room in the kitchen surrounded by Slytherins. 

For the last year, no matter where she is, if they’re in the same place, he finds her. It’s as if she’s his North Star. As if he’s lost and all he has to do is look at her to find his way back. 

Hermione’s compassion and selflessness is what has him feeling and acting so hopeless.

She’d taken him completely by surprise when she showed up at Grimmauld on what would have been his brother’s thirty-ninth birthday. Said she wanted to be there for him because she knew what it was like to have a day dedicated to someone who was supposed to be alive. A day that reminds them of what they’ve lost. 

Hermione had brought him a cake she’d baked. Just a small one with white frosting and thin black cursive letters that said ‘Happy Birthday, Regulus.’ She said the tangible reminder that they had existed helped her when her parents’ birthdays came around and she thought maybe it’d help him too. Sirius was so moved by the gesture that he practically begged her to stay and celebrate with him. 

Before last year, Hermione wasn't very open with her experience during the war. She opened up to him about finding her parents— dead in her childhood home. All of her childhood memories had been ruined in a single second and replaced with blood and devastation. How she didn’t do enough, how she didn’t get to them quick enough. How she carries so much guilt, it’s hard for her to breathe sometimes. 

Sirius knew she sacrificed a lot of herself to help save a world full of people who hated her. That wanted her and other muggle-borns alike dead. A world of adult witches and wizards who failed her, her friends, and her classmates by letting them fight a war they were too cowardly to fight themselves. 

A war that killed her parents. 

And yet, in spite of all of that, she put her own pain aside and was there for her friends when they needed her. Baking them cakes with a smile on her face as if she came out unscathed. 

He didn’t even know how she knew Regulus’ birthday. He’d never told anyone, not even Remus. Sirius kept a lot of his life very close to his chest. His life before Azkaban was just too painful. Yet, there was Hermione who had probably only had a handful of conversations with him before turning up at his door with a cake for his brother. To say that she took him by surprise was an understatement. It was like being hit by a curse all over again, only this time, there was no chance of recovery.

Sirius doesn’t realise he’s still staring at her until she walks out to the garden, the designated smoking area, arm in arm with Theo — the birthday boy — and is forced to look away. He lets his grey gaze fall on the forest-green eyes still looking at him. “Just…let me have this, yeah? I’m not going to act on anything so just let me have this so I can forget.” Sirius rubs the palms of his hands down his face and lets his arms fall limply at his sides. “Please.”

“Sirius…” Remus steps forward but Sirius takes a step back, away from his reach. 

“I know, okay? She’s well-loved and cared for. Protected. I wouldn’t dare ruin her with my carelessness and lascivious ways.”

“That’s not what—” Remus tries to speak up but he cuts him off. 

“Isn’t it enough that I’m leaving her alone? That I’m doing what you and Molly and Har…” He’s tired. He’s so incredibly tired. “Isn’t it enough?”

Sirius turns away, not giving his friend a chance to respond, and grabs the nearest bottle of vodka he can see. 

Two more shots. 

Two more and he won’t remember a fucking thing. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The bed underneath his cheek bounces, stirring him awake. Something tickles his nose and a wave of cool air passes over him as his blanket’s ripped away. The bright light shines through his uncovered window and Sirius does his best to bury the pains of a throbbing headache, thanks to what feels like a lingering hangover. He huffs, annoyed at whatever has dared wake him early on a bloody Sunday morning. He lets out a yawn and stretches — arms up, kicking his legs out — when his body comes in contact with another warm body and he freezes. 

“Bloody fuck,” he whispers to himself. “Not again.”

He slowly turns his head to the space next to him and is immediately smothered by chestnut curls that fan out everywhere and smell faintly of cigarettes, alcohol, and jasmine. The chestnut curls look familiar, curls he’s daydreamed about many times before. He quietly blows and spits out the hair that’s made its way into his mouth in disbelief. Sirius props himself up on his elbows and slowly leans over to get a better look at the face beside him. He blinks once, twice, three times to get rid of the sleep that lingers and blurs his vision. 

She looks peaceful. Long, dark lashes kiss the top of her freckled sun-kissed cheeks. Freckles that extend out, dusting the bridge of her button nose. Her pink, plump lips are slightly parted and chapped as she snores softly. All of these details he’s caught himself staring at for longer than he’s meant to. Details memorised that he knows better than the back of his hand.

“Crookshanks, go ‘way. ‘M sleeping,” she mutters, lifting the blanket further up to cover her face, and snuggles more into the pillow.

As If he had any doubts before, he has none now. The body occupying the spot next to him, sleeping soundly and hogging his blankets and space, is the much younger Hermione Granger: best friend of his Godson. 

Fuck, he panics internally. Merlin’s bloody tits. How?

The second he questions himself, blurry flashes of hot, sweaty skin slapping against skin, of legs tangled together, of urgency, and sloppy tongues fighting for dominance flash to the forefront of his mind. 

This time he groans, his cock twitching, threatening to thicken at the thought of what transpired last night but, before it hardens, he removes himself from the bed, slips on a random pair of sweatpants from the floor, and walks out of his room. He softly closes the door behind him so as to not wake her up. 

He very carefully walks across the creaking hardwood floors of Grimmauld Place and when he’s far enough down the stairs where she won’t hear him, he runs the rest of the way down to the kitchen. 

Instead of panicking, he decides to keep himself calm as best he can and stretches his arms out and up over his head. He twists his waist just enough, his back cracking as he bends over, fingertips touching his toes. He isn’t exactly young anymore and his morning stretches help keep his blood flowing, waking him a little faster. 

Sirius goes on with his morning the way he would any other and sets the tea kettle on the stove, lighting the stovetop to let the water boil. Then he prepares his muggle coffee maker and lets it brew at the same time as the tea. 

Sirius brackets the sink, head hanging low. If his head is pounding with a headache from a hangover — which he assumes is how they both got here in the first place — he’s certain  she’ll wake with a hangover too. He rubs his hands down his face and rolls his neck, gathering his hair up in a bun before securing it with the elastic he always has around his wrist. He walks over to a small cabinet off to the side and pulls out two Sober Up potions, takes one in a single gulp, and sets the other down. Reaching into another cabinet, he plucks two mugs from the shelf and sets those beside the potion.

When the tea kettle softly whistles, he quickly turns off the stove before it gets any louder, making sure the sound doesn’t wake her up. He pours the hot water into her mug and drops a tea bag into the liquid, letting it steep while he busies himself with his coffee. 

He takes a deep breath, gripping the countertop too tightly, and stares down at the coffee, steam rising from the hot liquid. Frustration slowly begins to build up inside him. How could he have let this happen? Not only has he gotten completely pissed and woken up next to a one night stand he can’t fucking remember, but his one night stand is Hermione fucking Granger.

Sirius shakes his head and proceeds to make his coffee. He’s done this the same way many times before, not needing to pay attention to what he’s doing, letting his mind continue to wander. He’s trying to remember how it happened. How the witch he’s been so infatuated with ended up in his bed. He’d purposefully gotten himself so bloody drunk in order to forget— he now regrets every second of it because he can’t remember anything after his argument with Remus. He can’t fucking remember being with her. 

Still, Sirius doesn’t want to get his hopes up. He’s been relentlessly flirting with the much younger witch since she brought over that cake and although she’s sleeping upstairs in his bed, he’s not sure how much of it she remembers or if it meant anything to her at all.

While everyone thought his flirting was just Sirius-being-Sirius, they didn't know what she’d done for him. They didn’t know what it meant to him, but Remus knew him well enough to know the difference. Remus was the only one who knew about Hermione’s visit the year prior and still the werewolf pulled him aside and warned him of the repercussions his pursuit would cause. 

A part of him felt like arguing back. It was never in Sirius’ nature to care about what others thought or to do what others wanted, especially his oldest friend who has already misjudged him once before. Sirius felt it was somewhat hypocritical of Remus to react the way he has been about his crush on the witch, given that Remus’ own wife, Sirius’ cousin, is thirteen years younger than the werewolf. All in all, though, he thought of his Godson and how much it would break him if Harry cut him off because of something he did. Sirius worked hard to repair the damage his impulsive decisions caused and he would probably never stop hating himself for missing so much of Harry’s life, for allowing himself to be taken away from him for an entire decade. 

For as long as he can remember, there’s never been a part of him that’s wanted to pursue anything serious with anyone. Most, if not all, of his exploits are simply to satisfy his most primal needs. A single night of meaningless sex with anyone who is willing to take him for a ride. Some have wanted more and Sirius kindly reminds them that it’s only a one-time deal. He just isn’t that guy. 

Being thrown head-first into two wars, though, has a way of making him reconsider things. Time is fleeting and, although twelve years in Azkaban did seem like a long time, it feels like it was only yesterday that he was thrown into the wizarding prison with nothing but the clothes on his back. There was nothing else for him to do but think. Nothing but what if’s and regrets. Maybe he should have taken his past lovers more seriously. Maybe he should have settled down right after Hogwarts and had kids, given them the life he didn’t have. A loving parent, a home full of love, acceptance, and support. A wife to dote on and give the entire fucking world to. He often made fun of James, of his loyalty and devotion to Lily, but the truth of it all is that deep down inside, a part of him craves that— has always craved it. He saw the way he looked at her, like she hung the stars and moon, like she was the sun and he orbited around her. 

He tried his best to hang on to those hopes and dreams. To keep them away from the dementors and wear them like a warm blanket as he slept as Padfoot, seeping into and filling his body, keeping him warm and dry from his cold and damp cell. 

As much as he tried, sometimes he lost his battle and was racked with fear that he would die, cold and alone, in that very cell. Never to be remembered again. 

There’s something about Hermione. It’s as if she’s the physical manifestation of everything he’s fought so hard for. All the love and hope he carried with him when he thought he couldn’t continue on any longer. She’s always had a spark in her that reminds him of his own fire. A desire for more. To want more, to know more, to be more, and Sirius wants to help her accomplish it. His every interaction with the witch after they celebrated his brother’s birthday meant so much more. Sirius doesn’t know if she makes it a hobby to bake goods for her friends in the way that connected them both. Who’s he kidding—  Hermione is the kindest, most thoughtful witch he’s ever met aside from Lily, but something about that day was different. It changed things between them. For him, at least.

It’s not lost on him that at the age of forty-two, he’s ready to settle down with someone twenty years younger than him. It’s cruel, even. She still has so much more to live, to experience, but he so badly wants to be a part of that journey. To give her everything and show her everything. A part of him can’t help but wonder if their night together bollocksed everything he hopes he can have with her. Will she think less of him? Will she think their night together is all he ever wants from her? This is all uncharted territory for him.

He wants fucking cheesy long walks along the beach with her, coffee shop dates, and boring nights in. To write her love letters that leave her speechless and wanting. He wants picnics and long talks when they both can’t sleep. He wants to cook with her and come home to her. He wants to fall asleep and wake up with her in his arms. And he really, really wants miniature perfect mixtures of themselves — wild hair like hers, but black as night like his, with her warm honey brown eyes — running around, driving him barmy. Too smart for him, just like their mother.

He hopes more than anything that she doesn’t think all he wants from her is a fuck. He wants more than that. So much more than that. 

Sirius shakes away his thoughts, deciding to instead focus on the present and where to go from here. He places the mugs on a platter, along with a fruit cocktail of strawberries, pineapple, oranges and watermelon to take up. 

He takes a deep breath, musters up his Gryffindor courage and wandlessly summons the platter to follow behind him. He’ll talk to her: ask her if their night together could lead to anything else. Simple. Hermione has always been reasonable, willing to talk about anything logically. 

He’s halfway down the hall, about to approach the stairs when he halts, coming face to face with Hermione. 

She’s looking at him like a deer caught in headlights. Her mouth is ajar, and  eyes are wide, mascara smudged around them. Her hair is a mess. She has creases on the side of her face from sleep, her dress is on backwards, and her heels are in her hands. 

Is she…running away? He panics but doesn’t let his face show it. 

“Good morning, sweetheart.” He smiles. “I was just bringing up a spot of tea and some fruit for you.” Hermione flinches at the volume of his voice, almost dropping her shoes, and shields the sun from her eyes, hissing like a vampire. Sirius chuckles. “And a Sober Up potion.”

She looks behind him where she spots the platter floating, carrying their two mugs, a vial, and a plate of fruit. Without a word, she backs away from him and slowly walks backwards into the sitting room. 

“Hermione, sweetheart. We-we have to talk about this. Why don’t you sit, drink your tea, potion, and have a bit of fruit.” He’s approaching her, his arms up before him, as if she were a wild animal.

“No, I…I have to go. We…fuck.” She looks away from him worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. 

“We did indeed.” Maybe he shouldn’t have said that but she’s freaking out and all he knows is humour during awkward times like these. 

Hermione shakes her head. “This was…no, this was a mistake. He’s going to be so mad,” tears begin to pool in her eyes, her bottom lip and chin quivering. Sirius steps forward to try and console her, but she steps back. “You…you can’t tell him this happened. Harry, you can’t tell him.”

This was a mistake. Her words echo inside his head over and over and there’s an ache in his chest that he hasn’t felt since 1981. “Hermione, sweetheart, calm down. It’s okay. It’s okay, we can talk about this.”

“No! This was a mistake, Sirius! And you have to promise me that no one will know. This shouldn’t have happened and no one can know.” Her voice is stern, giving no room for argument, no room for discussion.

“Okay, Hermione,” he nods, defeated. “I won’t tell anyone. If you really want to forget that this happened, then I suppose I can pretend. No one will know.” His voice sounds weak, deflated, and the ache in his chest gets tighter.

“I…I’ve got to go. I can’t. I’m sorry.” Without another word, Hermione grabs a handful of floo powder and disappears within the emerald flames. 

The echo of the floo fills the room, and he shakes his head in confusion. 

What the bloody hell just happened? 

She left. She just… left. Not only that, but she begged him not to say anything. Begged him as if she were embarrassed of him. As if sleeping with him was just about the worst thing she could’ve ever done.

Rationally, he knows it’s because of Harry. He hopes it’s because of Harry. He hopes it’s only because she’s scared, because he’s his Godfather, because he’s twenty years her junior but…why does it feel like it’s so much more than that?

She left leaving nothing but a trace of her jasmine shampoo, taking all his hopes and desires with her, setting them ablaze with the flames of the floo.

Chapter Text

Four months later (17 weeks)

The tiles beneath her legs are cold and hard, bruising her knees. Hermione reaches for the toilet flapper, flushing the contents of her stomach down the toilet for the third time that day. She rests her cheek on the seat, huffing, groaning at the soreness of the muscles in her stomach from how much she’s been hurling the last week alone. 

This is the worst case of food poisoning she’s ever had and she’s not sure what could've caused it. Was it the take away from her favourite Italian restaurant? The oysters that Pansy had brought home after her date with Neville a few days ago? Or could it have been her own cooking? She did try out a new recipe she saw on the telly yesterday. Regardless, she’s never cooking again, never going to that Italian restaurant again, and she’s definitely not accepting more food from Pansy.

Soft fur on her ankles and long annoyed meows break her away from her thoughts. “Yes, yes, Crookshanks. Right away, your Highness.” She gingerly lifts herself up from her spot on the floor, her legs weak and bones creaking from how long she was sitting. 

She reaches the sink and grabs the mouthwash, pouring a shot into the bottle cap and dumping the contents into her mouth. Hermione braces herself against the sink and swishes the minty liquid around a few times before spitting it out and watching as it goes down the sink. 

Hermione’s tired. Beyond exhausted. It seems as if she can’t get enough sleep these days. She stares at herself in the mirror and groans, pulling at the skin under her eyes, looking at how sunken and dark they are. Pokes at the bun atop her head, loose and toppled over to the side from how many days it’s been tied up. With a final look, she walks away, turning off the light in the loo. 

Her slippers drag along the floor with every step she takes. She only has one destination— her couch, where she’s been living for the entirety of her food poisoning. Before she reaches the comfort of her makeshift cocoon, Crookshanks lets out another long irritated meow. “Right, of course. C’mon.” Crookshanks trills proudly and prances ahead of her, his tail waving happily behind him. 

Hermione rounds the corner and sees the door to her fridge wide open. “Did I leave this open?” She asks herself but just as she’s about to close the door a head with a perfectly-styled shoulder-length black bob peaks up from the open door. “Still sick, I see?”

“I thought you’d be at work,” she remarks, confused as to why her roommate isn’t at work but not enough to actually care. She’s too uncomfortable to care. Hermione pulls a chair from the dining table and flops down onto it, resting her head on the cold surface. “Ugh, I’m miserable, Pans. How long does food poisoning even last?”

“Hopefully not much longer. I’m miserable seeing you so miserable.” She rolls her eyes at Pansy, who chuckles and closes her fridge before walking over to the counter. Pansy swats Crookshanks away from the brown bag she placed on the surface. The Slytherin waves a perfectly polished hand in the air, wandlessly feeding the cat before she turns back around and pulls out a container from the bag. “I brought you some soup and that muggle ginger drink you like so much when you’re sick.”

She eyes the white container in the witch’s hands warily. This time it’s Pansy who rolls her eyes. “Come off it, Min. It was not the oysters.” She reaches for a bowl and a spoon and pours the soup into the dish. “Besides, this is the chicken soup from that little cafe you adore.”

“Pans, the Italian food I had was also from a place I love and it could have been that, too,” she grumbles.

“Well, I don’t care. You need to eat something.” The tall, slender witch waves her hand over the bowl, summoning it to sit in front of Hermione. She cracks open a can of ginger ale and pours it into a cup with ice and walks it over, sitting next to Hermione. 

Hermione smells the soup and finds that the scent doesn’t make her stomach sick so she takes it as a sign that maybe she’ll be able to keep it down. She scoops up a spoonful, blows on the broth a couple times before finally swallowing it. The warmth of the broth slips down her throat, the taste…she’s had this soup many times before when she’s been sick, but this time? Well, it’s just about the best fucking thing she’s ever had in her mouth. Another spoonful, this time she scoops up some chicken and veggies and chews happily. She moans with delight. 

She looks over at Pansy who’s looking at her perfectly manicured nails with a smirk on her face and a brow raised. 

“Why’re you looking so smug?” Hermione asks around another spoonful of soup. 

“Oh, nothing. Just waiting for a ‘Thank you, Pansy. You’re the best friend and roommate ever, Pansy.’” The witch sniffs. 

Hermione rolls her eyes again. Except…she really should stop doing that, it’s making her dizzy. Weird. 

“Thank you, Pansy. You’re the best friend and roommate ever, Pansy,” she mimics unenthusiastically. Pansy softly shoves her but Hermione reaches for her hand and squeezes it. “No but really. Thank you so much for this, Pans. It’s really good and I haven’t eaten anything all day.”

She squeezes her hand back, a worried look now on her face. “You should go see a healer, Min. I know it probably is just food poisoning but with magic they’d be able to see if it’s…something else?”

“What else could it be?” Hermione replies unelegantly with a mouth full of food. She gulps it down with some of her ginger ale.

“I don’t know but you have had your hands full at the bookshop and you haven’t had your period in two months. And then there’s Sirius…”

Hermione flinches at the name and swallows down the last of her soup, scooting away from the table to rinse off her bowl. “I didn’t get my period during the majority of the hunt with Ron and Harry which I’m sure you can guess was because of stress, which lasted a little under a year, might I add.” She sniffs, focusing on cleaning her dish. “And I’m on the potion, thank you very much. I’m fine, Pansy.” 

After the war, Harry’s closeness and eventual relationship with Theodore Nott eventually brought the two friend groups together. Her friendship with Pansy was as unexpected as a hippogriff falling in love with a merperson. 

Harry begged Hermione to give the Slytherins a try, thinking she needed convincing. There was lingering hostility towards the former group that, at one time, had been their bullies. Although she was open to agreeing to a single outing, Hermione was somewhat reluctant to get close to the group. 

Theo and Pansy surprised her, though. Each pulling her aside on their first outing and apologising to her. Neither of them made excuses, completely owning up to their ignorance and privilege in their pure-blood status. 

She tried to put herself in their shoes. Tried to imagine growing up in a household full of so much hate and disdain that it was practically seeping from their walls. It wasn’t their fault. Well, not all of it was their fault. How else were they supposed to act when hate was all they knew? What else were they supposed to do other than defend themselves when they had no one to defend them while they were growing up?

Just like her, Harry, Ron and every other person involved on the “good” side of the war, they were doing the best they could to protect themselves the only way they knew how. Enough people had suffered during the war and after. Everyone was left to pick up whatever pieces were left of their old selves, trying desperately to fit them into this new version. New versions that are completely unrecognisable. New versions they didn’t know how to be. 

No, she didn’t have to accept their apologies but Hermione also didn’t fight and almost die in a war all for people to still hate each other. Regardless of the wrongs that were committed by them. If she truly was the person she said she was, one that’s accepting and forgiving, she owed it to herself to try. 

She walks over behind a still sitting Pansy, wrapping her arms around her shoulders and rests her head on her arms. “Thank you for worrying, Pans, but I promise I’ll be fine, hmm?” 

Pansy places her hands over her arms, the warmth radiating throughout Hermione. “I just worry about you, okay? But if you say you’ll be alright, then by all means go back to vegging out on that ratty old couch.”

“Hey! Apologise to the couch, you snake! It’s been taking just as good care of me as you have,” Hermione whines, releasing her and grabbing the rest of her ginger ale before walking over to her sitting room and making herself cosy on the couch. 

“I most definitely will not,” the Slytherin sniffs once more, taking her purse from the counter and following close behind her. “Right, well, I’ve got to go. There’s more of that soup in the fridge – which you will be eating – along with more ginger ale.” She points a red nail at her. “I’ll be home a little late tonight. Deadlines at Witch Weekly and all that so don’t wait up.” 

“Alright, alright.” Hermione fights off another eye roll. “Thanks for everything, now leave me alone to die.”

“And they say I’m dramatic,” Pansy retorts before Apparating away. 

Hermione sits in her cocoon of blankets and pillows, staring at the spot Pansy had just occupied with only one thing echoing over and over in her mind.

And then there’s Sirius…

Sirius.

So, she’s been avoiding him. She isn’t proud of herself, but she doesn’t know how to face him after the way she acted, after the way she left things. She hasn’t purposefully been avoiding the older wizard since, per se, but thank Merlin she actually does have the excuse that work keeps her busy. 

Being a Gryffindor means being brave and having courage but, really, how is she supposed to face the man she had a one night stand with a man she’s had a crush on for years and practically begged not to say a word to? Said that it’d been a mistake and ran away from?

She’s pretty sure I’m sorry won’t really cut it, considering it would require an entire conversation she isn’t prepared to have. 

Things with Sirius changed after she went to Grimmauld for Regulus’ birthday. Of course they changed, how could they not? She connected herself to his grief, something she’s all too familiar with. By sharing a tradition that, up until then, has been only hers. She knew how hard Sirius took the truth about his only sibling and she wanted to be there for him. To show him someone understood his pain. 

Their interactions after that day felt different. His flirting was different because it was no longer just innocent salacious jokes. It was no longer teasing just to tease or showing off for the sake of it. It was now embedded with something more. It was him letting her borrow his jacket if he noticed she was cold, him offering his library to her no matter the time of day or night, and it was him refilling tea for her during Sunday dinners when her cup was empty. 

No one but her really knew why he was different. Regardless of if they’d told anyone about Hermione’s visit, only the two of them knew how much it meant and how much closer it brought them together. 

But Hermione isn’t called the Brightest Witch of her Age for only being booksmart. She’s vigilant, observant, and she knows that Remus and Molly picked up on the change. She knows they warned him of her age, of the fact that she’s his godson’s best friend. Warned him to stay away from her because he couldn’t possibly want anything from her other than a shag. She knows, too, that she’s felt him slightly pull away.

To be quite frank, it annoys her that people still see her as a buck-toothed little girl from Hogwarts. The good girl who doesn’t break any rules (although, she doesn’t quite understand that considering she broke about a thousand school rules during her time at Hogwarts), the girl who studies hard and follows directions and doesn't step a toe out of line. Hermione knows she’s loved unequivocally and she knows everyone around her only wants to protect her but she fought in a bloody war. The worst that could possibly have happened, happened. Being with a man twenty-years her senior can’t be any more dangerous than fighting on a literal battlefield. 

Still, Hermione keeps her distance. She’s polite, she’s cordial, she’s friendly. She doesn’t want to disturb the welcome peace after years of fear and combat. 

And that makes her a hypocrite. When Harry came to Hermione about Theo, scared of what others might think, of what they might say, she had an entire monologue prepared about how if war taught her anything it was that the most important things are always worth fighting for. Love is worth fighting for, or, at least, the promise of it is. She encouraged him to pursue the dark-green eyed, dark-haired man.

What she didn’t tell him was that war also showed her how painful it is when those you love are ripped away from you. Hermione knows Harry lost his family. She watched him struggle and deal with the grief of that as he grew up and learned more about his parents. Still, he wasn’t old enough when he lost them to recognize the loss, not the way she did with her parents.

So, Hermione did the most un-Gryffindor thing she’s ever done and cowered away. Using her best friend as an excuse, as a shield to hide from what she’s really scared of. Three years is not nearly enough time for Hermione to be ready to open herself up to love. She’s not ready to be vulnerable. 

She’s scared to love and lose someone so important to her. Again. 

Even if she was ready, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter anymore because she mucked it all up. With a split-second decision, Hermione undid a year's worth of…whatever it was that she’d built between her and Sirius. She flattened it all down like a furious wave against a sandcastle.

And then there’s Sirius… the words sound off in her mind. 

Could her night with Sirius be the reason she’s feeling so shitty?

Hermione shakes her head. “No.” She turns to look at Crookshanks, petting his soft fur, who has made himself comfortable beside her on the couch. “I’m safe. I’m on the potion. Right, Crooks?”

The feline gives her a deep sigh, not giving a single damn about his owner's internal struggle. 

“A nap does sound good right about now.” Hermione stretches out along the settee, snuggling Crookshanks closer and drifts off to sleep. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

She’s been trying to eat her bloody Greek salad for the last fifteen minutes. Hermione is entirely too busy to leave her desk for her lunch, deciding instead to take it in the backroom and continue her inventory. 

Big fucking mistake.

Scarlet Mimsy-Porpington, her co-worker, has been droning on and on about the latest shop square gossip. Normally, Hermione would join. She loves gossip, so long as it doesn’t involve her, of course. 

Scarlet’s voice, though, sounds like a depotted mandrake— she recognizes it could very well be because Hermione’s annoyed. She is hungry, starving really, and even though she’s been feeling better since her bout of food poisoning, her appetite is still off. The only thing she’s been able to eat lately that doesn't smell like rotten food is Greek salad. 

Currently, the pale strawberry blonde witch is spilling the latest gossip. Apparently, Rahul Sheppard, from the Magical Menagerie two shops down, has been having an affair with Emily Pickett, from Emily’s Unique Antiques Emporium on the other side of the shop square. 

 “...And rumour has it—” Scarlet shoves her purple framed glasses up her nose and looks around the bookshop, lowering her voice to make sure no one else is there to hear “—that he has talked to Emily about leaving his wife and kids to be with her.” 

Hermione doesn’t want to be rude but books keep floating over to her, stacking themselves one on top of the other and she’s so fucking hungry, everything becomes too much.

“Are you okay?” Scarlet asks when Hermione doesn’t react. “You’re looking a little pale but…warm at the same time? Oh, ew. Are you going to be sick?” Scarlet pushes herself away from where she’s perched over Hermione’s desk. 

Hermione scoffs. “Thanks so much for the concern, Scarlet.”

“I’m sorry but that’s a bit gross.” Her top lip curls against a face of disgust. “Anyway, I thought you were feeling better. You should really eat something. You’ve barely touched your salad”

“Merlin’s tits, Scarlet.” She rolls her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I’ve been trying to eat my lunch for the last twenty minutes but you keep blabbing about Rahul and Emily.”

Her co-worker looks away affronted. “Well, you usually join in. My sincerest fucking apologies.”

“No, no,” Hermione sighs. “I’m sorry, Scarlet. I’m just so tired. There’s so much work to do and I haven’t been sleeping well.”

The strawberry blonde scoots close again, this time grabbing a good amount of books off the desk. “Tell you what? You eat your salad and I’ll take care of checking these books.”

Hermione likes Scarlet, she really does. She’s entertaining enough to make her days go by faster but her work ethic isn’t nearly as good as Hermione’s which is why she’s always the one who ends up taking care of things anyway. She’d much rather take care of it herself than have Scarlet muck something up and have to do it all over again. Although right now, she couldn’t care less as long as the other witch leaves her alone to eat. 

She finishes her salad in peace, legs kicked up on the desk and the muggle radio softly playing Summer Breeze in the background. Once she’s done, Hermione scourgifies her container and places it back inside her lunch bag, chugging down the rest of her ginger ale before dropping the empty can in the recycle bin. 

“Alright, what can I help with?” Hermione emerges from the back room and over to the wide oval front desk that surrounds them. However, before she’s able to reach the rest of the books Scarlet hasn’t gotten to, her vision goes fuzzy and she bumps into a stack of books piled on the floor, knocking them over. Scarlet gets to her before she completely falls over, grabbing her by the hands and gently sitting her down on the floor. 

“Circe, Hermione. Are you okay? Here.” The witch summons an empty glass, casting an aguamenti with her wand, filling it with water. “Drink.”

Hermione takes the glass with a shaky hand and takes a slow, long sip and a few deep breaths. One, two, three, deep breath in. One, two, three, release out. She repeats the exercise a couple more times until her hands are no longer shaking and her heart is once again beating regularly. “Thank you, Scarlet. I…I don’t know what happened.”

“Why don’t you head down to St. Mungo’s and I’ll take care of everything here. Even in the wizarding world, it can’t be normal to have dizzy spells like that, Hermione.” Scarlet looks at her with genuine concern and Hermione remembers a few days back when Pansy also suggested she go to St. Mungo’s. Maybe it’s time. 

She nods her head a few times and drinks the rest of the water before attempting to stand back up. Scarlet helps her, not letting go until she feels Hermione is nice and steady. “Accio Hermione’s purse.” 

The purple canvas satchel flies into Scarlet’s hand and she loops it over Hermione’s shoulder. “Do you need help walking over to the floo?”

“No, no. I should be fine. I’m going straight there. Thank you again, Scarlet. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you weren’t here.” Hermione lets go of the witch’s hand but before she completely walks away, she turns back around. “Could you, um…maybe not mention this until I know what's wrong?”

“Of course, Hermione,” she promises sincerely and smiles at her. “Although, I’m sure everything’s just fine.”

Hermione smiles back and walks towards the floo. 

When she’s spit out of the emerald flames and into the front lobby of the emergency room of St. Mungo’s, the sterilised smell of cleaning solution hits her. She syphones the ash away from her clothes with her wand and gently steps toward the check-in desk. 

There’s a single healer behind the counter wearing a neatly pressed mint-green healer’s dress and matching healer’s cap atop her perfectly coiffed hair. She’s looking down, a quill in hand, writing rapidly across parchment. 

For how powerful magic is, it always surprised Hermione how behind the Wizarding world truly was. “Uh…um, hello.” She does her best not to startle the healer. She’d hate it if she had to start all over because she was too disruptive. 

The healer, however, promptly looks up at Hermione, putting the quill down. “Good afternoo…my, Ms. Hermione Granger! What brings you here?”

Fuck, she thinks. The thing she hates the most is her post-war celebrity. Being recognized literally anywhere in the Wizarding World and feeling she has no real sense of privacy. She’s going to have to ask the main healer for their discretion. 

“Yes, hello. I’d like to check in for a consultation?”

“Of course, Ms. Granger. Fill this out,” the check-in healer places a form in front of her on the counter. “And we’ll get you sorted straight away!”

“Thank you.” Hermione looks at the form where her basic information is already filled in and she only has to write down her symptoms. When she’s done, the parchment disappears, leaving her with only a quill in hand. 

“All done, I see.” The healer comes back. “If you could please step into room two, Healer Harper will be with you in just a few short minutes.”

Hermione walks down the long narrow corridor the same colour as the check-in healer’s uniform. She’s clutching onto the strap of her purse, remembering the last time she was at St. Mungo’s— when Sirius was here after Bellatrix’s curse left him in a coma. Her grip tightens on her purse strap, her knuckles going white from the sheer grip she has on it. She shivers, realising that her teeth are chattering from the cold temperature of the environment. 

Was it this cold when she arrived? Or is it because she’s nervous? 

What does she even have anything to be nervous about? 

Sirius; the name is shoved to the forefront of her mind and her stomach feels like it’s in knots. Why would that make her nervous?

Finally, she reaches the room, closes the door softly behind her and discards her purse on the chair across from the exam table. She looks around her, healers posters plastered on the walls, pamphlets with important information on Dragon Pox placed neatly on a table across from her. She’s fidgeting with her fingers on her lap when she hears three soft knocks against the door.

“Uh…come in?”

The door opens and a very tall, very blonde woman with bright blue eyes steps in, joining her in the room. The woman extends her hand out and Hermione takes it. She shivers again and the healer smiles warmly at her. “Good afternoon, Ms. Granger. I’m Healer Harper, and I’m here to take care of you today.”

“Hello.”

“So, what brings you in, Ms. Granger?" Healer Harper grabs a chair and places it in front of the exam table that Hermione is occupying. 

“Right. Well, I was at work and had a sort of dizzy spell? I nearly fell over but my co-worker was able to get to me before I did. I’ve…I’ve never felt that way before.”

“Well, thank goodness for your co-worker!” Healer Harper takes Hermione’s hand, turns it over and places her wand on top of her wrist. “Have you been sick recently? When was the last time you had your menstrual cycle?”

Hermione is closely watching the healer’s wand at work and sees when bright white numbers appear in thin air, marking her pulse. Healer Harper notices it's a bit spiked. “Relax, dear. Everything’s okay.”

She takes a deep breath before answering her questions.“I recently had food poisoning. About…a week ago. I’ve just now started feeling better. And I haven’t had my period in two, almost three months? But I’ve always been pretty irregular and work’s been very stressful.” 

“Hmm.” Healer Harper gently tugs at her shoulder, pushing her back. “Please, lay down for me, Ms. Granger.”

Hermione lays back, and with her wand, the healer turns off the lights in the room. “And are you on any contraceptives, Ms. Granger?”

“Th–the potion. I’ve been on the potion for about a year now.”

“And do you still have a regular cycle?”

“Normally, yes. Every month.”

Healer Harper hums again as if she already knows the answer to what’s wrong with Hermione. 

“Alright, Ms. Granger, I’m going to perform a general diagnostic spell. I would like to see what’s going on in your body. See if we can confirm my suspicion.”

She murmurs a spell that Hermione can’t really make out. A golden light emits from her stomach and softens out, lighting the room in a soft gold glow. It’s silent for a few seconds before a gentle heartbeat breaks it. Faint at first but growing louder and louder until it starts pulsing in her ear, in sync with her own.

“Is…that my heartbeat?” She asks, but she knows. She knows. She knows, she knows, she knows.

The healer looks up at her from her stomach and gives her a soft, sad smile.

“No, honey. That’s not your heartbeat. You’re pregnant.” Her tone is gentle.

She shakes her head, brow furrowing, and stares blankly up at the ceiling, the room still glowing gold from the spell. Pregnant, the word hits her like a ton of bricks, like she’s been drenched with freezing cold water.

“Pregnant? I’m…pregnant? But I’m on the potion…” She can barely get the words out, her throat dry.

“The potion is effective but not always,” she explains. “And I’d say you’re about four months pregnant, it seems.”

When Hermione doesn’t reply, Healer Harper removes the spell and turns the lights back on. “I’ll give you some time. Take as long as you need.”

Although she hears the soft click of the door closing behind the healer, it’s as if something within her opens and she’s flooded with panic and shame. Shame because she, Hermione Granger, Golden Girl of the Wizarding World, will soon be the subject of numerous gossip articles and rumours. Being told that one’s pregnant should be exciting news. Happy news. After all, there’s no longer any imminent danger but her trauma is still stalking her like she’s prey.

Even now that the heartbeat is long gone, it plays in her head like a song she can’t shake, and suddenly she’s back in the forest of Dean, sitting in front of the tent keeping watch. The memory, unbidden, feels as if she’s been thrown into a pensieve. 

It’s early morning and one of the very few joys Hermione has left while struggling to survive is watching the sunrise every morning in the forest. The cool, fresh air against her face and the darkness of the night sky slowly fade away into the glow of a new day. Only, this morning, she’s not alone. A family of deer walk slowly into view from the forest gloom, oblivious to the spells surrounding and protecting the tent from anyone nearby.

A proud stag and a gentle doe walk leisurely, sniffing the ground, with their small fawn between them. 

With a smile, Hermione watches their every step but her heart drops when she notices a fox stalking the family about ten feet away. It’s blocked by a boulder but she can see its eyes are concentrated on the fawn, waiting for the right moment to attack.

Hermione sucks in a breath, holding on to her wand tightly, ready to protect the family of deer. She’s seen too much bloodshed, too many families torn apart. Yet, a part of her tells her that this is the natural way of the circle of life. Not murder. That, in reality, she really can’t save everyone. Another part of her thinks that this could be a trap. A person — or persons — whose animagus is either a deer or fox, or both. So, with a heavy sigh, she eases her grip on her wand and resigns to watching nature play out.

She sees the stag go rigid, finally sensing that they’re not alone, and places himself firmly between his fawn and its predator. Realising it’s been caught, the fox jumps closer, curling around the small family with a growl. It tries to stalk forward, but the stag sets its antlers down on the ground, claiming his territory.

The fox tries again, this time going directly for the fawn which is staying as hidden as possible under its mother. The stag charges forward, antlers first, and hits the fox with such force, it topples over. Growling, it tries again in a fury, over and over, trying to scare the fawn away from its parents. But each time, the stag fights it off, using its antlers to impale the fox. As a last resort, the fox jumps on the back of the stag, biting down on his neck. Hermione thinks the fox has won. That it found a way to still get a meal out of the deer, but she doesn’t expect it when the doe uses her hind legs to strike the fox and kick it off the stags back. 

Hermione watches where the fox lies, bleeding profusely and breathing heavily. She watches when the fox decides its lost, retreating back into the forest, leaving a trail of blood behind.

Hermione looks at the family of deer in shock at the way the doe saved her entire family in one fell swoop. The stag shakes itself off and follows the doe and his fawn when they begin walking forward again into the forest as the first rays of golden sunlight break through the trees. 

Hermione never thought about having kids when she was growing up. She wasn't one to look forward to the day where she’d meet the love of her life and everything would be happily ever after. It wasn’t because she didn’t care but because there were so many things she wanted to do before she got married and had kids. Travel, explore, do things on her own terms.

But now, in remembering that family of deer in the forest, remembering how they fought so hard to keep each other safe, she feels a sense of peace wash over her. In that memory she can’t help but think of Harry and Neville’s parents — even her own — and so many people they all lost. 

Even though dread and anxiety still fill her from the news she was just given, a sense of protection and determination wash over her like rain. Hermione knows she has a very important decision to make now. A decision that, surprisingly, isn’t one at all because she knows what she needs to do. What she wants to do.

Hermione is surprised to find her hands on her stomach, rubbing it gently. Tenderly. She sits up on the exam table and brings her arms to her belly, wrapping them around herself, hugging herself. Somehow, deep down, she thinks she always knew. 

She takes a deep breath before jumping off the table, grabs her bag, and walks out of the room. Before she reaches the floo, she sees Healer Harper and approaches her. “Thank you, Healer Harper. For everything.”

“Of course, Ms. Granger.” The healer hands her a piece of paper. “Here’s a list of the top paediatric healers in the area.”

“I appreciate that. About what…you’ve told me—”

“Not to worry, Ms. Granger. We are magically bound to not break patient/healer confidentiality.” She looks at Hermione tenderly. “These paediatricians are also known for their discretion.”

Hermione nods once, turning on her heel. With her destination set in mind, she grabs some floo powder from the pot by the fireplace and disappears into the flames. 

Arriving instantly at her destination, the same place she ran away from four months ago, she’s met face to face with the same man she left behind. 

“Hermione?” He asks softly. 

It almost feels like she never left. He’s standing in the same exact spot he was when she begged him for his silence, when she turned away from him. He’s shirtless, wearing the same pair of grey sweatpants he was wearing that morning, salt and pepper hair up in a bun, and beard thicker than the last time she saw him. 

“Is everything okay?” Sirius tries to step closer but thinks better of it, staying put.

Hermione closes her eyes, and takes a deep breath before opening them again and setting her gaze on his. 

“I have something to tell you.” Her voice cracks and she clears her throat and speaks louder. “I’m pregnant.”

Chapter Text

There’s been less than a handful of times in Sirius’ life where he’s been rendered completely speechless from shock alone. Although, this moment beats out all the rest. In fact, he’s in such shock that he doesn’t think he heard her properly.

“I’m sorry,” a breathy laugh escapes his lips, and he’s shaking his head and waving his hands in front of him. “I-I don’t think I heard you.”

“I’m pregnant,” she repeats louder.

Multiple feelings hit him at once but Sirius is surprised to find the one that he feels the strongest is annoyance.

Surely Hermione, who he hasn’t seen or spoken to in months, who ran away from him after their one night stand, didn’t just tell him she’s pregnant. Surely, if she is pregnant, it’s not his. It's been too long. Is she here to rub it in his face? To pour salt on his wounds, taunt him for having slept with someone else, for choosing someone else? To completely squander any hopes he had of anything between them? No, surely she isn’t that cruel.

They stand there looking at each other. Face to face as if they’re about to duel but she moves first, taking a step back. “I-I shouldn't have come. I’m sorry, this was a mistake.”

“Wonder where I’ve heard that before,” he grumbles under his breath.

This time, she throws him an anguished glare, tilting her head to the side. He thinks she’s going to leave again but he’s surprised when she brings her hand up to cover her mouth and surges towards the kitchen and out the backdoor to the yard. Sirius doesn't have time to process what’s just happened but the moment he hears her heaving into his rose bush, he rushes to her. 

He finds her bent over the side of the railing, her soft curls curtaining her face, and without even thinking about what he’s doing, completely ignoring that fact he’s supposed to be upset, he gathers her hair and holds it tightly behind her neck so it’s out of the way. 

Sirius’ heart is beating so hard, it feels like it’s going to jump out of his chest. Still, he wandlessly summons a glass, casts an aguamenti, and waits for Hermione to finish. He's so distracted by the inherent need to take care of her that he doesn’t even recognize the soothing words coming out of his mouth until she’s done throwing up and he hears himself. “You’re alright. You’re alright, let it all out. It’s okay.”

When she’s finished, Sirius holds the glass up to her and she takes it, gulping down the cool water, soothing her hoarse throat. “Thank you,” she whispers, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and vanishing the glass. “Don’t know why I thought that was over.”

Sirius cups the back of her head, smoothing her hair down, checking to make sure her skin isn’t clammy or her face isn’t pale, to make sure she really is okay. “You mean you’ve been—”

“Started about a week ago. Morning sickness, my arse.” She looks up and smiles at him softly before she moves away, his arm falling limply at his side, and sits on the top step of the back stoop, her back to him. 

“You’re the father, by the way. If it wasn’t clear,” he hears her mumble. Sirius, too shocked to understand her words, turns slowly to look at her. 

The fresh September air blows through her chestnut curls, glowing in the soft light of the late-afternoon sun. She has her elbows on her knees, her head is hanging low, and he can see the way her back flexes with every deep breath she takes. 

It's not until he turns to join her that he feels the cold concrete under his bare feet and he shivers. Lowering himself beside her, shoulder to shoulder, he also rests his elbows on his knees and releases a sigh. A sigh of what? He’s not sure. 

He doesn’t know exactly what to say so he says the only thing he can think of. “Are you sure?”

He winces at the words.

Hermione looks over at him, brow raised. “Done this before?”

Sirius turns away from her and settles his gaze on the trees surrounding his backyard, flowing to and fro with the breeze. “No, Hermione,” he scoffs. “Contrary to popular belief, I’ve never had anyone I’ve been with before tell me they’re pregnant.”

Silence falls between them again. He can’t blame her, though. Stories of his past conquests have haunted him throughout his life. About the many birds and blokes he’s been with throughout the years. Although, the part where he’s careless or lacking empathy towards them, he doesn’t particularly know where that came from. 

It was true that Sirius got around while at school. Took advantage of his pure-blood good looks to, well, shag whoever he bloody well wanted. While it’s not the best of excuses, for the most part, it was to forget about his shitty home life. He felt pathetic, truly. Sirius grew up privileged, with all the wealth anyone could ever dream up and still, it wasn’t enough. All the money in the world couldn’t erase the raised hands across his face, heeled boots against his ribs, and fisted hands dragging him across rooms by the hair. 

Sirius chose to forget the only way he knew how and the only way he was good at, by fucking. 

He may have been with his fair share of people but that never meant he didn’t give a shite about them. He was kind and sweet and attentive for the few days his trysts lasted. Just because he wasn’t promising a relationship and life beyond one shag didn’t mean he lacked empathy. 

“Which one?” She asks, interrupting his reverie.

“Hmm?” 

“You asked if I’m sure,” she explains. “Am I sure you’re the father or am I sure I’m pregnant?”

He doesn’t know why but he knows he needs confirmation. Reassurance. Something so he knows this is true. Real. “Both, I suppose.”

Hermione takes a deep breath, her shoulder rubbing against his from the action and suddenly he’s very aware of his shirtless appearance. “I haven’t been with anyone since…since that night.” She sniffs nonchalantly.

She can’t even say it, he thinks but shakes it off. 

“And before coming here, I was at St. Mungo’s. A Healer confirmed it. I’m about four months along.”

Again, Sirius doesn’t know what to say but his stomach grumbles and he realises how late in the day it is. He rubs his stomach, soothing down his hunger. “Are you hungry?”

“Yeah,” she answers, bringing her own hand to rest on her stomach. “A bit.”

Sirius stands up and offers his hand to her, helping her up. “Got any aversions to anything?” He thinks he’s leading them towards the door into the kitchen but when she doesn’t answer he turns around to find that she’s standing there looking at him. “Hermione?”

“How did– ” she starts but he interrupts her. 

“Lily,” he says simply. A smile pulls at his lips, remembering how miserable and upset she was at not being able to stand the smell of Shepherd's pie, her favourite food. “She also said ginger tea helped her a lot with nausea. I’ll make you a cuppa and we can figure out what to eat.”

Once again, he offers her his hand. She slowly walks towards him and takes it — it’s soft, small, and cold and fits perfectly in his like a puzzle piece — letting him lead her inside. He lets go of her hand when they’re both in the kitchen and flexes his fingers, tingling from her touch. Ignoring his body’s reaction to her touch, Sirius accio’s his shirt.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Her tea cup clinks against the porcelain plate when she puts it down as she sits back and rubs her stomach. “That was delicious, Sirius. Thank you.”

“So, what are you able to eat?” He asks her again. 

“It’s pathetic,” she whines. “But the only thing not making me sick is Greek salad.”

Sirius nods but doesn’t reply and simply opens his fridge to take a look around. “I just went shopping a few days ago.” He taps his fingers against the fridge door. “I have the basics, just not feta cheese,” he says, more to himself than to her. “Ah, I have chicken!” He turns and grins at her. “Chicken okay?”

“Chicken’s good.” She smiles back. 

He starts taking and floating ingredients toward his counter. “You sit tight. I’ll brew the tea for you as well in the meantime.”

Sirius wandlessly sends the empty dishes to the sink and summons the kettle, resting it in front of him. “More tea? I think there’s enough for another cup.”

“Yes, please.” She nods once and smiles, still rubbing her stomach. “Good call with the ginger tea. Pansy’s been keeping ginger ale stocked at home.”

He looks at her hands on her stomach and he wonders if she knows she’s doing it. “Does Pansy…” he says by way of asking and refills her tea.

“No.” He flicks his eyes up at her for a brief moment and finds her staring intently at the tea pouring into her cup. “No, she doesn’t. My first thought was to-to come here.”

Hermione grabs the tea cup when he’s done, takes a sip, and puts it back down but otherwise doesn’t say a word. 

Sirius settles into his seat, arms across his now clothed chest. “So, we’re having a baby, huh?” He chuckles. 

Sirius looks at her from across the table. Her head is tilted to the side and her honey brown eyes are on his, burning into his mercurial ones, and it’s as if she can look right through him. He wants to squirm but resists the temptation.

“You didn’t ask if I was going to keep it.”

It’s not a question but the statement perplexes him and this time he does squirm in his seat. “D-did you expect me to?”

He doesn’t allow her time to respond. He hoped that after the moment they shared a year ago, that she’d know him better. “No, I didn’t. Even if it was an option you were considering, it doesn’t seem like that’s something you’d want. Given everything that’s happened.”

“You don’t…” she starts but stops herself, making herself more comfortable in her seat. “I know this is a shock and you were the first person I told after I found out because you’re the father but…” she stops again, sighing, and his heart feels like it's going to beat out of his chest again. Out of nerves or frustration, he isn’t sure. “I don’t–I don’t expect you to, you know…”

The anger he felt earlier is rising up again. Still towards Hermione but now for an entirely different reason. Sirius scratches his beard in an attempt to calm himself. 

Deep down he knows she’s not trying to offend him. Receiving news that you’re expecting when it’s the last thing you’re…well…expecting isn’t easy and he knows that Hermione’s only trying to lay out his options for him. In the same way Sirius knows that it was never an option for her to choose between keeping the baby or not, she’s got to know it’s not an option for him to not be involved.

The last four months were difficult for him. It gave him time to think. Bloody hell, four months ago the news would have had him elated, his dreams of starting a family with not just anyone but Hermione would have excited him more than anything. And it’s not that he isn’t happy about the news, he is. He’s going to be a dad. Something he never thought he’d get the chance to be.

Now, though, Sirius is weary. He’s weary because she left and she told him it was a mistake and that hurt just as much as it did when he found out about James, Lily, and Regulus. 

So, no. Sirius won’t be turning his back on the only chance he has of having a family again. He would’ve thought that maybe she’d want him involved. That she’d want them to be a family, together, to give their child the type of childhood she had. A chance for him to give them everything he wasn’t given while growing up. He supposes though, he can still do that. Even if he and Hermione decide to co-parent. He thinks that it’s going to have to be enough.

He taps his fingers against the table and looks away. “You know, Hermione, I don’t know if you’re trying to insult me—” 

“No!” She cuts him off, her voice faltering. “No, I’m not! I just…I just don’t want you to—” 

“I know what you mean, Hermione, but I plan to be there for you both. Whenever and whatever you need.”

She nods and looks away, a blush rising from her neck to her cheeks like a sunrise.

In that moment his heart aches. Yes, he’ll have a family but just like the one he had growing up, there will always be something missing.

Sirius shakes the thought away, refusing to entertain it for another second. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“We’re gonna have to figure out a way to tell Harry and the others,” Sirius finally speaks. 

They’ve been sitting on the settee in the main sitting room in silence for the last fifteen minutes.  

When Hermione doesn’t reply, he looks over at her. He finds her fidgeting with her fingers on her lap. “I know. I’d-I’d like to tell Pansy first, if that’s okay.”

“Of course.” Sirius didn’t expect anything different, actually. “I suppose I should tell Remus first, too.”

She turns to look at him then. A hint of worry on her face. “I could…I could be there with you when you tell him, if you’d like.”

Sirius smiles at her then. “That’s alright, Hermione. I'm sure it’ll be okay. I appreciate the offer though.” For all the emotions he's felt today throughout the course of her visit, her offering to be there when he tells Remus, surely because she knows how that would go, it reminds him why his feelings for Hermione are so strong. She's selfless. Even when she too might receive backlash from this, she's worried about him.

Lowering his head, he smiles to himself.

Silence settles around them again and Sirius can’t help looking over at the armchair that’s placed beside the fireplace. The same place it’s been since he was a child. 

“This is where Walburga told me she was pregnant with Regulus.” When Hermione turns to meet his face, he points over to the same spot she was standing earlier when she told him she was pregnant. “I was sitting on that armchair and she was standing just there where you were earlier.”

Her eyes follow where he's pointing to and he doesn’t know exactly why he’s telling her this but he thinks he needs to say it. 

“I was—” He smiles, sighing. “I was elated. I was excited that I was going to have someone, a friend, even if he was my brother.” He chuckles. “Mother never let me play beyond the wards outside so I never had any friends. For a while, he was my best friend. We did everything together. Even bathed together. We read, played, napped, ate…we did everything.”

“But I was naive, of course. As soon as Reggie started talking and walking and having a mind of his own, mother took that away from him. She moulded him, his mind. Poisoned him and pitted us against each other every moment she could. I knew what she was doing, though. She didn’t really give a shite about my brother," He spits. "She only saw Regulus as a means to keep up with pure-blood society. To offer him up as a willing and worthy participant to Voldemort and his cause.”

He takes a deep breath and finds Hermione listening to him attentively. “My point is, Hermione, now, with this baby…I want to be the friend I couldn’t be to Regulus. I want to be the parent Walburga could never be to me and the parent I wish Orion wanted to be. The Black family name has a terrible reputation behind it. One I’ve been ashamed of for decades and one that I wish to change with this baby. Our baby. We don’t have to be together but I do want to be there to raise our baby together.”

She looks at him for a moment. Taking his words in and letting them settle around them. Her brows are furrowed and she’s worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. Although it wasn’t entirely his intention — he just needs her to really understand what this also means to him — she looks chastised, her eyes glossy.

“I’m sorry,” she cries, tears fully rolling down her cheeks and her hands over her face. “I’m so sorry for running away and f-for the things I said. I didn’t mean what I said. I’m so sorry, Sirius.”

Sirius scoots closer and cocoons her in his arms, soothing her back with his hand. “Shh, shh. It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s okay.”

“It’s not!” Her voice is muffled but loud and wet. “I was so mean! You made me food and I-I ruined everything by assuming you didn’t want anything to do with the baby! And…and I don’t care about your family name or-”

“Look at me, Hermione,” he demands, gently cradling her wet face in his hands. Her hand is now on his chest, steadying herself and it burns. She has tears and snot running down her face and still he thinks she couldn’t look anymore beautiful. “You didn’t ruin anything, hmm? This is just about the most shocking piece of news I think you and I have had in a while and we’re just trying to figure things out. You didn’t ruin anything, okay?” He nods and she mirrors him, nodding back and hiccoughing. “I’m not going anywhere. Like I said, whenever and whatever you need.”

Although he chooses his next words carefully, he feels it’s important he says them. “Being in this house, in this big empty house, it feels like I’m a ghost wandering around an abandoned home and even though I’m the ghost, bad memory after bad memory continues to haunt me. But you, Hermione,” he pauses, his grey gaze melting into her honey brown ones. “You have brought life back to me with the news of this baby. And for that, I cannot thank you enough.” 

Hermione’s lips part. They open and close once, twice, three times before she licks them and finally says, “You’re welcome. Although, I didn’t do it all by myself.” 

He knows she’s joking but she’s not laughing and neither is he and he’s trying so fucking hard to not let his mind wander, make up it's own scenarios about what actually happened that night, trying hard to not kiss her and take her once more right here and now to make himself and his body remember. His pants grow tighter, almost uncomfortable, at the thought.

He’s not even sure if she remembers but he’s too nervous to ask.

Her eyes flick down to his lips and back up and he’s close, so close, he can count the freckles on her face, form his own constellations from them. He’s so close he can feel her warm breath on his face. All he has to do is lower his face just an inch and then his lips will be on hers. All he needs is a taste. Just a taste. 

Maybe it’s all in his head but he swears she wants to kiss him too. He swears he feels her inching closer and closer and he can hear his heart beating in his ears from how excited he is. 

“I should go,” she whispers instead but stays still. 

“Okay,” Sirius replies, wiping away the tears from her face. “It’s getting pretty late.”

She nods slowly, agreeing. “Yes, exactly. It’s getting late.”

Sirius lets go of her face. She stands up from the settee and walks over to the floo and he should probably, most definitely, walk her over but he has an erection so he thinks it might be a better idea to just stay put. 

Hermione reaches over for a handful of floo powder but he stops her before she throws it in the floo. “I haven’t either.” 

She looks at him confused, slowly shaking her head, tilting it to the side. 

“I mean—” His shoulders sag. “I haven’t been with anyone either. Since that night. I-I…no one else. Only you. Just you.”

He’s not sure but he thinks he sees a smile on her face but he’s too far away to be able to tell. 

Her voice is low and soft when she says, “Goodnight, Sirius.” 

“Goodnight, Hermione.” 

And she’s gone, leaving him alone again in his sitting room. Only this time, instead of confusion, anger, and sadness, he’s left feeling hopeful.

Chapter Text

Sirius isn’t used to seeing Diagon Alley so deserted. Usually it’s flooded with witches and wizards walking in a hurry, as if they have somewhere urgent to be, shoulder to shoulder with minimal space to move around freely, but not today. There’s only a few people walking up and down the streets, looking or shopping leisurely with no care in the world. 

He’s visited the Alley maybe only a handful of times since his escape from Azkaban and since regaining consciousness from the coma his demented cousin put him in (each visit being published by the Daily Prophet, of course). His visits were sporadic because Sirius couldn’t handle the lies and rumours in the form of whispers as he strolled around. Not only did he have to endure all the slander against his name while in prison, with no way of defending himself, but the continued lies were like matches to a fuse ready to explode. 

Now, he stays away almost entirely because people exhaust him. They demand his attention and ask him questions that any normal person wouldn’t ask, but that’s where the problem lies. They don’t see him as a person but as a celebrity— as a character in their little stories they tell their children. Stories about good and evil and how good always prevails. Stories about fighting and not giving up. 

But they don’t know. 

They don’t know because they weren’t the ones fighting. They don’t know the pain of loss and sacrifice that he and so many others had to endure, all for the happiness of the wizarding world. They don’t know what it really took for them to be able to tuck their children in at night to tell such stories. 

They don’t know that he did all of it to be able to do that himself. 

He shakes away his thoughts, remembering that he’s here for a reason. Here for someone who is worth the headache of it all. He refocuses his attention on Hermione’s shop, Tomes and Tales, with the container holding freshly brewed ginger tea in one hand and his other in his pocket. 

To say that he’s grateful that the Alley isn’t crowded with people – not that he hasn’t already gotten a few stares – is an understatement. 

When she was last at Grimmauld a couple days back, he and Hermione didn’t really get into specifics about how to navigate things until they went public with her pregnancy, so, hoping it wouldn’t be too much of an overstep, Sirius decided to brew more tea for her and bring it to her work. 

He did remember her saying Pansy has been keeping their flat stocked with ginger ale but given that Sirius is the cause of her morning sickness…well, it’s the least he can do. 

Before Sirius fully turns the corner to where he remembers her store being, he collides into someone else, dropping the container. 

“Merlin’s tits!”

“Oh, watch your language, honestly!”

Sirius is in the middle of reaching down, his fingertips on the canister, when he stops. Instantly he recognises their voice. He peers down at the person, straightening their jacket from where Sirius hit them, confirming it to be Hermione, her soft chestnut curls covering her face from the impact. As if on instinct, Sirius reaches out for her. 

“Fuck. Fuck, are you okay? Are you hurt? Is the ba–” Sirius cuts himself off, remembering they’re somewhat in public. “Are you hurt?” His hands move frantically from her arms hovering over her stomach. 

“I’m okay, Sirius.” She seizes his shaking hands, smiling. 

“Are-are you sure?” He knows he’s panicking but he’d never forgive himself for hurting her or their baby. “I didn’t see you. Fuck. I should’ve been paying more attention.” 

Hermione looks around, making sure no one is near, before stepping forward and lowering her voice, squeezing his hands. “We’re perfectly fine. I promise.”

He nods his head, believing her, letting her words wash away his panic. 

“What’re you doing here?” She tilts her head, brow raised before she herself slightly panics. “N-not that you can’t be here. I just–”

“I know what you meant, honey,” Sirius reassures her, reaching down for the canister he dropped once more. “I just came to give you this,” he says, holding the container out between them. 

She glances down at it, a questioning look upon her face. 

“It’s ginger tea. I just thought that since it helped you a couple days ago…” He rubs the back of his neck, letting the rest of his sentence die on his tongue. 

Sirius has never been a nervous person. Oftentimes, he’d have people come to him and ask him for advice on how to talk to someone they fancied, but it seems that when it comes to Hermione, he doesn’t know how to act. 

Throughout his life, when he was actively dating, Sirius either only met women who were smart or beautiful or caring or funny. Never one that had all any of those qualities and never one that was able to combine all those things into a single sentence whenever she spoke. 

She amazed him, her mind like a labyrinth he’d never tire of trying to figure out. 

He’s always been an honest person, a confident person. Always knows exactly what to say and when to say it but, in all honesty, he’s always put up some sort of front. A shield of sorts, always keeping people away at a safe distance. Close enough that they feel like they know him, but far enough that his true self is hidden.

There was only ever one person who knew Sirius more, if not better, than Sirius knew himself and it hurt more than fiendfyre ever could when he lost him. 

When it comes to her, though, he finds he doesn’t want to put up a mask. Sirius spent years putting up walls around himself, only to have her break them down as if they were made of sand and not brick. He wants her to see him for exactly who he is and that’s scary as all fucking hell. 

Hermione reaches for the container, clutching it tightly, close to her chest. “Thank you, Sirius.” 

“Of course,” he says softly, tucking his hands into the pockets of his trousers, smiling. “Are you off work already?”

“Oh, no.” She shakes her head, wandlessly shrinking the canister and tucking it into her purple canvas satchel. “I’m on my lunch. I was heading down to the Leaky for some food. I’ve been really craving their Shepherd's Pie.” Hermione rolls her eyes, biting her bottom lip. 

“Shepherd’s Pie?” He questions, smirking, once again thinking about Lily and her aversion to the dish. 

Hermione looks away, still biting her lip, only now she’s blushing. “I can’t help it!” She whines, pointing at her stomach. “Blame them.” 

“I didn’t say a thing,” He lifts his hand, proclaiming his innocence.

“You’re judging,” she grumbles. 

“I am not judging. How about I join you? Get you your Shepherd’s Pie, hmm?” Again, he doesn’t know the rules, but he finds he doesn’t want to leave her yet. 

“Alright, but I want a cauldron cake too,” she accepts, walking ahead of him. 

“Sure, honey. A cauldron cake too,” he chuckles, following her. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“How’re those cauldron cakes?” Sirius asks, although, judging by the moans escaping her mouth as she eats, he knows the answer. 

Maybe he’s also asking as a distraction from the downright sinful sounds she’s making. She’s even put her hair up in a messy bun to be able to dig into her food without the threat of it dipping into her pie. He can’t help but think of…well, it should be illegal, honestly, the sounds she’s making. It’s driving him absolutely barmy. 

Hermione moans one last time, washing down the last bite of her second cauldron cake with a cold glass of milk. She wipes her mouth with a napkin and brings her hand up to her mouth, sucking the rest of the chocolate from her fingers. 

Sirius can feel his trousers tightening and he readjusts himself in his seat. What the fuck is wrong with me? She’s just eating, he thinks to himself. 

“That was the best meal I’ve had in a long time,” she sighs, reclining back in the booth against the cushioned backrest. Her hands are on her stomach again, rubbing her barely there bump. 

“Ouch.” He feigns hurt, placing his hand over his heart. “I guess my salad-making skills weren’t good enough for the golden girl.”

“Oh, hush. Don’t call me that,” she laughs, dismissing his act. “Your salad was delicious.”

“I think I’ll have to learn to make Shepherd’s Pie, though, to get your high praise.” He winks at her, taking another drink of pumpkin juice. “Can’t have the Leaky of all places peg me down like this.”

“So dramatic,” She chuckles, blushing.

Again, he places his hand over his heart. smirking. “Me? Never.”

“You’re impossible,” she murmurs between giggles.

The comfort of their conversation reminds him of before. Before Remus told him to stay away, before things got complicated and she ended up pregnant. He didn’t realise it before, but he’s really missed her. Things are just so simple with Hermione when he lets himself not think about anything else. 

Although, there’s something he’s been thinking about since she left Grimmauld a couple days prior. He’s been waiting for her conversation with her best friend to have his own with Remus. “Have you talked to Pansy?” 

“I have.” She nods, still rubbing her belly. “Last night, actually. I was going to floo you after work today to tell you.” 

“How’d she take it?”

“Surprisingly well? She uh…I-I told her about u-us. Back when it happened.” She glances down at her stomach. “I’m sorry. I know I told you not to tell anyone,” she finishes with a whisper.

Before Sirius continues, he takes a quick glance around the room. While the Leaky is pretty much empty, except for the lone wizard asleep in the corner on the other side of the establishment and the Leaky’s staff, they’re alone. Still, one can never be too careful so he wandlessly puts up a silencing charm around them, making sure no one will hear their conversation.

“That’s alright,” he states, crossing his arms in front of him and tucking his hands into the pits of his elbows. “I figured you might have told her.”

“You’re not mad?” She looks nervous, her bottom lip between her teeth and brows furrowed. 

He thinks it over for a second. “Mad wouldn’t be the word. Irked, maybe but not mad.”

“I didn’t mean it, you know. When I said it was a mistake.” Her voice is so small, if it weren’t for his animagus hearing, he wouldn’t have heard her at all. 

Even if she hadn’t meant what she said, it still hurt and even though Sirius wants to let Hermione in, to see him without his mask, he’s still a bit apprehensive to believe her. It has the potential to hurt too much, in the end. 

“It’s not like I could’ve told anyone anyway.” He sniffs, gulping down the rest of his pumpkin juice. 

She looks admonished but otherwise ignores his statement. “How do you think Remus is going to take it?” She’s still not looking at him, focusing on the gentle rubs of her stomach instead.

“Fuck— not well, I’m sure,” he scoffs and notices when Hermione flinches at his words. “Things have been weird between us for a while. Twenty years a while.”

He shakes his head. For the most part, whatever conversation Sirius anticipates will happen when he talks to Remus, it’s been a long time coming. 

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs. 

Sirius tilts his head, fixing his gaze on hers. “What for?”

She shrugs. “Complicating things, I guess.”

“No, Hermione. Sweetheart—” Sirius leans forward a little more, putting weight on his elbows. “First of all, there’s nothing you need to be sorry for. As you’ve said, you didn't get pregnant on your own,” he chuckles. “Second of all, stop apologising for things when you don’t really mean it or need to.”

“Oh, I’m–” she begins, but Sirius lifts a single hand up, stopping her. 

“I know you don’t mean to and I know it’s hard. Maybe you do it as some sort of aversion to conflict or out of respect or…I don’t know. But believe me, sweetheart, it’s not worth it. You didn’t do anything wrong. Saying you’re sorry only makes yourself small. Don’t make yourself small for anyone. You’re…” He sighs. “ You’re not someone who should be constrained— for your sake and for all of us.”

Hermione nods, looking at him with something akin to appreciation and admiration.

“Remus and I…it’s complicated. With the war and well, you know,” he goes on, gesturing towards nothing. “There was so much happening all at once. Doubt was planted in our minds by someone we thought we could trust and it all happened so fast, I didn’t know what was happening. Not until I was standing over James’ body and then it only got worse after that. I’m not sure how Remus is going to take it, although I’m sure it won’t be pretty.” 

A small part of Sirius worries about how the werewolf is going to take the news. That same part of him wants to fix whatever has been off between them but another part of him is at a point where he’s going to live his life the way he wants. For Merlin’s sake, Sirius spent twelve of his most formative years in the wizarding world’s most notorious prison. 

Remus is going to have to find a way to accept that.

Sirius summons a floating pitcher of pumpkin juice and plucks it from the air and refills his cup. He lifts it up in front of him, offering some to Hermione but she shakes her head. Instead she takes the container of tea Sirius gave her, resizes it, and pours some into her cup.

She peeks up at him before taking a sip but otherwise doesn’t say anything.

Taking her cue to not mention her actions, Sirius lets go of the pitcher and watches as it floats away from their table, smiling to himself. 

“My offer to be there with you when you tell him still stands. Maybe it won’t be so bad if I’m there?” She suggests. 

“I appreciate that, honey, but I think Remus and I need to do this alone. I think we need to talk about a lot more than just this pregnancy.” He smiles softly at her. 

“Okay,” she acquiesces. “Will you floo call me after at least? When you’re done? Tell me how it went?”

“Of course, sweetheart. I can do that.” 

Another moment of silence falls between them as they both sip out of their cups.

“Thank you for this.” She smiles, holding the cup close to her chest, not looking at him. “I really needed this today.”

Sirius isn’t sure if she means just the tea or their lunch together. Regardless, he’s glad he did it too because he himself needed this just as much. 

“It’s my pleasure, sweetheart.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

By the time Sirius gets home from the Alley and sends Remus an owl, darkness has fallen upon the day. 

He decides to shower and dress for bed as soon as he gets home to save himself from dragging his feet later. As he’s pulling up a pair of old tattered joggers over his legs, he thinks of his conversation with Hermione earlier. 

“Remus and I…it’s complicated,” he’d told her. 

Although the main reason Sirius invited Remus over is to break the news about Hermione’s pregnancy and him being the father, he knows deep down that there’s a more pressing issue.

The issue, a thought, a constant lingering presence in his mind driving him to a madness he’s only ever fallen victim to once before. Suppressing it, suffocating it, the way he learned to suppress most feelings, emotions, and thoughts while in Azkaban.

Remus and Sirius had been so glad to see each other again that fateful day at the Shrieking Shack that they both had forgotten their anger towards the other entirely. Unwilling to discuss the way they both fell victim to the lies, slander and manipulation, they didn’t talk about it or mention it once. 

The anger’s been slowly simmering beneath the surface, threatening to boil over each and every time they’re in the same room. It’s nearly impossible not to feel it, not when he can feel and smell the same anger emitting off of Remus. 

Which has made Sirius wonder if Remus doesn’t want him getting close to Hermione because he thinks Sirius could betray her, hurt her the same way he thinks he hurt James and Lily. 

It’s been a conversation that’s been put off for the last twenty years.

He’s walking down the stairs of Grimmauld, wand-drying his hair and putting it up in a bun when he hears the floo pinging. 

“Pads? Pads, where are you?” Remus’ voice carries down the hall. 

Sirius sees his head poking through the fireplace when he walks into the sitting room. “Good to come through?” The werewolf asks. 

“Yeah. Come through.” 

His head disappears into the fireplace only to appear in full form and walk through the floo mere seconds after. 

Remus walks towards Sirius, pulling him in for a hug, gently clapping his hand on his back. “You look tired,” he says by way of greeting. 

He chuckles, looking outside the window, knowing full well the full moon is coming soon and Remus is most likely not feeling well. 

He chose a hell of a time to tell him. 

“You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you? Nice bags.” Sirius points to Remus' eyes. He steps away and towards the spirits cart. “Anything to drink?”

“That depends,” he challenges. “Will this conversation require a drink?” 

Sirius hangs and shakes his head, letting out a breathy chuckle. “Whisky or Scotch?”

He hears Remus shuffle behind him before answering. “Scotch.”

He prepares their drinks, about two fingers worth for both, and approaches the settee where he sees Remus is already sitting on an armchair. The same one Sirius was sitting on when Walburga told him about Regulus. 

He hands him his drink as he takes a seat. “How was your day?”

“It was…eventful. Teddy’s in his ‘why’ stage. You can imagine how maddening that can get after a while,” he explains, taking a drink of his Scotch.

“Oh?” Sirius questions, tilting his head to the side. “Why?” 

The question catches Remus off guard, causing the werewolf to snort into his glass. “Fuck off.”

Sirius throws his head back in laughter, taking a sip of his own drink. 

“So, what was so important that you dragged me out here?” His tone changes. “I reckon whatever it is is quite important.”

Right. Sirius reaches over to place his glass on the coffee table and rests his elbows on his knees. 

Here goes nothing. 

“I don’t uh-I don’t really know how to say this so—” He takes a deep breath, rubbing his hands together. “I’m just going to say it.”

“You’ve got me a bit nervous, I must admit.” 

Sirius takes another deep breath and looks up, fixing his gaze on Remus’ eyes. “Hermione’s pregnant.”

He sits there for a moment, quietly. Sirius can see all the emotions Remus feels in that moment, finally settling on shock. 

“She’s…pregnant?” He scoots closer to the edge of the armchair, the drink in his hand spilling over. “What?! Who-who’s the father?”

Another deep sigh. He’s starting to regret this, if only because of the scene of it all but Remus is all he has left and he doesn’t want to have to answer any questions later. Regardless, Sirius raises a hand holding two fingers up. “That would be me.”

A blanket of silence falls around them. It’s so quiet, it’s deafening. Underneath the silence though, he can feel the energy in the room shift. A humming in his chest and Sirius realises it’s the werewolf’s anger. Sirius keeps his gaze on Remus who has set his own glass down on the side table, now refusing to look at him. “When? How?”

“I’m sure you don’t need a lesson in how. ” He’s trying to lighten the mood but he doesn’t fall for the bait. James always did say he had terrible timing. 

“Don’t.” He seethes, a growl rising from somewhere deep within his chest.

This time Sirius lifts both arms in surrender. 

“When?” He asks again. 

“About four months ago. After Theo’s party at Potter Cottage.”

“Are you sure it’s yours?” His voice is low. 

“I’m sure.” Sirius says matter of factly. 

Remus shoves the armchair back as he furiously stands up. “I told you what would happen if you were reckless!”

He remains seated, his hands fisted so tight, his nails are digging into the palms of his hands and his fingertips are tingling with frustrated magic waiting to be released but he chooses to remain seated, being reprimanded like a child.

“And what about Hermione!?” Remus continues, pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace. “She had her whole life ahead of her and now—”

“Yes, because now I’ve ruined her life, right? She’s tainted!” Sirius seethes back, cutting him off. 

He stops suddenly, turning around and slamming his hands on the coffee table, right in front of Sirius, glaring at him with his deep forest-green eyes. “She’s twenty fucking years younger than you! ”

Sirius snarls. “She’s twenty-two years old, Remus, she’s an adult, not a child.” 

He pushes himself away from the coffee table. “You don’t even know her! You have this delusion about her where you think you…I don’t know. It’s a ridiculous infatuation, Sirius. ” 

“You don’t bloody well know anything, Remus!” He finally cracks, yelling back. “I know plenty about her and you’d know that if you didn’t treat me like a child. You’re not my fucking father, Remus! You’re supposed to be my fucking friend!”

“Your friend,” he mutters under his breath, scoffing. “That’s not the fucking point.” 

“Then what is the fucking point, hmm?! Cause I’m having a rather hard time finding it myself!”

Remus laughs although there’s no humour behind it. “Di-did you even stop to think about Harry!? No, of course you didn’t because you’re too selfish to think about anyone else but yourself,” he growls.

“You think I don’t think about that every time I see him!?” Sirius seethes through gritted teeth. “I didn’t plan this, Remus. It just happened. I don’t even remember being with her.”

“Of course, you don’t,” he scoffs. “Why would you?”

“Oh, fuck you, Remus.” Finally, Sirius stands up, his feet kicking the table away. “You hypocritical shite. Your own bloody wife is thirteen years younger than you!” He spits. “And what did you do when you found out? You ran! Like a ruddy coward.”

Remus lunges himself directly in front of Sirius, jabbing his finger in his chest. “You know why I ran!” He snarls. 

The same time Sirius shoves Remus back with both hands on his chest, a glass vase behind him breaks. Sirius’ anger finally breaks through. “That’s right! I do know! Which is why I thought you’d know that I won’t run away!”

They stare at each other, nostrils flaring and brows furrowed. Their chests rising and falling from their heaving breaths, and hands fisted, their anger making the air around them crackle with magic. The humming in Sirius’s chest surging like electricity. 

Sirius softly shakes his head, not once breaking eye contact with the werewolf. “This is my…” His voice cracks but he refuses to let his emotions take over. He clears his throat and continues. “This is my chance to have a family again. I never gave a fuck about whether or not I was good enough for anyone but it kills me to know I’m not good enough for her and I don’t need you to remind me of it every bloody fucking minute.”

He steps away from him, letting himself fall back on an armchair. “I know what this is really about. You think I’m going to-to betray her or abandon her. Isn’t that right? The way you think I betrayed them and abandoned you.”

Remus doesn’t respond. His chest is still heaving from all the anger that’s built up in him. From the extra adrenaline from the pending full moon. He just stands there, breathing deeply, hard. 

“I know I was careless. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t regret how I went about things.” His voice is hoarse and his throat is dry and it hurts to talk, physically and emotionally, but he continues even though his body feels heavy and weak. 

“Not a single day goes by where I don’t wish I’d gotten there sooner because I had this feeling something wasn’t right but I ignored it because, of course, I was too busy getting my cock wet,” he scoffs. “There isn’t a day where I don’t think about Reggie, about how I let him drown in the goddamn hatred of our fucking family.” 

He looks up at Remus who has his back turned to him. “And I know you’re still mad at me, Remus, I can smell it on you whenever we’re in the same room but I’m fucking angry with you, too. For believing that I would ever betray James. I—” Sirius hits his own chest with his fist when his voice finally gives out and his body shakes from the sobs escaping his lips. 

Every day is a battle, a choice that Sirius has to make to not think about James. A decision to think about him happy and alive, laughing rather than the way he last saw him, but it’s gotten harder as the years go by. Every day his face gets blurrier and his voice becomes more distorted. Even with Harry around, an almost carbon copy of his father, it’s not the same because Harry will never be James. And even though James, Remus, and Sirius were close in school, there’s no denying that he and James were closer with each other than the others. They were brothers. Platonic soulmates. 

Sirius wipes away his tears with the back of his hand, sniffling. “You can be angry with me about this all you want. You can hate me, but this? This baby? Hermione? Don’t take it out on them. They don’t deserve it. I may not be good enough for them but I’m not going anywhere.”

The werewolf runs his hands up and down his face and through his hair as he releases a deep sigh and takes a seat. “I suppose a part of me thinks she can't trust you the way I used to. That you’ll hurt her the way you’ve hurt others in the past.”

“I would never hurt her,” he promises. “You’re going to have to get over that sooner or later, Remus. Wormtail was the one that betrayed everyone. Not me.”

“And you thinking I was a spy working with the werewolves?” He looks at Sirius with a single brow raised.

Sirius deflates even more. “I should’ve never believed that fucking rat or have been suspicious of Dumbledore never making it clear why you were gone. I was so fucking scared and angry and that’s not a good excuse. I know it’s not but I am sorry for ever thinking the worst of you.”

“I shouldn’t have believed him either,” Remus concludes. “I suppose I just needed someone to be angry at and made myself believe it all made sense. It was easier.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes. Each of them lost in their own thoughts, looking anywhere but each other. Finally, Sirius breaks the silence. “Where does this leave us?”

Remus turns to glance at him, shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t know, Pads. I really don’t know. There’s still so much to talk about but I’m bloody tired and I should be heading home.” Remus stands up from his seat, grabs a handful of floo powder and calls out Lupin Cottage. He disappears into the emerald flames of the floo before Sirius can even respond. 

He stares at the spot Remus was just standing in, surrounded in guilt and shame and all he wants to do is retreat to his bedroom and sleep for the next hundred years but he has one last thing he needs to do before he calls it a night. 

He slides down from the armchair and sinks to his knees, crawling the rest of the way over to the fireplace. He grabs a handful of floo powder and throws it in as he calls out the address. 

The flames turn bright emerald once more and he sticks his head in only to come face to face with Hermione who must’ve been waiting for his call. “Sirius?” Her voice is laced with concern. 

“Hi, honey.” He sounds so defeated. He’s so tired. 

“Is everything okay? Are you alright?” She lifts her hand as if to caress his face but stops herself, instead getting closer. 

He hangs his head, shaking it and doesn’t answer. 

“Move back,” she says, determined. “I’m coming through.”

Chapter Text

Six months (26 weeks) 

His hair feels as soft as silk beneath her fingertips, running them through his long salt-and-pepper waves, dragging her nails along his scalp before tugging on the strands. Sirius growls against her, the sound vibrating against her cunt. His tongue swirls against her sensitive clit and he sucks before removing his mouth entirely. 

“Now, that wasn’t very nice.” His voice sounds guttural, laced with lust and a breathiness. He looks at her over her swollen belly and smirks. He doesn’t give Hermione a chance to respond, instead thrusting two fingers inside her tight cunt. “Was it, sweetheart?”

“Oh, fuck!” Hermione moans, biting her lip from the shock of his fingers spreading her open. Sirius curls his fingers when he’s deep inside, hitting the spot that he knows she loves so much. “Sirius, I…I can’t,” she sobs. 

She’s overwhelmed, overstimulated. He’s made her come twice from his tongue alone and she thinks that a third time will completely shatter her, send her into an entirely different plane of existence. Despite being pregnant, she feels weightless, like she’s floating.

“Yes, you can.” He curls his fingers again. “C’mon, honey. Give me one more.” Sirius attaches his lips to her clit once more, licking with the tip of his tongue and laying it flat against her when she starts rocking her hips back and forth, fucking herself on his tongue and fingers.

Each thrust builds up the pressure in her belly, tighter and tighter, spreading to her legs and down to her toes, until it’s too much and she lets herself go. Her orgasm is so strong— she squeezes her eyes so tight, bursts of light exploding behind her lids.

She lets herself remember the feeling before she’s finally able to regain her breath. Only, when she opens her eyes again, he’s gone. 

She looks around her room, looking for the man who just brought her immeasurable pleasure, only to find she’s the only one there. 

It’s quiet, except for her heavy breaths and Crooks’ purring by her legs. Her hand is tucked into her knickers, her fingers sticky and the material wet. Hermione drops her head onto her pillow with a soft thud and releases an exasperated sigh, removing her hand from beneath her pyjama bottoms. 

“Not again,” she whines. 

Ever since Hermione crossed the threshold and into Grimmauld to comfort Sirius after his fight with Remus, things have been more…comfortable between them. 

While she’d gone to lend him an ear to talk about Remus, they hardly even talked about the argument they had at all. 

Sirius insisted he was okay, or rather, that he would be okay and asked her to talk about something else, anything else. So, she did. They talked about her job and how although she loves books, working at a bookshop where people recognise her, always referring to her as a ‘war heroine’ at first, wasn’t her brightest idea. 

They shared stories, their most ridiculous experiences dealing with people that recognised them, finding humour in them if only to forget how absolutely horrible their encounters were. Hermione even caught him up on the latest shop square gossip. 

Needless to say, she had been successful in distracting Sirius. So successful, that amidst all the talking, they’d both somehow fallen asleep on his settee. 

Hermione woke up the next day to find herself laying on top of Sirius, between his legs, sleeping on his stomach. Even with a sore back (oh, how she missed sleeping on her stomach) and a stiff neck, she couldn’t find it within herself to be upset about the aches and pains. Sirius cooked her breakfast, where they talked some more (but not about her sleeping over) and then she left to get ready for work. 

Spending her afternoons with Sirius after work became something of a regular thing for them, too. All in all, they were getting closer and that both scared her and excited her. 

Excited her so much that she’s been having frequent and very realistic sex dreams about the man. The tall, salt-and-pepper haired, tattooed, somewhat jaded man that she’s had a crush on since she was sixteen and is now the father of her child at twenty-two. 

It’s an experience watching him work on his clients bikes in his backyard— watching his hands and the way his back flexes when he moves and the way the veins in his arms pop out as he works leaves a lot to the imagination, leaving her mind to wander as she sleeps. This morning’s dream is the third one within the last two weeks. 

Still, she decides to blame most of it on her pregnancy. Her hormones have just gone completely haywire. 

Yes, that’s it. 

Hermione wiggles herself close to the edge of the bed and slips her swollen feet into her slippers. Her knees crack as she puts her full weight on her legs, standing up. She presses against her lower back, trying to alleviate some of the pain, gently leaning back to try and stretch, but at the same time, suddenly, she feels a sharp pain below her stomach. 

“Ow. Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow.” She takes calm, slow, deep breaths. 

In— one, two, three. 

Out— one, two, three. 

Over and over, rubbing her protruding belly until the pain ebbs away. “That’s new,” she says to herself. “Okay, everything’s okay. I'm sure it's nothing. Right, little bug? You’re nice and cosy in there.” 

Hermione waddles downstairs (yes, she’s waddling now) and walks straight into the kitchen where she washes her hands, washing away the evidence of her desires. 

“I left your oatmeal in the microweve under a warming charm,” Pansy announces from behind her. 

“Wave.” Hermione corrects her, turning around and drying her hands on a towel. 

“Why would I need to wave? We’re roommates.” The brunette looks at her confused. 

“Micro wave, Pans. Microwave.”

“Ah. Whatever,” she says flippantly, waving her away. She sneaks a peak at Hermione from over her shoulder. “You okay, Min? Look a little flushed.” Pansy smirks as she points her wand at her dirty dishes to wash themselves.

“It’s these… bloody hot flashes. Did you know hot flashes are a fun perk of pregnancy?” Hermione smiles, although there’s no humour behind it. 

“Hot flashes, huh?” Pansy turns to look at her, raising a single perfectly styled brow up in question. 

“That’s right.” Hermione sniffs, she can feel her face heat up. Pansy has been her best friend long enough to know when she’s omitting the truth. Technically, she’s not lying. Hermione has, in fact, been dealing with hot flashes along with the waddling because of her swollen ankles.  

Her roommate stays quiet, staring at her with her green eyes sparkling with knowledge. 

“Alright!” She yells, giving in to the tension. “I’m horny, okay?! I woke up this morning with my hand in my knickers because I was having a sex dream about Sirius. And Pansy,” she whines, “It was good. It was so good. He was doing this thing with his tongue and his fingers and—”

“So, sleep with him again,” she interrupts, a smirk still plastered on her face. Hermione wants to slap it off her face. “I’m sure he’ll understand.”

“Oh. Right, like it’s that easy,” she scoffs, rolling her eyes as she walks to the dining table and sits on one of the chairs, covering her face with the palm of her hand. “That’s not embarrassing at all.”

Pansy follows, sitting beside her. “Min, that man has already fucked your brains out once.”

“Pans!” She gasps. “Don’t say it like that!”

“You’re literally pregnant with his child as we speak,” Pansy deadpans, reaching over to rub Hermione’s stomach. “Besides, what if your dreams are what actually happened?”

Hermione never thought of it that way, at least not about her dreams somehow being memories from her night with Sirius. Although she knows that he’s the father, seeing as he’s the only man she’s slept with before and since, Hermione has no recollection of the night in question. Which isn’t surprising as they were both drunk out of their minds, but for someone who has such an inquiring mind, a need to know everything about everything, it’s been driving her barmy not knowing how their night went. 

She’s enjoying Pansy’s soothing belly rubs when she speaks again. This time with a serious tone. “You’re gonna have to tell Harry soon, Min.”

Hermione blinks away the haze of her wandering mind and refocuses on Pansy. “What? Why?”

“Because, Min,” Pansy pulls back and crosses her arms in front of her chest. “It's getting a little obvious that you’re pregnant. You’ve been able to conceal your belly with baggy clothes but…you can’t hide forever, Min,” she laments. “You’ve got to tell him. He'll understand.”

She knows she’s right. She knows she can’t hide forever. Even when Neville comes over to spend the night at their flat, Hermione hides her stomach under layers of baggy sweaters with the excuse that the flat is too cold. She’s not sure if he's buying it but Neville is also too quiet to say anything at all and, really, that’s good enough for her. 

“What if he hates me instead?” She whispers. “What if he’s disgusted by me for…Sirius is his godfather, Pansy.”

“He would never hate you, Min. And if he did, then he’s not the friend you deserve. You didn’t do anything wrong, you hear me? Neither of you planned this and now, just like you and Sirius, he’s going to have to deal and navigate this new change like the big boy golden saviour of the wizarding world he is.” Pansy reaches for her hand and lightly squeezes. “And you have me, Theo, Nev…you have so many people that care about you, love and support you.”

Hermione’s eyes burn with tears and she lets out a wet laugh at the mention of their friends. “Those are all basically his friends. I only know you all because of him.”

“And, as much as we tolerate him, we stayed because of you,” Pansy corrects her.

She smiles at her roommate, her best friend, and she’s reaching over to give her a hug when another sharp pain stabs her below her stomach, this time causing her to jerk in her seat. 

If it’s even possible, Pansy straightens up more, her hands instinctively on Hermione’s stomach and face laced with concern. “Min? Are you okay?”

“I’m–” another stab right in the same spot. “Fuck, ow!” Hermione grabs one of Pansy's hands and squeezes hard. “Pansy, I think something is wrong. It–it hurts.” Hermione cries, clutching the bottom of her belly, squeezing her eyes shut from the pain.

Pansy is instantly on her feet, pushing her chair away with the force of her body as she stands and grabs a hold of Hermione, helping her stand up. “We need to get you to St. Mungo’s now. Come on.” 

She does her best to stand but her legs are weak from the pain and all she wants is to lay down in the foetal position and cry until it all goes away. But, also, she really wants…

“Sirius!” She yells, panicked. “Pansy, you have to tell Sirius. He has to be there!”

“I’ll let him know as soon as we get there, Min.” Pansy grabs a handful of floo powder and situates them both in the floo before yelling out “St. Mungos!”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The lobby is mostly empty when they arrive, save for a few patients who are more concerned over their own emergencies to pay attention to who’s just appeared from the floo. 

Pansy walks Hermione over to the desk and she notices it’s the same healer who was here months prior when she first found out she was pregnant.  

“H-hi,” Hermione grunts. “I don’t know if you remember me–”

“Ms. Granger!” She smiles. “How could I not?” She glances down at her belly and then back up. “Isn’t it a bit too early for you to be here?” The healer whispers. 

“We need to see the head healer, now, please!” Pansy says impatiently. 

“Harper!” Hermione grunts again. “He-healer Harper, is she here?”

“I will track her down if it’s the last thing I do, Ms. Granger,” she scrunches her face looking determined. “Please, go ahead and wait in room four. Make yourself as comfortable as possible and we’ll be right with you.”

Pansy is about to walk her over before the healer stops them again. “Uh, sorry,” she’s holding up a clipboard with a form in one hand and a quill in the other. “I just need someone to fill out the paperwork?” 

“I’ll take care of it when I’m back.” The Slytherin rolls her eyes. 

She has an arm around Hermione’s back while holding on to her arm with the other, leading the way. She’s walking at the same pace Hermione is and a part of her feels terrible for being such an inconvenience but the other is more grateful for having someone who’s able to keep their composure under pressure. Merlin knows she’s had to hold many people up and keep her composure many times before. 

“Alright, Min, go ahead and take a seat.” Pansy sits her down on the exam bed and grabs her wand, pointing it at a couple of posters and conjures them into a pillow and a blanket. “I’m going to fill out the paperwork and make sure she’s looking for Healer Harper, and maybe get you some of the good potions.”

Hermione lays down, getting as comfortable as she can on her side, and wraps herself up in her blanket. “Don’t forget Sirius, Pans. Please.” 

“I won’t. I’m going to get him as soon as I leave this room. I promise.” Pansy leaves and as soon as she closes the door behind her, Hermione lets herself cry. She’s scared. She’s so scared, she’s lost and it’s a feeling she’s felt only once before. 

Hermione has watched her belly grow over the course of six months, nurturing the baby that’s growing and getting stronger inside her, caring for them as much as she possibly can without being too careful. 

The thought of something happening before they even have a chance is even more painful than the physical pain she feels. 

She doesn’t know how long she’s been waiting, the sharp jabs are now just one consistent pain and it gets stronger every time she breathes in. She’s starting to fall asleep when she hears his voice far away from the other side of the door. 

“Hermione?!” He yells, panic and concern laced in his voice. “Where is she?! Hermione?!”

Hermione hears him arguing with someone else and then the door bursts wide open. 

Sirius is standing there, looking at her curled up on the exam table with her blanket and pillow and tears running down her face as she clutches onto her belly. Hermione scoots up as he begins to approach her. 

“Sir! Sir, you can’t be in here!” The front healer insists, looking over at Hermione apologetically, walking after him. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Granger! He wouldn’t listen! I’ll just get him out.”

He ignores the healer and instead Sirius sits beside her, scoops her into his arms and cradles her. “I’m not going anywhere,” he growls, clenching his jaw and glaring at the healer. “You and the rest of the healers can try and take me away from her but then I’d have to show you exactly why I was thrown in Azkaban.”

Either the healer knows Sirius is full of shit because everyone knows he was falsely imprisoned or she doesn’t want to have to find out if he’ll make true on his threat and doesn’t want to have to deal with the aftermath because she gives them both a stern nod and closes the door behind her. 

“You big, lying, scary man,” Hermione mumbles, giving him a weak chuckle. 

Sirius tenderly caresses her cheek, wiping away the tears on her face with his thumb. “Did I scare you?” He whispers, his grey eyes piercing through hers.

She’s a little breathless and maybe it’s from the pain but maybe it’s also from the way he’s looking at her, but she manages to say, “You could never scare me.”

“You scared me,” he replies. “Sweetheart, are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“It hurts,” she sobs, clutching onto his shirt tighter and tighter as the pain keeps throbbing. “It hurts so much. I’m so scared, Sirius. What if–”

“Shh, shh, shh,” he cuts her off, soothing her. “They’re coming to help you, baby.” He reassures her. “Show me where it hurts.”

Hermione grabs his hand and places it over the spot beneath her belly where it hurts. He keeps his hand there as if sheer will on his part will make it completely go away. 

She snuggles closer to him, her nose on his neck and she takes a deep breath; he smells of motor oil and sandalwood and she can’t help but think that it’s the most delicious smell in the world. 

Hermione’s surprised by how easy it is to be this close to him. Maybe it’s because her body remembers what it’s like being with him intimately, even if she herself doesn’t remember, or maybe it’s from also having literally slept with him, but being this close to him feels as natural as the first time she ever held her wand. As natural as the magic flowing through her veins, and it makes her blood thrum. 

He’s started tracing small circles with his thumb on her belly, holding her like she’ll disappear if he loosens his grip on her at all. Just then, she feels the baby kick. 

His ministrations come to a complete stop and she hears him suck in a breath. “D-did they just…”

Hermione smiles weakly, her head still on his shoulder. “They did.”

“Have…is this…” She can hear him getting choked up, can hear the hope in his voice. 

“It is,” she confirms. “They mostly only move around but this is the first time they’ve kicked. They must know you’re here.”

She can hear his breath shake when he exhales and his eyes look brighter as they well up with tears. He opens his mouth to say something but instead he holds her closer and puts a bit more pressure on her belly with his hand as if doing so will get them to kick once more. 

Just then the door opens again, this time, revealing Healer Harper. “Ms. Granger, I came as soon as I heard you— oh, hello.”

Healer Harper stops abruptly as soon as she notices Sirius is with her. “And you are…” she looks at Hermione for help, not wanting to make assumptions. 

“I’m sure you know Sirius, Healer Harper.” Her voice is small. She’s tired but the pain has ebbed away and she’s not sure if it’s because of Sirius but being in his arms is making her sleepy. “He’s-he’s the father.”

“Of course.” She smiles softly, nodding. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Black.”

“Likewise.” Sirius’ voice breaks and he clears his throat. “And please, just Sirius.”

She nods again. “Well, let’s take a look at what’s happening here.”

Healer Harper approaches the table expecting Sirius to remove himself from Hermione but he doesn’t make any attempt to move at all. It makes Hermione’s heart swell and she relishes in the feeling. She knows this is only happening because they’re both scared because she’s in pain and because they both just felt their baby kick for the first time. Don't get attached, Hermione.

“Mr– ah, Sirius,” she quickly corrects herself. “I need to do a quick examination on Ms. Granger, if you’d please…” 

“Right, of course.” Sirius gently lets go of her and she sits up but he doesn’t go far, sitting on the other side of her, making sure he hears everything. 

She performs the same spell from before, making the room glow a yellowish hue. Hermione waits anxiously and as soon as she hears the baby’s heart, she releases another sob, this time one of relief. 

“It looks like everything’s perfectly fine,” she announces. 

“Are you sure?” Sirius asks, concerned. “She was crying, she was in a lot of pain.”

“I’m certain, Sirius,” she says patiently. “This is quite common, actually. It’s what the muggles call Braxton Hicks Contractions— false labour pain.”

“But they felt so real,” Hermione replies weakly. 

“Unfortunately, they feel as real as what you’ll feel once you’re ready to go into labour,” she sympathises. “But you’re both perfectly healthy. Nothing to worry about, love.”

“And if it happens again?” Sirius questions. 

“If it happens again she can take this.” Healer Harper hands him a vial filled with light blue liquid. “It’s a simple pain solution, harmless to the baby. Just a drop or two will do and she’ll be fine.”

“Two drops,” he repeats, clutching the vial in his fist. It looks so small in his hand, compared to either hers or Healer Harper's where it looks like a normal sized vial. She thinks about her dream again, the way his big hands, his fingers felt inside her. The way they stretched her open and made her come but she quickly pushes the thought away, squirming in her seat.

She feels him turn to look at her then. She can feel her face heat up and she's getting a little warm but she refuses to look at him, keeping her eyes on Healer Harper.

“Before I remove the charm…” the Healer says, getting both their attention once more. “Would you both like to know the sex of your baby?”

Hermione turns to look at him then, their brows shooting up to their hairlines. She searches for something in his eyes and she finds that he’s searching for the same in hers and something tells her that they’re both thinking the same thing. 

Hermione turns to look at the Healer. “Actually…um, I think we’d both like to wait til-til the baby is born…” She looks over at him again and sees him nodding, agreeing with her. 

“Oh, how exciting!” Healer Harper claps, showing a side of herself she hadn’t shown before. “Well, if you don’t need anything more from me…”

“Thank you, Healer Harper. I’m sorry to have called for you so last minute and for nothing, it seems.”

“Nonsense, my dear! It’s my job and I’m happy to do it. I know what it’s like to be a first time mum. My wife and I just had a baby as well.” The Healer hands Sirius a small piece of paper. “If there’s ever anything you need, this is my floo number. Please, don’t hesitate to call.”

The Healer takes her leave only to be immediately replaced by Pansy. “Oh, Merlin, that bloody well took forever,” she complains. “So, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong, Pans. They were just false labour pains,” Hermione explains, huffing. 

“False labour pains?” She repeats. 

“She said it’s common and that if it happens again to give her two drops of this.” Sirius hands her the vial. “You know, just so you can have it ready if it happens again.”

Pansy wraps her hand around the vial, holding it close to her chest. Her head is cocked to the side, making her perfectly styled hair flow with the movement. Her lips are pursed as if deep in thought and Hermione can tell when she’s finally made up her mind. 

“Actually,” she begins, grabbing a chair from against the wall and repositioning it in front of them both. “I think you two should live together.”

“What?” Sirius whips his head to stare incredulously at Pansy.

Hermione gasps, leaning forward. “You…you don’t want to live with me anymore?”

“That’s not it at all, Min.” Pansy scoots closer to the edge of her seat. “Things are happening, very important things, and I think it’s better for Sirius to be with you when they happen. I’m more than happy to help but I think the father of your child should be the first to be there for all of it.”

“I…” Hermione turns to look at Sirius who has a pensive look on his face. “I don’t want to disrupt your life.”

“That would be the very last thing you’d be doing, sweetheart,” He responds, smiling. “I’m not exactly sure if Grimmauld would be the best place, though. I don’t, uh, I don’t want either of you around that environment.”

“Our flat has three bedrooms,” Pansy offers up. “One of which I use as an office but I can easily move everything out.”

“Where would you go, Pans?” Hermione wonders.

“Neville’s,” she says as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world. “He’s got a small cottage but it’s big enough for the both of us and there’s an extra room for my office.”

Hermione wishes Pansy spoke to her in private about this before bringing it up in front of Sirius. As grateful as she is that he rushed to her side as soon as Pansy got a hold of him, she knows it was only because she’s pregnant with his child. 

Things between them were only just starting to get good again. They weren’t exactly back to normal, the way they were before she got pregnant, but she’s happy with the progress they’ve made, if only for the sake of their baby and peace between them. Although, she can’t help but think that it’s only because she’s pregnant. He’s being attentive and inquisitive and showing up not because she might mean more to him but because he wouldn’t think of abandoning his child, of not being around them the way he couldn’t be there for Harry.

Maybe, at some point, it might have been that way— where he might’ve had feelings for her and they could’ve considered being together, but now, after the way she handled things… that’s all gone.

Her reaction, six months ago, is one of her biggest regrets. 

She looks over at Pansy who is looking back at her with a sort of imploring look on her face, cocking her brows.

“As long as it’s not an inconvenience to you, of course,” Hermione agrees.

“Perfect!” Pansy cheers, clapping her hands and handing the vial back to Sirius. “We’ll get started this weekend. I’ll go and tell Neville now!”

“Wait, he doesn’t even know?!” Hermione practically yells from shock.

“Oh, it’s fine,” she brushes off, smirking. “He’s been hinting at us moving in together for a while now but I just like watching him squirm.”

Sirius chuckles. “Poor sod.” He removes himself from the table, pocketing the vial before stretching his arm out for Hermione to take, helping her off the table.

They’re both following Pansy out of the room and turning the corner down the hall when she hears another familiar voice. “I told you I’d be okay, Theo.”

“If it weren’t for me you wouldn’t have come at all. What if that bloody experiment makes you grow a third eye or another nose? I do love you, Harry, but I’d have some things to reconsider.”

“Piss off, Nott” Harry scoffs. 

“Or maybe something else would grow,” Theo replies suggestively.

Standing in front of the welcome desk are both Harry and Theo who turn to look at her, Pansy, and Sirius.

“Sirius?” Harry announces. “Hermione? Are…are you okay? What—” But as soon as Harry removes himself from the counter, he sees Hermione’s full belly and Sirius’ hand on the small of her back.

“You’re pregnant?” His voice goes up a couple of octaves.

“Very astute boyfriend you’ve got, Theo,” Pansy comments.

“Please,” Theo rolls his eyes. “Someone could hit Neville with a Quaffle right to his face and he still wouldn’t notice.”

“What’s going on?” Harry ignores the Slytherin’s, bringing the attention back to Sirius and Hermione.

She glances up at Sirius, fidgeting with her fingers and biting her bottom lip.

“There’s something we need to tell you, son.”

Chapter Text

Harry’s burning a path on Hermione’s, or now, their flat’s sitting room floor from his constant pacing around the room. Back and forth, back and forth, around the room, over and over for the last fifteen minutes. Well, maybe it’s only been five, three even, but it feels like fifteen minutes because he and Hermione have been sitting on the couch in complete silence waiting for him to speak. 

Sirius takes the opportunity to look around his new living room. It’s small but spacious, warm. Bookshelves overstuffed with books frame the windows — with a big grey armchair he’s sure she sits in when she reads — and are covered with knick knacks and pictures, both magical and muggle. Hermione with Harry and Ron, some of just her and Crooks and some with Pansy or of all of them together. In all of them, she’s smiling.

Something about them makes him mournful yet hopeful. Mournful because he can’t help but think of his own pictures left behind in his old flat he’d just moved into before being taken into Azkaban, and how, if he still had them, he could mix them in with hers. Pictures of him with Lily, James, a baby Harry, and Remus. Mournful because he’ll never have new pictures with some of them, celebrating life after so much loss.

Hopeful because Hermione, who has gone through so much loss in her life, who gave up the entirety of her childhood to fight a war that wasn't hers to begin with, who suffered through torture at the hands of a witch so insane, is able to still find joy. To laugh with friends whose funerals she thought she’d have to attend, at one point.

He gently shakes his head, shaking such thoughts away, and instead he thinks about his things and how they’ll look blended in with hers. His records mixed in with her books, his record player sitting on top of the shelf next to her small statue of a cat that looks like Crookshanks. 

He thinks of pictures of him, her, and their baby mixed in with the rest, as if they’ve always belonged there. A small preview into their life as a family on display for others to look at and admire. Capture frozen moments of memories that he and Hermione never want to forget  and will reminisce over fondly.

“So, you’re telling me—” Harry stops his pacing in front of them, breaking Sirius away from his thoughts. “That you two had a one-night stand six months ago, my best friend and my godfather, the closest thing I have to a father, and now you,” he points at Hermione, “are pregnant with his child?”

“That’s right,” Sirius says and Hermione weakly nods, hanging her head, and he hates it. He can feel her fidgeting beside him so he reaches for her hand, encapsulating it with his, hoping to lend her his Gryffindor courage until hers comes to the surface.

“I guess my only question is…why did you think you couldn’t tell me?” Hermione’s head snaps up to look at Harry. 

“We… I–” She begins but her words die on her tongue, her shoulders sag and brows furrow.

Harry takes a deep breath as he takes a seat, resting his elbows on his thighs . “I…I’m sorry if I ever gave either of you the impression that you couldn’t come to me.” 

“Harry…” Sirius tries this time but Hermione stops him. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” She cries, practically sobbing. “It was me, I asked him not to say anything and I never should have asked that of him but I was scared that you would ha—”

“Breathe, sweetheart. Breathe.” He traces small circles with his thumb on her hand and glances up at his godson. “It’s okay, darling.”

Harry’s eyes flicker down to where their hands are connected, noticing the way that Sirius attempts to ground her, to sooth her with his thumb. He cocks his head and his eyes soften but his lips drop into a frown. “You were scared of me, Mione?”

Hermione removes her hand from his grip and the loss of it feels cold, but she turns her hand over to intertwine their fingers  and she squeezes. The unspoken trust she has in him makes his heart swell. 

“Not of you,” she says, clearing her throat, sniffling. “More of what you’d say, what you’d do. I…I thought you would hate me.”

“Hate? Merlin, Hermione, no.” Harry scoots closer in his seat, boring his emerald eyes into hers. “I could never hate you. You’re my best friend, Hermione. You helped me when I was scared once I figured out who I am. You encouraged me to pursue Theo, to be happy. I’d be daft to ever hate you,” he chuckles. 

“It’s been so hard doing this without you,” she whispers. 

Harry reaches out to grab ahold of her other hand. “I understand why you didn’t tell me, Hermione. I do.” His voice is soft, gentle. “But I’m happy for you. For the both of you.” His godson’s eyes flick over at him, smiling. “Life wasn’t so easy for us for a moment there, we didn’t think we’d make it here. We’re allowed to be a little selfish.”

She lets out a wet laugh, holding both their hands a little tighter now, her knuckles almost white. 

“Who uh…who else knows?” Harry asks. 

Hermione turns to Sirius and he gives her a little nod. His hair falls over his eyes from the gesture and he runs his fingers through it, pushing it away. 

“Well, Pansy knows. Roommate and all. She’s the one that got Hermione to the hospital earlier today.” He looks at Hermione again. “Remind me to send her a gift basket later.” 

She giggles and he thinks he could get used to the sound filling their home, especially if he’s the reason.

“About that, are you okay?” Harry asks, concerned. 

“Yes, yes. Everything’s fine. False alarm,” she reassures him. 

“Good, good. That’s good.” He relaxes. “So, is Pansy the only one?”

“No,” says Sirius. “I told Remus about two weeks ago.”

Harry’s brows shoot up in surprise. “Remus? How’d that go?”

It’s not lost on Sirius that his godson’s picked up on the mistrust between him and Remus. Harry has a tendency to be more aloof, just like James was but, also like James, Harry pays attention when people think he isn’t. Keeps himself under the radar and uses his knowledge when it’s least expected. Sometimes he thinks that they both should’ve been Slytherins.

“We’ve still got a few things to work out,” Sirius sighs. This time he feels Hermione trace circles on his hand with her thumb.

“I could talk to him…” he suggests. 

He pats Harry’s thigh gently, shaking his head. “That’s quite alright, son. It should be resolved between old friends.”

Harry nods back, accepting Sirius’ decision. He’s about to say something else but he’s interrupted when Hermione yawns. “Oh, excuse me, Harry. Please, continue.”

Of course she’s tired. She’d been in pain most of the morning and crying just as much. The stress of the situation as well as the pregnancy itself probably tired her out more than usual.

“You should take a nap, bug,” he suggests. “You’ve had a long morning. Have you eaten already?”

He gazes over at Hermione, who’s looking back at him with surprise on her face, a sort of joy in her eyes, a secret he wants more than anything to discover.

“Oatmeal,” she blurts out. “I had oatmeal this morning. Pansy had it ready for me when I woke up.”

“Alright. You go head up. I’m going to grab a few things from Grimmauld first. I’ll make you something to eat when you wake up.”

“Shepherd's pie?” She smirks as she stands up, removing her hand from his to rub her belly, but Sirius is too distracted to realise how empty his hand feels as he throws his head back, letting out a bark of laughter. 

Sirius stands up too, holding his stomach as he continues chuckling. “I’m afraid I haven’t perfected it yet.”

“Boo,” she mocks, rolling her eyes, catching a glimpse of Harry looking very confused.

He clears his throat, his voice raspy from laughter. “We forgot to mention that Pansy thought it’d be better if we lived together. In case Hermione needs help.” 

“Right. Right, that makes sense.” He nods, scratching the back of his neck. “I could help you move, if you think you’d need it?”

“I would like that, son. Thank you.” Sirius takes his offer with a warm smile.

“I should be leaving,” his godson announces, standing up himself. “Should probably head back to St. Mungo’s or else Theo really will leave me if I grow a third ear on my neck.” He sighs, exasperated. 

“Thank you for everything, Harry. We’ll see you this weekend? For the move?” She leans in to hug him.

“I’ll be here,” he nods. “And I’ll bring Theo along. He probably won’t be much help moving anything but he’s nosy and I won’t be able to keep him away.”

Hermione laughs and again, Sirius’ chest swells. “Well, goodbye, Harry.”

“I’ll be right back, bug,” he tells her as he hears Harry call out an address and then the sounds of the emerald flames. 

Hermione yawns again, the freckles on her nose disappearing as she scrunches her nose and her eyes well up with tired tears. “Okay,” she notes, stepping back and heading up the stairs.

Sirius throws floo powder into the floo, calling out for Grimmauld Place where he instantly appears only, when he steps out, he sees Harry standing in the middle of his sitting room. 

“Harry?” He calls for him. 

He turns around and approaches Sirius, his emerald green eyes never leaving his. Eyes that still knock the wind out of him from the grief he holds for Lily, piercing into his grey ones. Harry takes a deep breath and sets his shoulders, “Do you love her?”

The question catches Sirius off guard. This would be another moment to add to the few where he’s been utterly and completely speechless. He opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out. 

His godson just stands there, patiently waiting for Sirius to answer him. 

“Do I love— I…” he doesn’t even know what to say. 

“It’s a simple yes or no answer, Sirius. Do you love her?” He repeats. “I see the way you are with her. Holding her hand so she’s not scared or nervous, making sure she’s okay. The way you look at her, like she hung the bloody moon.” Harry explains. “I’m not mad, I just…do you love her?”

He’s wrong because this isn’t a simple question with an even more complicated answer.

This is the second time in the span of only a few minutes where Harry again reminds him of James. Just like his dad, James was never afraid to ask what he needed to in order to get to the bottom of something. Harry never beats around the bush and he wonders if he does it to intimidate people or if he simply just doesn’t know the effect it has on others. It’s a quality that Sirius himself has used in the past to his own advantage. He isn’t so used to it being used on him. 

Truth is, it’s a pretty loaded question. Something he himself had pondered before the news of her pregnancy. Since Regulus’ birthday. It’s a question he’s asked himself over and over and is, quite frankly, too afraid to find out the answer. 

Sirius doesn’t think he’s ever actually been in love. Actually, he thinks he’s avoided falling in love. He’s seen what it does to people. Turns them into ghosts, shells of themselves when things don’t work out. Love has only brought him pain. He loved his brother, who was his flesh and blood, who he grew up with, shared a childhood with, but also a brother who he didn’t know in the slightest. He didn’t know his favourite colour, his favourite music or books, or even his favourite food.  

Then there was James, who wasn’t his blood relative but was his brother all the same. A man he knew for only eight years of his life but felt like a lifetime. A man he knew inside and out— his thoughts before he could even say them, his favourite drink, his favourite place to go when he was upset, or even that his favourite colour was the specific colour of green that Lily’s eyes were, even though he’d never told anyone. 

Life had given him two brothers whom he loved differently but equally, and life took them both away in the cruellest of ways, as if it didn’t care that Sirius would be forced to find a way to navigate this new life without them. One that looked a little greyer, a little less filled with colour. 

Love wasn’t something he was interested in. 

Sirius shakes the thoughts away and gives himself a few minutes to gather what he wants to say. To express just how she makes him feel. He walks around Harry, scratching his beard and running a hand through his hair. He’s about to walk past the window but stops right before a single shining spot on the floor, glowing from the sun coming through the window. Sirius smiles to himself at the fond memory that enters his mind just then. The same way the sun comes up and illuminates the darkest of skies from rain, the sun clears up his thoughts as if the answer is the most obvious in the world. 

“When I was a child, there wasn’t very much for me to do. Walburga never bought me toys and Reg and I weren’t allowed to go outside because of the big, bad muggles.” He rolls his eyes at his mother’s ignorance. “We had to find our own fun,” he shrugs. “So, sometimes, when the sun would shine through the window, I’d lay down on the floor in front of it, and let it and its warmth embrace me. And it felt so good, like nothing bad could ever happen to me. Every bad thing in my life would disappear for those few minutes,” he says, turning around to face Harry. “That is how Hermione makes me feel. Safe. I care for her a lot, Harry. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before.”

“You know what’s funny?” Harry looks at him like he’s discovered something. “That’s exactly the way Theo makes me feel.”

Sirius looks down at his feet, feeling his face heat up, like he’s been discovered with his paw in the biscuit jar. He stuffs his hands in the pockets of his trousers and lets the answer hang between them in his obnoxiously spacious sitting room filled with nothing but bad memories and antiques that were only ever purchased to keep up appearances. He should get rid of those. He should get rid of everything. 

“Just…” Harry speaks again. “Don't hurt her, okay? She’s my best friend. My sister. And if it came between you and her–”

“I’d choose her too, son,” he agrees before he even realises he’s said it. 

Harry tilts his head, his hair pointing in all different directions. “I don’t doubt that,” he says before stepping into the floo and disappearing again. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he groans, pacing his now empty room.

It’s moving day and he has spent the majority of the day moving Pansy’s things into Neville’s place and his things into Hermione’s. Only, it’s finally hitting him that tonight he’s no longer going to be coming back to this room in Grimmauld Place. Not that he gives a shit about his ancestral home, but it’s the fact that from now on, he’s going to be sleeping in the same home as Hermione. 

What the fuck was he thinking, agreeing to move in with Hermione? 

It’s not that he doesn’t want to. He definitely wants to. He wants to be available to her whenever she needs him but he really should’ve thought things through more. He’s a fucking wanker for not properly thinking things through. Although, he does have a history of doing that, doesn’t he?

He hears the floo flare downstairs and a familiar voice calling his name. 

“I’m up here!” He yells, still continuing his pacing.

“What’s wrong?” His godson asks, leaning against the doorframe.

“What’s wrong? Hmm, let's see,” he mocks, tapping his finger on his chin as if in thought. “Oh, that’s right. What the bloody fuck was I thinking agreeing to live with Hermione?”

Harry crosses his arms over his chest, lifting a single brow. “You… don’t want to live with Hermione?” 

“I’m going to be around her all the time.” He flails his arms around, turning to face Harry. “Sleeping in the room beside her, eating with her, watching telly with her, reading beside her. We’re going to be coming home to each other. It’s going to be absolute torture.” 

“I don’t understand, Sirius. If you only care about her and nothing more, why does it matter?” Harry wonders. 

“It matters because I’m in love with her!” Sirius remarks.

The bluntness of his confession and the ease in which he was able to speak it into existence knocks the wind out of him. It was as easy as blinking, as easy as the air that he breathes, as easy as riding and fixing motorbikes, as easy and natural as the first time he held his wand and his magic thrummed awake with the knowledge of his power and it felt like home.

Considering his thoughts on love, he knows he loves her regardless and that scares him. He should do what he does best and run the other way. 

Except, the feeling of his breath being knocked out of him doesn’t feel so suffocating, not like the one that once tugged hard from his belly button like when the dementors tried to suck his soul from him. No, this feels like when you’re cold and your body slowly warms from a fire, starting in your toes and crawling up to your chest. 

Harry threads a hand through his hair, leaving it even messier than it was to begin with. “You’re in love with her? I'm so confused,” he says, shaking his head. “I thought you said you weren’t in love with her?”

“No, no,” he denies. “I never said I wasn’t in love with her. All I said was that I cared about her.”

“Sirius,” Harry sighs, exasperated. “What the fuck, mate?”

“What?! You’re the one who told me!” He remarks. 

Harry pinches the bridge of his nose – his glasses lifting at the gesture – removing himself from the doorframe. He stands directly in front of Sirius, dipping his head to get Sirius to look at him. He brings his hands up and places them on Sirius’ shoulders. “Mate, you’re proper fucked.”

“Merlin’s fucking tits,” he mumbles, dropping his head back and closing his eyes.

“You can’t back away now. Especially since I won’t help you move everything back.”

That makes Sirius laugh, his shoulders shake and Harry drops his hands, still looking at him. “Are you scared she doesn’t feel the same way?”

“I know she doesn’t feel the same way,” he looks away, shrugging. “She said it was a mistake the morning after we…you know,” he says. “She did mention in passing that she didn’t mean it but hasn’t mentioned it since or said anything otherwise.”

“Why don’t you just talk to her?” His godson suggests. 

“No,” he waves off. “I don’t want to make her uncomfortable.” 

It wasn’t Hermione’s idea to have him move in in the first place. In fact, he’s sure that she only agreed because they, theoretically, had their backs against the wall. In Sirius’ view, even though he should’ve thought this through further, there was no doubt about him moving in. 

He draws in a long breath, looking at Harry once again. He’s about to say something but Sirius interrupts him. “We should be heading back.”

“Actually, I already said bye to Hermione. I just came by to check in on you. She was getting worried.” Harry slowly steps backwards. “I’ll see you later? Tell Theo I’ll be waiting at home.”

His godson disappears around the corner and Sirius takes a final look at his childhood bedroom before walking out and closing the door behind him. He walks down the hall that has haunted him day in and day out, towards the sitting room filled with some of his worst memories. He steps into the floo, permanently locking it before walking towards the front door.

For a moment, he thinks he wants to take a final look around before he leaves Grimmauld Place forever but before he convinces himself to, he opens the door and closes it behind him. Never will he have to return to his first prison again.

He disapparates into their garden, and he takes a deep breath as peace finally settles around him. 

Stepping inside, he hears Theo telling Hermione the story of how he and Harry decided to live together. 

“So, I gave him a key to my place, thinking he’d get the hint, but then I didn’t see him for an entire week after,” he scoffs. “When I confronted him, he thought I’d locked myself out of my flat and was asking him for help. How he saved all of us from Voldemort, I’ll never know.” 

Hermione’s laughter floats down the hall getting louder and louder with each step he takes. “He did have a little help,” she remarks. “On both fronts.” 

“Thank Merlin for you, Hermione Jean.”

“I could drink to that,” Sirius interrupts. 

“Sirius!” She beams. 

“Hi, bug.” He smiles at her then looks at the Slytherin. “Theo, Harry says he’s waiting for you at home. Something about handcuffs?”

Theo quickly vacates his seat and Sirius immediately sits down next to Hermione. She pulls up her feet to rest on his lap as if it’s the most natural thing in the world for her to do, and just the same, he grabs one of them to massage. 

“You know, if you’re joking, I’m coming back for you,” Theo raises a brow suggestively. “I’ve got ways of getting what I want, Black.” He winks.

“I’m sure you do, naughty boy.” Sirius smirks. 

“I’m going to be leaving now before I continue something you can’t handle.” Theo disappears into the floo, leaving Hermione and Sirius alone at last. 

“So,” Hermione says. “I don’t know about you but I’m famished.”

“Famished, huh?” He chuckles. “What do you want for dinner?”

“How about we just order some takeaway? I’ll give you a break from cooking tonight,” she says with a smirk. 

Sirius laughs with mirth. “Oh, you will, will you?” He turns to look at her. “Thank you, princess.”

“I’m nothing but a woman for the people,” she giggles. 

They fall into a comfortable silence, with him rubbing her feet and Hermione laying back, until she speaks again. 

“No pictures?” She asks. 

He lifts his head to show her his confusion. “Pictures?” 

“I noticed you looking at the pictures on the mantle when we told Harry. I figured you might want to add some to the collection.”

She noticed. She noticed him looking at the pictures, noticed the way he was looking at them, knew what he was thinking while he was looking. She noticed. 

He doesn’t let himself think too much about it now so he pushes it down to revisit later. “I don’t…I don’t have any,” he says. “No matter, I figured this way, we can take some pictures of our own and add them later.”

When she doesn’t say anything, he looks at her, a befuddled look on her face. “I suppose not, then.”

“No! No, that’s a wonderful idea,” she reassures him. “I just…I guess I’m just confused.” 

He furrows his brows, continuing with her massage. “About what, sweetheart?” 

“What about the pictures in the attic?” She asks curiously, as if he should know what she’s talking about. 

“Att— what are you talking about?” Now he’s really fucking confused. 

“The attic!” She yells, frustrated. “At Grimmauld, there’s a bunch of pictures in the attic in an old Hogwarts trunk.”

“I don’t understand.” It’s impossible. There’s absolutely no way that his old trunk is in his attic. It’s completely, positively, fucking impossible. All his memories were lost the day he was thrown into Azkaban. 

“When me, Harry, and Ron stayed at Grimmauld during the hunt, I sort of…wandered while they slept,” she explains.

“Which was dangerous,” he reprimands, pausing his massaging.

“Anyway,” Hermione rolls her eyes, gently jerking her foot to get him to continue his ministrations. “I found myself in the attic and I saw this old dusty trunk with a bunch of stickers on them. Mostly bands so I assumed it was yours. It’s full of pictures of you and James and Remus. Regulus even. It’s how…it’s how I found out about his birthday.”

“No. No, there’s no way,” he insists. “Hermione, I lost everything the night I was thrown into Azkaban. I even went back to my old flat after I escaped but the place had been blown up.”

Hermione sits herself up, placing her feet on the floor. “No, Sirius. You didn’t lose everything.” She struggles to get up but when she finally does, she places her hand on his shoulder, squeezing for comfort and waddles her way towards the kitchen. “I’m going to order us some take away.” 

She just…everything he thought he lost, she just handed to him as if she were merely telling him the weather. 

He throws himself back, further into the settee, thinking of how that trunk could have possibly appeared in his attic.

Then it hits him. 

Of course. 

Chapter Text

The incessant tapping on her window stirs her awake. She smacks her lips, mouth dry from sleep, as she stretches out and rests her hands on her swollen stomach. “Good morning, little bug,” she whispers to her belly. She reaches over, out of habit, for her feline friend who is nowhere to be found. Hermione isn’t surprised, though. Ever since Sirius moved in, she finds herself waking up alone, the little guy joining Sirius downstairs. 

Hermione takes a deep breath and the smell of food hits her nostrils, making her stomach growl. 

She gets out of bed, peeing and brushing her teeth before she heads down. She’s taking the steps — the wood beneath her feet creaking, settling as she does so — one at a time, making sure she’s careful, when she looks up and stops dead in her tracks. 

“Uh…Sirius?!” She yells out warily, clutching the railing, the wood rough under her palm.

She hears a spoon drop against the counter. “Hermione?!” He yells for her, panic in his voice, his heavy footsteps nearing closer and closer until, finally, he’s right beside her on the other side of the railing. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” He moves to step in front of her, frantically checking her over, his hands everywhere. When he’s certain nothing is physically wrong with her, he grabs her hands, helping her down the rest of the way.

She removes one of her hands from his and points towards the sitting room, where about four or five owls are perched outside the window. “Why the bloody hell are there so many owls outside the window?” As if they could hear her, all of them turn to look at her at once, their eyes zeroing in on her, annoyance in their wide black eyes.

“Oh!” She shrieks, jumping a little closer to Sirius.

His arm snakes around her waist, holding her close. “Ah, right. About that…” He turns her around so she’s right beside him, not removing his arm, guiding her to the kitchen. “Why don’t we get you something to eat first, hmm?”

Reluctantly, she lets him usher her only to find more owls scattered about the garden. “Oh, Merlin,” she gasps, taking a seat on the chair he’s pulled out at the dining table. “Sirius, what’s happening? What’s going on?”

“I really think you should eat something before I tell you,” he suggests. 

“And I really think you should tell me what the bloody hell is going on before I go into early labour,” she replies sternly.

Sirius hangs his head, letting out a deep sigh, turning to grab something from the counter and back again to bring to her. 

He places a copy of the Daily Prophet before her and takes a seat without another word. 

Hermione looks down, her eyes widening and her lips parting on a gasp when her eyes land on the headline. 

Golden Girl Reputation Tarnished with Black Pregnancy

She’s able to muster a single whispered “Oh, no,” before she begins reading.

Hermione Granger, 22, was spotted out with none other than Sirius Black, 42, in Diagon Alley yesterday afternoon. Granger, who was all smiles and laughs along with the older man, seemed to have been hiding a swollen stomach under her jumper. 

Could it be that Black is the cause for Granger’s pregnancy? How good of a father does an ex-felon make? Should we be worried that a man twenty-years her senior has gotten her pregnant? 

Hermione slams the paper down, refusing to read the rest of the article. She looks up at Sirius who’s looking straight ahead into the garden. He looks tired, the lines upon his face more prominent now from worry and exhaustion.

How could she not have realised that Sirius would be the one judged the harshest by the media and, no doubt, those who read the load of hippogriff shite that is the Prophet?

He, just like her, isn’t a stranger to being a headline. She thinks back to her days in fourth year when Hermione was subject to many of them because of Rita Skeeter. She can only imagine how this is worse for him. Much worse. 

She should have known better. Sirius still appears in the paper from time to time, the publication documenting his visits to Diagon Alley frequently. Sirius may not be a stranger to his name being in the paper, but he hasn’t had to deal with being dragged through the mud since his name was cleared. 

His name’s always been used as a commodity within the Wizarding world’s press. A way to bring in readers, and therefore, money, to the Prophet. People watch him wherever he goes like he’s a thestral no one’s ever seen before, forgetting that he’s a person. A man who has lost almost everything and just wants to be left alone to make a new life for himself. 

She feels anxiety set in. Wants to do the best she can to clear his name as quickly as possible. To tell and show everyone who's read the article that it’s wrong. It’s so wrong.

Sirius may look grumpy and scary with his arms covered in tattoos, and intimidating with his long salt-and-pepper hair and beard, but he’s gentle, generous, and caring. He’s fiercely loyal to those closest to him and would truly give his life to protect those he loves. 

He’s not just some man twenty-years older than her looking to take advantage. He helped defeat Voldermort, helped win the war, for Merlin’s sake!

They’ve got it all wrong. They’ve got him all wrong. They don’t know her Sirius. 

Hermione wants to hug him, to remind him that none of it is true. That he’s a good man worthy of a chance, just like everyone else who’s picking up the pieces after war, to make a new life for himself. He’s worthy of the family they're both starting together.

“How long has this been out?” She asks gently, pushing the article away across the table.

“Arrived at seven on the dot. The owls started lining up not ten minutes after,” he explains. “I’ve limited the floo to only close friends to avoid them coming in here.” 

“Are you okay?” She asks, concern laced in her voice. She reaches over to place her hand on his. “You should’ve woken me up sooner.”

“I’m okay, sweetheart.” He covers her hand with his other, stroking her skin with his calloused tattooed thumb. “I’ve read much worse things about myself in the past.” He laughs, trying to play off the hurt in his voice but she knows better. 

“It’s not okay, Sirius. This is incredibly defamatory against your character! It’s disgusting what they’ve written!” Hermione releases his hand, causing it to drop with a faint thump on the table, and raises her own to summon parchment, a quill, and an ink pot. 

“What are you doing?” He asks.

“I will not let them get away with this,” she seethes, dipping her quill into the ink pot. “They’re lucky you’re not suing them.” Hermione looks over, pointing at him with the sharp end of the quill. “Which I think you should.”

“Easy there, witch,” he chuckles, taking the quill from her hand and setting it aside. “You’re going to poke someone’s eye out.” His grey eyes crinkle at the corner from amusement, and her breath hitches in her throat. He really is beautiful. “Shouldn’t we be more worried that they basically just told all of Wizarding London we’re expecting a baby?”

Hermione thinks about it, leaning against the backrest and rubbing her belly as she ponders if she really cares, but quickly realises she doesn’t really have to think about it at all. “No,” she states simply, setting her eyes on his.

He lifts his brows in surprise. “No?”

“No,” she repeats. “We’ve been through so much, Sirius. I’m not going to let them ruin a good thing for us just because they’re bored out of their minds,” she explains. “What I don’t like is the way they’ve talked about you. Absolutely pathetic.” Hermione rolls her eyes. “Besides, it saves us the burden of having to personally tell everyone else. We’ve told Harry, Remus, and Pansy. I’m sure the Weasley’s will get a right shock out of it but as they say, it’s better to ask for forgiveness and all that rot.” She shrugs. “Not that there’s anything we have to apologise for. We’re both adults.”

“I don’t care what they’ve written about me.” Hermione looks at him with disbelief and he rolls his eyes. “I don’t. It’s just been a while since it’s happened. Took me off guard, is all,” he insists. “Besides, I was more worried about you. The last thing you and little bug here need is stress.” 

Sirius reaches over and rubs her belly, smiling. At that exact moment, she feels a tiny but hard kick right where his hand is. 

“I think little bug is hungry,” she laughs. “And so am I. Something smells delicious!”

“Loud and clear, little one.” He throws his head back with a bark of laughter. “Right, breakfast!” Sirius practically jumps out of his seat, grabbing the parchment and writing tools and replacing them with a full English breakfast. 

Every morning, he makes breakfast, always making sure she’s the first one to dig in before he himself takes a seat next to her and joins her. 

Hermione takes a deep breath over the plate and lets out a moan. She should be embarrassed but it smells so bloody good. “Oh, sweet Circe. This looks delicious, Sirius,” she praises, digging into her plate. “Where’d you learn to cook so well?” 

“Lily,” he says with a fond smile. “I was living on my own for about three, maybe four months before well, you know…” He clears his throat before continuing. “She was teaching me before then, too and I found I really enjoyed it. Beats having to eat takeaway every night or starving to death.” He winks at her. 

Hermione hums with a mouthful of baked beans, before swallowing them down. “Wish I could’ve tasted some of her brilliant cooking.”

“I wish you could’ve, too. Everything she made was my favourite thing in the world.” He smiles fondly to himself. “Always said her secret ingredient was love.”

She continues eating as Sirius busies himself making tea for her and coffee for himself. 

Hermione’s surprised by how natural it feels to live with Sirius. She thought that maybe there’d be an adjustment period. She was prepared to find his shoes in the middle of the sitting room, to find his clothes thrown over furniture or plates and trash left out on random surfaces around the house. She expected all the annoying things she experienced with Ron and Harry during the hunt. Expected to feel suffocated by him. Expected to experience the horrible stories she’s heard from other women who live with men but she was properly surprised to find that Sirius is not any of those things. 

He always hangs his worn-out leather jacket on the coat hanger and places his boots on the shoe rack that sits by the door. When he cooks, he immediately washes dishes, pots, and pans he no longer has use for to keep the kitchen clean. Trash is taken out as soon as he sees it needs to be thrown out and he always makes sure to change out of his grease-stained clothes so as to not stain anything in their flat. 

They also, unspokenly, set a routine in place. Sirius is always awake before her, making sure she has something to eat before she heads off to work. Since Sirius mostly works on fixing bikes for clients from the flat, or rather, garden – Harry helped him build a big enough shed to be able to do so – he always has dinner ready by the time she gets home. Except on Friday’s— on Friday mornings he asks her what she wants for takeaway, and by the time she’s home, it’s ready for them to eat while they watch the telly, or talk, or while she reads and he finishes client paperwork. 

To most people, it would probably be a shock how organised Sirius is but he had little to no structure in his life, no control of it for such a long stretch of time, of course he’s the way that he is now.

It’s nice, she thinks, that their living together is smooth and easy. As if he’d always been around, as if he’d been her roommate all along and he’d finally come home after being away on a business trip.

Of course she misses Pansy. She’s her best friend. There’s things she talks to her about that she can’t really talk about with Harry. With Sirius, though, she can’t really pin-point why but being roommates – who are having a baby together – feels more natural than being roommates with Pansy did.

Roommate. The word makes her food taste like ash. It’s impossible to adequately portray just exactly what Sirius’ role in her life is because he is most definitely more than just her roommate. 

The only thing that Hermione needs to adjust to is her growing feelings for Sirius. It was easier, of course, when he wasn’t around all the time. When she had the excuse of work in her arsenal ready to use to avoid seeing him more than she needed to. 

But he isn’t making it easy. He’s so attentive, always making sure she’s comfortable. If she’s reading on the big grey chair in the sitting room, he comes up and places her legs on a small stool and covers her legs and feet with a blanket. Makes sure she has a cuppa, water, and biscuits beside her to snack on as she reads. Anytime they’re on the settee together, he massages her swollen feet without thinking twice about it.

Hermione knows that Sirius is only being this way because she’s pregnant, because the only hope of him having a family lies, literally, within her. 

She can pretend, though. In her mind, he does all these things because he cares about her, too. 

So, from this moment on, when she eats the food he makes, in her mind, the reason it’s mind-blowingly delicious is not only because he’s a good cook but because he’s using Lily’s secret ingredient; love. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

They decide that it’s better for Hermione to stay home from work in order to avoid being harassed by patrons and most likely the Prophet itself.

She’s made herself cosy on the settee underneath a blanket with Crooks beside her. Sirius fixed her a plate of fruit before he stepped out to work on one of his clients’ bikes. 

“Really, sweetheart, I’m alright,” he smiles warmly at her. “Just need a few minutes. I’ll be in soon.”

The telly’s playing in the background, arguing and strategizing voices of the Big Brother contestants sounding far away as Hermione’s mind wanders off. She’s trying to pay attention but the combination of the baby kicking and the article still heavy on her mind won’t let her. 

Since the end of the war, Hermione’s found some sort of comfort in reality television. Somehow, something about watching other people willingly put themselves up to be watched twenty-four hours, seven days a week was comforting to her. Watching other people be purposefully scandalous amazes her. 

While she was growing up at Hogwarts, sometimes it felt like she was watching her life through a lens. The way she was scrutinised on the front cover of the papers year after year, as a child and teenager, for others' entertainment. There were nights where she’d close the curtains of her four poster bed, throw up a silencing charm, and cry. Cry because as much as she loved Harry and as much as she’d do anything to protect him and help him, that life was too much for her. She wanted to be normal. She just wanted to be a girl who worried about boys and school, even her hair and makeup. 

Instead, every morning she’d wonder if that day was the day that she would die. If she would be another victim of a hate crime, be made an example of by Voldermort for his cause. 

What’s worse was that after all the crying and praying and hoping, she felt terrible for being so selfish— for wanting a normal life for herself.

The thing is though, that even after everything she’s been through and every ill word written against her, she’d go through it all over again for Sirius to never be victim of a slanderous headline again. 

She’d carry the burden for him if she could. She’d proudly air out all her dirty laundry, go into explicit detail about every single wrong thing and rule she’s broken if it meant it got any and all attention away from him.

Just like her, now, Sirius wants a quiet and peaceful life and she’ll be damned if anyone tries to interfere with their plan. 

She looks up to see that some of the owls have given up and left, leaving behind whatever correspondence they were ordered to give. The few that were in the garden disappeared after Sirius collected the letters, effectively setting them on fire without opening them. 

The voices of arguing contestants are drowned out when the floo flares to life, spitting out a shaking and angry Molly Weasley. 

“Crooks,” Hermione whispers. “Get Sirius, please.”

The feline hops off his spot from the settee, trotting away but not before he looks over at Molly with annoyance for disturbing the peace.

“Well, isn’t this a pretty picture?” She scoffs, taking note of Hermione’s leisurely position in her sitting room. 

“Hello, Mrs. Weasley,” Hermione sighs. If she’s being honest, she’s surprised she didn’t show up sooner. She wishes Sirius would’ve just locked the floo to everyone today. 

“‘Hello?’” Molly looks at her incredulously. “Is that all you’ve got to say? ‘Hello?!’” 

“Can’t imagine there’s anything else we need to talk about,” she says sarcastically, though letting out a laugh so as to not appear rude. 

“Do not be sarcastic with me, young lady! Care to explain this?!” She lifts her arms up showing Hermione the front page of the Prophet. 

Hermione sighs, readjusting herself on the settee, planting her feet on the carpet. “Right. The Prophet.”

“Yes, the Prophet,” the Weasley matriarch sarcastically repeats. 

She rolls her eyes at the matriarch’s hypocrisy. “As you can see, I am pregnant.” Hermione looks down at her protruding belly, rubbing it out of habit. 

Just then, Sirius walks into the sitting room, a mewling Crooks behind him as if he’s saying don’t ask me for anything else before jumping onto the settee again. 

Sirius has a dirty towel between his hands, wiping them clean, exposing the tattoos that decorate his hands and fingers once more. “Ah,” he looks over at Hermione, nodding once, lifting his brows, then back at Molly. “Hello, Molly.”

Molly glares at him, her nostrils flaring from anger. 

“And Sirius here is the father.” Hermione explains simply. Although, anything involving Molly rarely is ever simple. 

Sirius lifts a single arm. “Guilty.”

“You absolute degenerate, Sirius Black!” She yells, her face as red as a tomato. “She’s just a kid! She’s…you had to go and…and taint her!” Molly tries to round in on Sirius, seeming to reach into her apron pocket for what Hermione can only assume is her wand. 

Hermione gets up from the settee as fast as she can and stands between Sirius and Molly. “Don't you dare, Molly.” Hermione’s voice is deep, threatening, Molly has the good sense to look scared.

Her hand stills inside the pocket of her apron before pulling it out empty handed. Molly’s standing there in the middle of the sitting room, speechless. Her chest is rapidly rising and falling from what Hermione can only assume is pure unadulterated hatred for the man who got Hermione pregnant. 

Her relationship with the Weasley matriarch has always been unsettled. Unable to fully trust the older woman ever since she’d completely gobbled up the filth and lies the Prophet fed her when Hogwarts hosted the Tri-Wizard Tournament their fourth year. Here she is again, proving that she’d rather give in and believe the gossip rather than sit down and have a civil conversation with them both.

Hermione knows that Sirius’ relationship with Molly isn’t any better. She’d tried to shield and protect Harry from the war when they were growing up, as if Harry didn’t know from the moment he first stepped foot into Diagon Alley that he had a target on his back. 

The problem was that when Sirius was once again a part of Harry’s life, he wanted his godson to know everything. The ugliest truths of what really was happening because Harry, after all, was the one who was affected the most. He was the one being hunted like cattle.

Unlike Dumbledore, both Sirius and Molly tried to shield Harry from the truth out of love. 

When Sirius was reunited with Harry at Grimmauld after the events of third year, it was difficult for him to not project the image he had of James into Harry. He might have looked, talked, sounded, and walked like his father, but at their core, they were two completely different people. 

Sirius had to learn, to remember that he had a second chance at a relationship with Harry, his godson and not a second chance with James, his best mate who was no longer there.

He learned to treat Harry as his own person, a fact he needed to be aware of. Knowing the damage that omitting the truth actually caused during the first war, Sirius tried his best to not repeat history. 

Molly’s mistake was that she thought of Harry as her own. While both Weasley parents opened their home to him, fed him and sheltered him when they could, Molly failed to remember that Harry wasn’t actually her child. 

Molly and Sirius clashed at every turn, until eventually, Sirius stopped showing up to things all together unless his presence was requested by his godson.

Sirius harshly learned from his mistakes. Molly didn’t learn then with Harry and evidently, hasn’t learned with Hermione now.

“I-I don’t understand!” She cries. Hermione doesn't know if she buys the tears or not, deciding to give her the benefit of the doubt. “This is absurd! We didn’t raise you to–”

“With all due respect, Mrs. Weasley, you didn’t raise me. You opened your home to me when I no longer had one, and for that, I will always be endlessly grateful. But I…” she sniffs once, keeping her head held high. 

“I’m going to have a family again. My own family and I’m aware this isn’t traditional by any means. But when has anything in my life been traditional? My life changed when I was eleven when Headmistress McGonagall came to my door and told me I was a witch in my muggle living room and then again at nineteen when I found my parents dead on the very same spot. I fought in a war,” Hermione lifts her shirt slightly, enough to show both her protruding belly and the scar that lives on her ribs and wraps around her back. 

Molly’s eyes follow the movement, landing on her scar, Hermione never taking her eyes away from the older woman. 

“Death has touched me and tried to take me. And now, this very body that has known death, if only for a second, is creating a new life. The life of our baby.” She looks over her shoulder at Sirius, who reaches for her hand to hold.

Somewhere along the way, The Weasley matriarch has dropped her copy of the Prophet on the floor because she’s now wringing her hands on her apron, her brows furrowed. “Sweetheart, a child is a blessing but he’s so much older than you. You’re still just a child yourself!”

“The Wizarding World didn't seem to think I was just a child when I fought in a war, Mrs. Weasley. Please, do not insult my intelligence merely by my age. I’m a twenty-two-year-old woman. I’ve seen and done far worse than most twice my age.” 

“What…” she stops herself, stumbling over her words, seeming to struggle with what she wants to say. “What would your parents think?” Hermione sees the instant regret in Molly’s eyes as soon as she blurts out the words. Unfortunately for her, the words have been spoken, they’re floating in mid-air, wrapping themselves around Hermione’s neck like a rope, getting tighter and tighter with every breath she takes.

“Molly,” Sirius growls, this time gently pulling on Hermione’s arm so she’s now behind him. “You will not talk to the mother of my child that way,” His stance is strong, protecting her. His hand tightens in hers and she holds onto it like a lifeline.

“Lucky for you, Molly,” Hermione emphasises, jabbing at the fact that Molly’s always been disappointed she never took to calling her mum. “My parents are dead, so we don't have to worry about that, do we?”

She tries to take another step but Sirius lets out a deep guttural growl, warning her off. “It’s time for you to leave, ” he says, giving her no room for argument.

The room is so thick with magic, the electricity in the room is flickering in and out. The hair on her arms is standing from the energy, and she can physically see magic tingling from Sirius’ fingertips. They’re all at a standstill, but before anything else can be said, the floo flares again. Within seconds, revealing Remus. 

“I see I’ve come at a bad time?” He says quietly, looking between Hermione, Sirius, and Molly.

“Not at all, Remus,” Sirius says resolutely. “Molly’s just leaving.” 

The red-headed matron stands there stunned, her mouth flapping like a fish, trying to find the words to say. Deciding, finally, that there’s nothing more to say for now, she turns solemnly and disappears into the floo.

Sirius immediately turns around, pulling Hermione into his orbit, his arms warm and safe around her and the baby. 

***

“Sweetheart, love, are you alright?” He holds her close, resting his cheek on her head, not caring whatsoever that they’re not alone in the sitting room.

He feels her nodding her head, burrowing her face further into his chest, almost like she wants to crawl into his body. Sirius hasn’t wanted to Avada someone this badly since Pettigrew. He’s done his best to work on his anger but, as it is, it seems that when it comes to people hurting those he loves, there’s not much he can do about it. 

Remus’ timing couldn’t have been better. 

“I’m gonna go upstairs,” she mumbles. 

Sirius places a kiss on her hair, rubbing his hands up and down her arms. “Let me walk you up.”

“No, it’s alright.” Hermione pulls back, her eyes sad and droopy. “You’ve got company. I need a lie down.”

“I’ll come find you after.” He keeps his hand on her arm as she walks away, dropping from her grasp as soon as she’s fully gone. He watches as she takes the steps upstairs until she disappears into the hallway.

“If you’ve come to yell some more, can we save this for later? Or perhaps tomorrow? Old barmy wore me out." Sirius rubs his hand down his face, sighing in exasperation, shaking his head. 

“No,” Remus responds reassuringly. “I didn’t come to yell. I saw the paper this morning and I tried to floo call you at Grimmauld but my calls went rejected. Figured you might be here.”

“Right.” He turns, looking at his oldest friend for the first time since their fight two months ago. “I moved out of Grimmauld. Things have been so chaotic, and well…”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Sirius. I understand.”

Sirius nods at him once in agreement then gestures for Remus to take a seat on the grey armchair as he picks up the Prophet from the floor, throws it on the coffee table and sits on the settee. “I’d offer you a drink but we don’t keep any spirits in the flat. Being that Hermione’s six months along and all. We’ve got tea or coffee if you’d like.”

The werewolf ignores his attempts at hospitality, instead looking at the newspaper on the table and points towards it with his chin. “How’s she doing?” 

His grey eyes follow his line of sight. “She’s doing a lot better than I thought she would. Surprisingly, she’s more upset at what they wrote about me than the news being out.”

Remus lets out a soft chuckle. “Doesn’t surprise me the least bit. She’s always been protective of those she loves.” He leans against the backrest of the chair, crossing his leg at the ankle, looking up at him. Forest-green eyes meet grey, and they hold a look that tells him he knows something Sirius doesn’t. 

“How’re you doing?” The werewolf goes back to the article.

“‘M alright. Nothing I’ve never heard before.” 

“Sirius, you do know that none of that is true, don’t you?” Remus asks carefully. 

“I don’t know. Up until two months ago, I had one of my closest mates saying it was.” He spits out before he can stop himself. 

Remus sighs, dropping his leg and resting his elbows on his thighs. “Deserved that, I’ll admit.”

Sirius stays quiet, lifting a single brow. 

“I’ve come to give you my full support, Sirius. I want to apologise for the way I acted. I suppose I was just…” He shakes his head. “Dora thinks that I could’ve been projecting. That–that maybe there’s still something that needs to be resolved between us.”

When Sirius woke up this morning, he thought his day would go something like this: wake up, take a shower, brush his teeth, get breakfast and lunch ready for Hermione, send her off to work and then work on bikes all day until the time came to cook dinner to have ready in time for Hermione to come home. Eat together, maybe talk and watch some telly. Go to sleep, and repeat. 

What he didn’t expect was to have his personal business blasted all over the papers for everyone to read, have a crazy batty woman yell at him and practically call him a predator, and now, to have to hash out and resolve more than a decade’s worth of issues with his oldest mate who also happens to be an ex. 

“Why didn’t you tell me about the pictures?” Sirius asks so quietly, that if it weren’t for Remus’ lycanthropy, he wouldn’t have heard.

Remus hangs his head. “I was so angry, Sirius. I was so fucking angry. I couldn’t fucking face you. I couldn’t look at you.” 

He lifts his head again, looking wistful. “You didn’t think.” Remus says, as if he hasn’t reminded him of that fact so many times before. 

Sirius rolls his eyes, throwing his arms in the air and dropping them, slapping his legs. “Yes. Yes, I didn’t think about Ha–“

“No! You don’t…” He pauses, taking a breath, trying to keep himself calm before he continues. “You didn’t think about me.”

Sirius stares at him dumbfounded, thinking of something, anything, to say but coming up short. 

“You left me. All alone you left me.” His voice sounds hoarse now. “I know you lost James and Lily, and fucking Peter. But so did I… along with you. You were my…” 

Even though Sirius and Remus were only compatible for a short school romance – anything beyond that would be disastrous – Sirius and Remus shared something that he never shared with James. 

There was a level of companionship and intimacy that only ever came with being lovers. They’d seen and experienced both the best and worst of each other, so much so, that for that very reason, things could never have worked out. 

Remus never thought himself worthy of being loved because of his condition and Sirius was too self-destructive to let himself fall in love. 

It never would have worked out. 

“I wanted to tell you about the trunk, about the pictures but I couldn’t face you. Over time, it slipped my mind and when you told me about Hermione, well…” The werewolf breaks the silence. 

“You weren’t jealous, Remus, were you?” He asks, confused. “You and I were years ago–“

“No, no! Not at all!” He reassures him. “No, it reminded me of me and Dora and I suppose I panicked. She’s so much younger and she chose me, an old were–“

“Mate, I love you to death, but you’ve got to let that go,” he interrupts him, shaking his head. “Dora chose you. That was her decision to make, not yours. You didn’t take anything away from her. Look at her.” Sirius points out. “She’s the happiest witch I’ve ever met. Joyful to a fault. Bloody annoying sometimes.”

“Watch it…” Remus warns. 

“What I mean to say is, I know my cousin. She wears her heart on her sleeve. I’ve never seen her as happy as she has been with you and Teddy. When you tried to break it off with her…Merlin, it was like being around a whole different person. She loves you, Remus.”

“And, while I can’t say I regret going after Peter that night, I’m sorry,” he laments. “The way I handled things, the life and the people I left behind. I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make up for that.” He says solemnly. 

They sit quietly for a moment. For the first time in a long time, the magic between them feels peaceful. “I take it you haven’t gone back for the trunk.”

Sirius looks over at Remus who’s looking at the collection of photographs Hermione has around the room. “No, not yet. I thought when I left Grimmauld that I was leaving it for good. Didn’t expect to have to go back so soon.”

The werewolf hums in understanding. “Need some company?”

“Thank you, Remus.” He smiles at his friend, before looking up the stairs to where he knows Hermione’s room is. “Hermione found it when they stayed there during the hunt…”

“I understand, Sirius. She’s an important part of your life now.” Remus stands, his knees cracking as he does so. “I’ve got to get going.”

He stands up, walking over to Sirius, pulling him up for a hug. “Thank you for everything, Moony.”

Remus breaks the hug, squeezing his shoulders. “Congratulations, by the way,” he expresses, with warmth in his eyes. “I’m really happy for you, Pads. You’re going to be a great father.”

Sirius’ throat tightens but manages a simple, humble, “Thank you, Remus.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Molly might seem like a sweet woman from the outside but her words cut like a sectumsempra. The scabs of her emotional wounds feel like they’d been picked fresh — raw, red, and bleeding. 

She’s been trying her best to keep a positive mind during her pregnancy, the thought of her parents lingering in her mind like a golden snitch, in the periphery of her consciousness. Of course she’s thought of what her parents would think about the twenty year age difference between her and Sirius. Though, she knows deep down inside, that as long as Sirius treats her well and takes care of her and the baby, they wouldn’t care. Would they be okay with the fact that it happened during a one-night stand? Definitely not at first, that’s for sure.

Hermione doesn’t want to believe that Molly would use the death of her parents as a weapon against her but she can’t find a reasonable excuse for the older woman. 

The threads on the tapestry of their relationship’s been frayed for a while, now seemingly irreparable.

The sounds of soft whistling breaks her out of her reverie, soft music hitting her ears as if she’s emerging from beneath water. 

She looks over to where Sirius is working on a client’s bike. He’s laying under it, on his back with one leg folded at the knee. His jeans are dirty with motor oil, his boots scratched and frayed, and his faded, tattered black Bad Company shirt is rising up just enough to show the beginnings of a patch of black curls that disappears into his jeans.  

Hermione’s mouth waters from the preview. Her fingers itch to trace down, down, down, to feel what’s underneath. To see. To taste.

Since Sirius moved in, the sex dreams have become more frequent as has her alone time pursuits – when he’s not home, of course. His animagus hearing makes it nearly impossible. 

The man is hot. So impossibly hot with his cut cheekbones and sharp jaw. The way a single strand of silver hair seems to fall over his eyes every time he’s got his hair up in a bun. The way the veins in his arms pop and flex when he’s cooking or working on his bikes. The way he walks out of the bathroom with only a towel around his waist, the smattering of salt-and-pepper hair on his chest on full display. Sirius is a Greek God statue come to life and she doesn’t know how much longer she’s willing to only be a spectator. 

A hand waving in front of her brings her back to the present. “You okay, sweetheart? You look a little flushed.” He smiles, flashing his abnormally straight white teeth  as he does so. 

Damn him, she thinks. She can’t blame the weather because the sun is hiding behind dark grey clouds heavy with rain.

“Yeah,” she manages, a little breathy. “Yeah, I’m okay.” Hermione swallows, releasing a sigh. 

Sirius takes a single step back before he extends his arm, holding his hand out. “Dance with me?”

She looks up at him, lips parted like a fish. “What?”

“Will you dance with me?” He asks her again, his brows furrowed and his fingers twitching when she looks down at his hand. 

Hermione looks over to where she knows his wireless is inside his work shed. She listens closer when George Harrison’s soft melodic voice snakes its way into her ear.

She looks back at him, his eyes never leaving her once, and before she knows it, she’s watching her hand place itself in his. It’s warm and rough and so big that when he wraps his fingers around it, it completely encapsulates hers.

He pulls her up, guiding her forward while taking careful steps backwards. He stops in the middle of the garden and steps into her personal space. Hermione releases a deep breath. “I’m probably not that great,” she laughs nervously. “My ankles are so swollen.”

Sirius takes another step closer, her belly poking his. He rearranges their hands before he places one on the small of her back, the gesture making her gasp sharply. She’s so nervous, one would think she’d never been around the man, let alone be pregnant by him. Hesitantly, she places her hand on his shoulder. 

“Don’t worry about that,” he replies, his voice raspy. “I’ve got you.”

Hermione decides it’s easier to rest her head on his chest— his stare is so intense it’s threatening to make her knees buckle.

She quickly realises that she has nothing to worry about because the moment he starts moving, her body automatically sways with his. It’s as if they’ve done this many times before, like muscle memory. 

Hermione takes a deep breath, the smell of motor oil, bergamot, and something entirely his own invading her nostrils. As she breathes him in, Sirius tightens his grip on her hand and pulls her impossibly close. 

She’s never felt safer in her life. In this moment, in his arms, dancing in the garden as the sun paints the sky with hues of purple, pink, and orange as it sets for the rise of the moon. His chest vibrates, tickling her ear, as he hums along with George’s voice. She closes her eyes, thinking that this moment is far beyond anything she could have ever dreamt up herself. 

She concentrates on the way his calloused fingers feel, the way they felt in her latest dream, curled inside her, bringing her to orgasm. She thinks about how strong his arms felt, the way they held her down as she was writhing underneath him while he had his mouth on her cunt. How wet he’d made her. 

He interrupts her thoughts, pulling away just enough to have her look at him, mouthing along with George as he sings. “You’re asking me will my love grow.” He breathes in. “I don’t know, I don’t know.”

She can feel her face heat up with a blush, looking down between them, worrying her bottom lip.

Sirius stops moving, taking his hand from the small of her back and placing it on her chin. He gently lifts her head up, forcing her to look at him again. His thumb, his rough calloused thumb, makes its way to her bottom lip, pulling it down. Hermione’s breathing hard, the rapid motions of her chest making her breasts rub against him. 

Steadily, Sirius leans closer and closer, until his mouth is hovering right above hers. She looks at his lips, plump and soft, always tinged red, enticing her to kiss him. 

"Tell me if you don’t want me to kiss you, Hermione,” his voice sounds strained, begging. 

Hermione parts her lips, about to answer him, but instead she leans in, closing the distance between them. 

She doesn’t know if the music has stopped playing, but in that moment, there’s nothing but the feeling of his lips on hers and the hand on her chin, slowly trailing down and wrapping around her neck. The way his kiss goes from gentle to hungry, like he’s a man starved.

Sirius licks her bottom lip, asking her for permission, and she slightly parts her lips, letting him in. He slips his tongue inside, sliding it against hers. 

Hermione’s kissed many people before. All of them had kissed her experimentally, like it was the first time they'd ever kissed anyone before, but Sirius…Sirius knows what he's doing. He’s licking, sucking, and biting her bottom lip. He has a tight hold of her hair, firm and unrelenting, like if he doesn’t hold on, she’ll disappear, float away. 

And she doesn’t want him to relent because she’s afraid that once he lets go, she’ll wake up and it’ll all be a dream and she’s tired— she’s so tired of dreaming. 

It hits Hermione in that moment like a stupefy. She’s been so preoccupied with her pregnancy, with work, with moving. She’s been so distracted by the fact that it’s so easy to live with Sirius, to be around him — even when he makes her nervous by simply just being around — that she didn’t realise she’d fallen in love with him somewhere along the way.

Sirius barreled through her walls like they were merely stacked bowling pins. He invaded her thoughts, her dreams, her space. Merlin, there’s quite literally a part of him growing inside her. 

The revelation makes her kiss him harder, with desperation, hoping she’s able to profess her feelings for him through the kiss alone. To show him how much she loves him, how much she cares and needs him to care too.

Before she’s ready to break the kiss, just as she’s sinking into it, giving back to him as much as he’s giving her, she feels a kick right below her belly, biting into his lip before she pulls away.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, sucking the blood from his lip. 

She sneaks a look at him, his eyes dark, so dark, but there’s a thin line of grey barely visible around his pupil. He’s taking even, deep breaths, and without even trying to hide it, he reaches down the front of his trousers to rearrange himself.

Hermione follows his hand, watching as his hand wraps around his erection. Her breath hitches in her throat. He’s… big. Thick and long and she wonders how in Merlin’s hell he’s able to walk around with that in his pants. 

“Hermione,” she hears him say but she’s so dizzy, she closes her eyes to try to get a hold of herself. “Sweetheart, I don’t un—”

“That’s not why I stopped,” she cuts him off, swallowing, gingerly pressing her fingers to her lips. They feel raw and swollen and they tingle. “The baby kicked,” she explains. “I didn't…I don’t want to stop.” While the baby kicking is usually something they’re both excited about, this time, the excitement is of a different kind. 

The kind she really wants to explore. 

She knows that if they sleep together again, it’s going to involve a deeper conversation because even though he just kissed her like his life depends on it, she still doesn’t know how he feels. Hermione hates being vulnerable, it’s the reason she refused to let herself fall in love but here she is now, deeply in love with Sirius Black and even though that scares the shite out of her, she needs to know if, beyond this baby, there’s anything more between them. 

Hermione needs to know, if down the line, they could have a life together. If after the baby is born, he’s going to stick around, if he’s going to stay, and not go back to Grimmauld where they live a life of co-parenting. She wants the entire picture.

Sleeping and waking up next to him, their baby running into their room, jumping on them both, wiggling their way between them both. She wants the occasional argument that ends in raw passionate sex. She wants mundane Sunday mornings, where they watch the telly, eating cereal on the settee while their baby plays with their toys on the floor with Crooks looking after them. 

She wants to be an actual family with him and their baby.

Hermione’s sure they’ll have time to talk about it all. They’ll have time to discuss and plan and figure things out.

Right now, though, right now she wants to continue what they started.

His grey eyes are boring deep into hers, his gaze intense, asking her where they go from here. 

“I don’t want to stop,” she repeats herself, taking his hand, leading him back into the flat. 

Chapter Text

“Sirius, please, ” she whimpers — her body trembling underneath his rough, wandering fingertips, mapping out every curve of her body, exploring to find out what sounds she makes as he touches — “I’m… please.”

“I know you are, sweetheart,” he growls, smirking at her from over her swollen belly, which he just can’t seem to get enough of. “I could smell how wet and ready you were before.”

“Then please!” She huffs, dropping her hands beside her on the covers, fisting them in frustration. 

Sirius doesn’t answer, his lips too busy placing gentle wet kisses inside her thighs, tracing her scar up to her stomach. “Do you know how bloody crazy it drives me to see you walk around this flat swollen with my baby? Wanna keep you like this forever.” He presses his pelvis to her leg where she can feel how hard and thick he is through his pants. “Feel that, sweetheart?”

Hermione swallows but it does little to soothe the dryness in her mouth. “I…I want it.” She pants and she’s sure she sounds desperate, pathetic even, but she doesn’t care. For once, this isn’t a dream and if it is, she never wants to wake up.

He crawls back up the length of her body, his fingers playing with the hem of her knickers before he wandlessly and non-verbally vanishes them away, leaving her completely naked. 

If she weren't already turned on and drenched, the knowledge and display of his power alone would have done her in.

His lips are on her neck again. “I’ll give you what you want,” he promises, his hot breath tickling her skin. “I’ll give you everything you want,” he declares, sliding his fingers inside her with ease, stretching her open. 

Hermione gasps, her head thrown back against the pillows, and she wants to protest, she wants to say no, she wants to tell him she wants his cock instead of his fingers, but he’s curling them inside of her, pressing down on the spongy tissue inside her cunt. 

She rocks her hips to the rhythm of his fingers fucking into her. She can feel her orgasm, from the tips of her toes, travelling up her legs, growing bigger and bigger in her belly and just as she’s about to let go, to give in to the pleasure, he removes his fingers. 

“Wh– no! ” She cries, huffing in frustration. 

“I know, baby, I know,” he coos. “I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you. Come here.”

Hermione’s panting, looking over to see Sirius is now sitting up, his pants gone and his cock erect, hard and weeping between his tattooed legs. Her eyes flick up to his, his usually bright grey eyes completely black now. “Come here, Hermione,” he says again, gesturing to his lap. 

“You want me to…” 

“I want to see you ride my cock, honey.” His voice is husky, filled with desire. “I want to see the way your milk-filled tits bounce when you fuck me and I wanna see your belly too. I want to see the way you use me to make yourself come on my cock, sweetheart.”

She sits up on her knees, wiggling in place, getting impossibly wetter, her thighs slicker. “I don’t…’m huge.” Her voice sounds so hushed, so shy, so small. 

Being on top, completely naked and exposed, she’s never felt so vulnerable in her life. Her brain is telling her to say no. She’s covered in stretch marks and scars…it’s too ugly, too embarrassing. But she remembers he was just kissing her scars, showering them with love like the rest of her body because they’re a part of her. 

How can she say no? When he’s looking at her like she’s his only reason for breathing, for living. When his eyes hold not only desire but she can see the love she has for him mirrored back at her, the way they’re telling her he’s got her, that she can trust him. That she can always trust him.

Sirius shakes his head slowly, his arms reaching over for her, pulling her closer gently by  the waist, his palms grazing her stomach. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Even more so pregnant with my baby. You don’t have to if you don’t want to but you won’t hurt me. I promise, honey.” 

She looks at him with wide eyes, shocked that somehow he’s able to read exactly what’s on her mind. She opens her mouth to respond but he digs his fingers into her hip, his other hand holding his thick cock. “You said you wanted my cock. Be the good girl I know you are. Come here and take what you want, Hermione.” 

As if all she needed were his words to unlock something within her, she moves closer. Carefully, she places her hands on either side of his shoulders and lifts a leg over his lap, straddling him. She’s holding herself up on her knees, scooting closer, closer, until her belly is grazing his abdomen.

Hermione lets go of one of his shoulders, wrapping her hand around his, small in comparison to his own, in comparison to his cock. 

Steadily, she sinks lower, lower, until she can feel the head of his cock slowly stretching her open. A soft moan escapes her lips at the same time Sirius throws his head back against the headboard with a soft thud. His eyes squeeze shut and she can see the tendons in his neck stretching and the nerves in his jaw clenching. Something about the way he’s reacting to her makes her feel like she’s on felix felicis so she goes lower, lower, until he’s completely sheathed inside her.

She doesn’t move, instead, mesmerised by the way Sirius is reacting to her. The way he seems to need to get a hold of himself because of her. He’s breathing deep and hard, methodically, still clenching his jaw. His nostrils are flared and she watches the way his chest rises up on the inhale and deflates on the exhale. 

She moves her hips experimentally, just enough that her cunt slides along his cock, a small moan escaping her lips. Sirius groans and she panics for a fraction of a second, thinking that it sounds like he’s in pain but he peaks one eye open, his hands tightly gripping her hips to hold her still. “I’m gonna come too early if you keep doing that. Just gimme…” 

Hermione nods once, giving him a moment. She tucks her bottom lip between her teeth, her hands trailing down to his chest, her fingertips softly caressing over the hair that covers his tattoos. She traces the muscles that line his stomach, exploring and feeling how hard they are. Sirius may be older than her, well into his forties but he’s so fit, takes such good care of himself, if it weren’t for his greying hair and the light wrinkles around his eyes, one would think he’s much younger. 

He lifts his head back, opening his eyes, piercing through hers, pinning her down with his stare. Her touch seemed to bring him back to her.  “Needed a minute,” he whispers. “You feel so tight, so fucking good.”

He wraps a hand around her throat, bringing her close to capture her lips with his. It’s slow but needy, and he bites her bottom lip before he traces his tongue over the spot to soothe her raw skin. His fingers trail down her spine, her skin tingling in their wake, and he presses at her lower back to roll her hips, to make her move.

She’s slow at first, finding the right rhythm, finding the best way to fuck him that also massages her clit. She moves this way and that, when she feels a sensation she knows she has to pursue. She rolls her hips faster, chasing the familiar feeling he’d so quickly built up inside her and had just as easily taken away. 

“Yes, baby, just like that. Look at you,” he says in wonder and praise. “So fucking beautiful when you use my cock. Use me,” he encourages her.

Sirius dips his head, mumbles something she can’t quite understand, and wraps his lips over one of her nipples. His tongue swirls over her sensitive skin and it feels so fucking good, she almost doesn’t realise that he’s sucking, drinking her breast milk. 

It should feel wrong, it should repulse her even, but the feeling of him drinking from her, drinking the milk that otherwise wouldn’t be there if it weren’t for him, drives her fucking wild. 

“Should taste it,” he mumbles, separating himself from her tit, kissing her, sliding his tongue inside her mouth. She moans when she tastes the sweetness of her milk on his tongue, like the milk left over from a bowl of cereal, and she kisses him harder, slipping her own tongue in his mouth to taste. The intimacy of sharing her breastmilk makes her impossibly wetter, rocking her hips harder.

“Fuck,” he groans. “You like that? Like tasting your milk on my tongue?” Hermione nods, scared that she’ll scare her orgasm away if she speaks. She tentatively removes her hand from his shoulder, gaining more confidence when she feels his hands wrap and lock around her back to secure her in place. When she does, she brings it up to her tit, pinching her nipple.  

“Filthy little girl,” he licks her other nipple. “Tastes so fucking good, tastes like your tits are mine. Tits and stomach swollen because of me, with my baby and now everyone knows you’re mine.” He growls, his grasp on her hips tight, helping her move faster, chasing her pleasure. 

She doesn’t even have time to prepare herself — with his mouth so filthy and the speed with which she’s riding him — her orgasm completely rips through her. She can feel the beginning of a cramp forming from the way she’s curling her toes, her legs tingling with sleep from being in the same position for too long but all of that is muted by the overwhelming sensation of coming on his cock. 

Sirius tightens his arm around her waist, keeping himself inside her as he lifts her and lays her down. He grabs her legs, wrapping his hands around her ankles, not once relenting in his thrusts, not giving her time to catch her breath from her orgasm. 

“Gonna come on your belly, sweetheart. Gonna paint it and mark it with my cum,” he murmurs, completely transfixed by fucking her like a madman. 

The sound of the headboard slamming against the wall and his hips slapping over and over and over against hers are completely muffled by the blood rushing to her ears. She feels tears running down her cheeks, can hear herself screaming and she can hear Sirius grunting about wanting to “Keep your belly stretched out with my baby forever,” and it’s all too much that she can’t help it when another orgasm washes over her, her cunt clamping down around his cock like a vice.

“Fuck, fuck,” he proclaims, his hips stuttering before pulling out and coming on her stomach – groaning and grunting, a string of expletives spilling from his lips – as he paints it with rope after rope of cum. 

When he’s finally empty, he looks down at his work, his hands smearing his spend over her stomach like lotion and she lets him. His eyes are glossed over, like he’s just discovered the secret to life itself. 

After he’s done, he lays himself down beside her, gathering her in his arms and pulling her close.

She rests her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes, sighing out in contentment. 

Sirius tightens an arm around her, caressing her cheek with the back of his other hand. “You okay, sweetheart? You’re not hurt, are you?”

She leans into his touch, his callused skin, although rough, a happy reminder that what’s just transpired is as real as the magic that flows through her veins. “No, Sirius,” she sighs contentedly, her eyes closed. “You didn’t hurt me. I should be asking you.”

Sirius lets out a soft chuckle. “What do you mean, asking me?”

“You know!” She softly slaps his chest. 

He laughs harder, the muscles on his stomach contracting as he does so. 

“Don’t laugh at me!” Hermione tries to reprimand him but her own voice betrays her when she laughs. 

Hermione can’t recall the last time she was this happy, the last time she let someone else be the source of her happiness.

Although they’ve just had sex, the way he’s laying beside her, their legs tangled together, laughing after being intimate and vulnerable, everything about it feels right . Feels like a warm cup of tea on a cold winter day. Everything about it feels like it should always be this way. 

She doesn’t know how long they’ve been laying there, she doesn’t even know how long they’ve been in his room, in their own little world. She thinks she might’ve even fallen asleep for a minute or two because the feeling of his hand sliding along her jaw stirs her awake. Her chin caught between his thumb and index finger, gently lifting her face to capture her lips with his, sighing as he does so, melting into the kiss. 

Hermione can feel him growing hard again against her thigh, their kiss becoming more and more heated and frenzied. She does her best to wrap a leg around his waist but it only slides down along the curve of his bum to the back of his thigh. Sirius understands though and carefully repositions himself over her. 

She parts her legs, allowing him and his cock more room and better access to her cunt. His mouth has moved from her lips down to her neck, until his mouth is hovering right over her nipple. Hermione’s anticipating his cock, anticipating his lips wrapped around the sensitive skin on her breast, when their little bubble of bliss is broken by the sound of the floo dinging in warning of incoming visitors. 

Sirius gently drops his forehead between her tits, groaning in frustration. “Whoever that is, I’m going to bloody murder them.” Although Hermione has the same sentiment, she can’t help but throw her head back against the covers in laughter. 

“What’re you laughing at, huh?” Hermione hears him, humour in his voice. She feels a gentle sting inside her thigh and her laughter is cut off by a yelp. 

“Did you just pinch me?!” She asks, amused. 

“What’re you gonna do about it?” He smirks. Hermione goes to swat his arm but he pulls away, the mattress bouncing as Sirius crawls off the bed. 

He bends over in front of her to grab his jeans, laughing. Hermione bites her lip when he turns around, her eyes travelling down his toned body, stopping at where his cock is still hard and thick. 

It disappears inside his jeans and Hermione’s eyes trace the trail of coarse hair up along his stomach until she reaches his eyes. “I’m going to bloody murder whoever that is too,” she murmurs hungrily. 

“I might have been slightly joking but for their safety, let me go get rid of them,” he chuckles. 

He’s about to disappear into the hallway when he stops, his hand on the threshold. “Don’t…don’t change your mind when I return.” His voice is gruff, no longer the playful tone it held moments earlier. 

Sirius doesn’t have to specify for her to understand what he means. 

Before she’s able to answer him, to tell him she’s too far gone to change her mind, he disappears, leaving her alone with her thoughts. 

Even though she knows that they still have to talk about what just happened and even though it would be classic Hermione to overthink everything, she can’t help the smile that pulls on her lips and the blush that crawls up her neck settling on her cheeks like a bloody teenager in love. 

Then again, Hermione never really had the chance to be a teenager in love. 

She thinks about Harry and Ginny and the way she kissed him fervently after Gryffindor won their Quidditch game in sixth year. How they became inseparable after, the relationship being the only spot of happiness in Harry’s otherwise tragic life. 

She thinks of Ron and Padma walking down the halls of Hogwarts, hand in hand, around the same time. She remembers the look in Ron’s eyes as he watched Padma talk about anything, as if it was the most compelling thing in the world. 

Mostly, she remembers watching her best friends and the happiness of their first love as she studied for school or researched ways to defeat Voldemort from the shadows of the library stacks or the benches in the corridors of Hogwarts or the courtyards, wondering when it would be her turn.

Of course, those silly sentiments were shattered years later, just like the hopes and dreams of many witches and wizards, young and old. 

A part of her is happy, though, that the universe waited to show her what it’s like to fall in love. Waited for her to experience loss and death. To experience the soul-crushing heartbreak of knowing that the love she had when she was a child was gone with her parents. If only because she could get to experience complete and never-ending unconditional love from someone who knows what it’s like to drown in their grief. If she would only be open and vulnerable enough to let them in and reciprocate. 

Try as she might, she can’t really recall the exact moment she fell in love with Sirius. Perhaps it was during one of the many times she’d catch him singing to himself along to his music as he prepared their breakfast. Maybe it wasn’t a moment. Maybe it’s the way his brows scrunch together when he concentrates on his paperwork, his reading glasses perched on his aristocratic nose. It could be the way he looks genuinely interested and invested in the things she has to say, even if she’s going on and on about Big Brother. 

Or, maybe it’s the way he always stands in this specific spot in the sitting room, in front of the window to catch the sun filtering in through the glass. His eyes closed, a smile on his face, his arms hanging by his sides, losing himself in the warmth. 

She thinks maybe falling in love is a lot like when it rains when you least expect it. The way it starts off gently in sprinkles at first and you have just enough time to cover yourself from getting wet but then it pours, falling all around you, unavoidable, until finally, you’ve nowhere else to go. 

Love is raindrops of moments and quirks and conversations seeping into her skin, settling into her bones, becoming a part of her DNA because falling in love with Sirius is something she’s sure will change her for the rest of her life.

Hermione blinks herself into the present, realising she’s been soothing her palms over her belly, Sirius’ cum long dry, lost in her thoughts. She doesn’t know how long she’s been waiting for Sirius but the silence makes her feel like it’s been minutes. 

She slips out of the bed, finding her knickers thrown across the room above the long mirror that stands in the corner. Another blush heats her cheeks, lifting her hand to wandlessly summon them. As she slips them on– leaning against the mattress to avoid toppling over  because of her belly – she pauses half-way when she notices Sirius’ shirt on the hardwood floor. 

A thought manifests in her mind and she slips her knickers over her bum, all the way up before she walks over to the garment and snakes it over her head, the fabric hugging her body. 

The shirt would probably fit a lot more loose if it weren’t for her protruding belly. 

Hermione slides her feet into his slippers, resizing them to fit her, before walking out of his room to the sitting room. 

“Sirius, what’s taking—” she begins, waddling down the hall but is frozen when she rounds the corner and finds a rather frustrated Sirius with Harry, Theo, and Pansy in the middle of the sitting room. “So long?” She finishes. 

They all turn to look at her at the sound of her voice. Sirius is looking at her with a mix of emotions, mostly hunger, frustration, and possession at the sight of her wearing his shirt post-sex, with the knowledge that he's just cum all over her round belly. Theo and Pansy are looking at her smug with that trademark Slytherin smirk Hermione would very much like to hex off their faces, and Harry is looking between her and Sirius, slowly but surely figuring out what his boyfriend and her best friend figured out the moment she walked into the room. 

“‘Bad Company?’” Theo speaks first, smugly reading the words across her chest. “Doesn’t look like you were just in bad company at all, Hermione.”

Pansy doesn’t even try to hide the laughter that escapes her mouth. Her perfectly outlined and rouged lips stretching over her teeth and her pin-straight hair draping down her shoulders as she tilts her head back with mirth. 

She normally would’ve felt embarrassed from all of the attention being on her, especially after being thoroughly fucked and looking like it, but she can’t be arsed to care in front of them. Pansy never bothered with silencing charms when Neville would stay over and Theo has unsolicitedly given her too many details about his sex life with her childhood best friend who’s like her brother.

If anything, what she feels is annoyed with her friends because they interrupted her from getting thoroughly fucked again.

“Bloody cockblockers.” Sirius grumbles as if he read her mind, pushing his hair back in frustration. 

“Looks to me like your cock’s already been–” Pansy begins but is cut-off by a screaming Harry. 

“La, la, la! Pansy, I’m begging you not to finish that sentence!” He points as he crosses the room, walking in front of her and Theo to get to Sirius. 

“We’re…going somewhere else,” Harry tells him, gripping him by the elbow and pushing him towards the kitchen.

Sirius flicks his eyes over to her, shrugging a single shoulder but allowing himself to be dragged away. “How about I make us some tea…”

Hermione fights a smirk just as she looks over at Theo and Pansy who are practically bursting at the seams. She shakes her head at their excitement, though she can’t help but be fond of their reactions. While, sure, they’re being nosy, she also knows that they’re happy for her because they love her. 

Sometimes she still can’t believe that at one point in their lives, they hated each other. 

“Oh, Circe,” Hermione sighs, pretending to be displeased by rolling her eyes as she makes her way to the settee. “You have ten minutes.”

“What’s the hurry?” Theo teases. “We weren’t interrupting anything, were we?”

Pansy laughs again, wandlessly summoning the grey armchair by the settee. 

“Pans, you better put that back before you leave,” Hermione chastises her.

The Slytherin witch waves her hand, dismissing her. “Focus, Granger. Spill. ”

Hermione settles into her seat, crossing her arms over her chest and letting them rest on her belly. She looks at the two Slytherin’s with a single brow raised, matching their signature smirks from earlier. 

***

As soon as Sirius steps foot into the kitchen, he summons the tea kettle, filling it with an “Aguamenti,” and setting it atop the burner. “Coffee or tea for you, son?” He asks as he begins preparing the coffee maker for himself.

“‘Coffee or tea?’” Harry scoffs, ignoring Sirius’ hospitality altogether. “That is not at all my concern at the moment.” 

“Didn’t know there was anything you needed to be concerned about,” Sirius replies, keeping his attention on getting the coffee maker ready before he turns around and leans against the counter, legs crossed, palms behind him on the surface, holding himself steady.

His godson raises his brows. “You know what the bloody hell I’m talking about.”

Sirius crosses his arms across his chest, not relenting. “Hmm, I don’t think I do.”

“Fucking insufferable, really,” Harry mutters under his breath. “Did you sleep together or not?”

He chuckles, his grey eyes on Harry’s bright green ones. “Yes,” he confirms but not elaborating. 

His godson moves closer, flailing his arms in front of him. “‘Yes?’ Will you stop being a fucking tosser? Did you talk? What happened?”

“Slow down, son,” he replies, chuckling. “One question at a time.”

“Wh– Sirius!’” Harry sputters, growing frustrated with Sirius’ careful omission.

“Well, I might have told her that I love her,” At least, that had been his intention. 

“Will you stop talking in fucking tongues?” Harry says aggravated. 

“Oi!” Sirius replies, although his tone holds more affection than anything else because it’s times like these that feel like he’s talking to James. “Fine, fine. I asked her to dance and –” He begins to explain. 

But Harry interrupts him. “To dance? You took her dancing?”

“Yes, Harry. I took a six month pregnant woman to a bar to get shit-faced and dance. And then we took a ride on my motorbike after,” Sirius deadpans. 

“You’re a prick,” Harry rolls his eyes, pulling out a chair and taking a seat by the dining table. 

Sirius pulls away from the counter to join Harry, throwing his head back in laughter as he does so. 

“We were in the garden,” he begins to explain once more. “I’m sure you’ve read the Prophet?” He looks over at Harry, who rolls his eyes and curls his lip in disgust. 

He laughs again as if to say ‘ my thoughts exactly’ and continues. “It’s been a long morning, to say the least. Owls everywhere, Molly bursting in through the floo, Remus–”

“Molly came through?” Harry asks in shock, once again interrupting Sirius, though he should’ve seen that coming. He wasn’t thinking. 

He cautiously nods his head once. 

“Fuck, what’d she say?” 

“She…” he takes a deep breath in and closes his eyes, remembering what she’d said, getting angry all over again. Sirius has purposely pulled away from Sunday brunches at the Burrow because he and Molly are far too different, like oil and water. He’s done his best to rehabilitate his reputation with her, but the Weasley matriarch won’t even consider giving him the benefit of the doubt. Sirius decided then that she would never change her mind about him thus, no longer showing up. 

He didn’t do it as though throwing a tantrum either, to stick it to her or anyone else. Sirius genuinely thought at the time that it would be better for everyone if he no longer attended, giving them peace and room to be joyous instead of having to deal with their never-ending bickering. 

Harry understood, siding with his godfather – a choice Sirius asked him to reconsider – slowly receding his own visits to the Burrow. 

Sirius is used to Molly taking out her anger on him. He’s used to her insults, used to her endless nit-picking, and backhanded compliments. Molly threw them at him like hexes and Sirius lazily blocked them with a simple protego, her insults hitting the shield and dropping to the floor, falling like flies.

Those aimed at him, he’ll take any day but the second Molly throws a hex at someone he loves, someone who he is starting a family with…he’s proud of himself for not doing something stupid and endangering Hermione and their baby’s life. 

“She practically called me a predator and she…she asked Hermione what her parents would think.”

“Fucking batty, barmy, wretched woman,” Harry seethes. “I’m going to have a talk with her. She has no fucking right to talk to Hermione that way, not after everything she’s done for her family.”

In that same moment, they both turn their heads when they hear Pansy yelling, promising, to “Hex her fucking tits off!” realising Hermione has just told them the same thing. 

“Sounds like there won’t be anything left of her if Pans gets to her first,” Sirius jokes, trying to soften the moment. 

“She shouldn’t have spoken to her like that but it doesn’t surprise me.”

“No, it doesn’t surprise me either,” Sirius agrees. “Though, and I can’t believe I’m going to say this, I understand where Molly was coming from.”

Harry whips his head up to look at him, his eyes starting to fill with anger. “I’m not agreeing with her. You know I would’ve done far worse had Hermione not been near me. Her parents aren’t here and she’s a right cunt for throwing that in her face,” he explains. “But I understand, in a very fucked up way, that it was coming from a place of love. Maybe she did mean it that way, fuck if I know, but maybe she worded it wrong.”

“After the way she’s treated you, the way she’s talked to you, about you, how can you give her the benefit of the doubt?” Harry asks incredulously. “You have to know she means it with Hermione.” 

“Don’t get me wrong, Harry, I don’t want the bloody woman around Hermione ever again. Not unless I’m with her or anyone else I trust, especially not near our child,” he clarifies. “I just know what it’s like to hurt those you love without intending to.”

Harry merely nods his head. “So…you took my six month pregnant best friend dancing?” He asks, changing the subject entirely.

“Right,” Sirius laughs. “We were in the garden, relaxing after all the chaos. I was working on a bike and she was reading a book. I had the wireless in the shed while I was working and Something started playing. I don’t know where it came from, but I really wanted to dance with her so I asked her.”

“In the middle of the garden?”

“In the middle of the garden,” Sirius repeats, smiling to himself. He should try to conjure a patronus, he thinks, from how the memory fills him up with happiness. “I was watching her and she looked dazed, like in some sort of daydream or something. At first she seemed hesitant but she agreed. Anyway, we were dancing and I started singing the words to her. Then I kissed her and we slept together and then you lot had to come and interrupt us.”

“Piss off,” his godson shoves him, laughing before his tone changes to something more serious. “You do know Hermione is going to need to hear you actually say that you’re in love with her. You’re about to have a baby together, be a family. I’m sure she enjoyed the gesture, but Hermione is more practical. She needs to hear it.”

“I know, son,” he smiles. “I have every intention of telling her where I stand and how I feel.”

“Good,” Harry replies. 

A comfortable silence falls between them for a moment, the sounds of the kettle and smell of the coffee maker filling the room when Harry turns to look at him. “I’m really happy for you both. You’ve been through so much, you both deserve this.”

Sirius looks at him for a moment, his vision blurring, tears filling his eyes. He doesn’t respond but urgently stands up, pulling Harry up and in for a hug. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The tea in the kettle on the coffee table is empty, along with a few tea mugs amongst others still halfway filled, liquid no doubt gone cold from being forgotten in conversation with friends. 

The grey armchair is back where it belongs, by the window next to her books. The floo has been locked, with a small fire sitting within it now. 

A comfortable silence has settled between them with Hermione curled up against him, his arm wrapped around her and his fingers mindlessly running up and down her arm. The warmth of her body seeping into his skin the way the sun does when it filters in through the window. 

Sirius is looking at the pictures placed about the room again. There’s a small picture of her as a child, with a giant smile on her face as she poses in what looks like a duck costume, placed in the entertainment centre that holds the telly. 

He smiles then – the way he never fails to do so when his eyes land on the photo – only this time it’s accompanied by a soft chuckle. 

“What?” She asks quietly, a smile of her own in her voice. 

“Will you come with me to Grimmauld?” He asks, although, surprised at his own question. 

Hermione lifts her head from his shoulder, looking up at him. “What for?” She questions gently. 

“I want to retrieve my trunk from the attic. Put some pictures up, finally,” he replies.

“Trunk too heavy for you, old man?” She jokes and Sirius can’t help but laugh. 

“Need I remind you of today’s earlier activities?” He turns to look at her, a smirk on his face when he sees the lust in her eyes. 

“Before I left Grimmauld,” he continues. “I told myself I would never return to my first prison. That trunk is important to me, holds all my memories, but Grimmauld is…” he sighs. “I don’t want to return alone.”

Hermione reaches down to grab his hand, intertwining her fingers through his. “You’re not alone. You’ll never be alone again.”

Her brows are furrowed and her lips are slightly parted. Her usual honey brown eyes, hard and determined, promising something Sirius has never dared to promise anyone else. Something he’d been too scared to promise before. 

Before he’s able to swallow the words down, they drip out of his lips. “I love you,” he says. “I think I’ve loved you for a long time now.” 

He’s not expecting her to say it in return, but he continues because he needs to let her know how he feels before she rejects him. “I spent so long building walls around me throughout most of my life, keeping anyone interested in anything more at a distance. After I lost James and Lily, I built them higher, stronger. I couldn’t bring myself to love or fall in love with anyone new.”

Sirius takes a deep breath. “But then a little witch came over on one of the hardest days of my life, carrying a tiny cake in her hands, showing me more sympathy and care than I deserved and shattered the walls around me with a boulder, like they were merely made of glass instead of the bricks and stones I’d so carefully stacked with concrete.”

Finally, he dares a glance at her. Her eyes are wide, her teeth worrying her bottom lip, clinging on to his every word. 

Sirius reaches over, his hand beneath her chin and pulls her lip free, red and raw from her teeth. He runs the pad of his thumb over the teeth marks to soothe. “Since I’m being completely honest here, I’m terrified, Hermione. I don’t know what I’m doing,” he says sincerely. “I thought I’d completely fucked everything up after that first night but then today —”

“You didn’t!” she says, the words spilling from her lips in urgency, interrupting him. “I wish I hadn’t walked away the way I did that morning. I wish I hadn’t told you it was a mistake. The look in your eyes…Circe, I thought about it for weeks. Months, even, but I was a coward, Sirius.” 

He tries to tell her otherwise, but she shakes her head. “No, I was. I was a coward. I was too afraid to face you again and, in the spirit of honesty, I think a part of me used Harry as an excuse to keep away. I was scared of getting close to anyone. I’ve been brave during war, I’ve survived torture but love?” She breathes out a laugh, her voice lower now. “I have a bag full of potions and salves, dittany for splinches. I’m quick to defend myself against curses, I’m good with magic but I have no idea what I would do if I lost you.”

It’s not lost on Sirius that both he and Hermione have the same exact reasons for keeping themselves from falling in love. They both lost people in horrible and unexpected ways, friends and family that they thought they’d have years with only to now live the rest of their lives mourning them. 

He scoots closer to her, his hand now on her neck, his thumb caressing her cheek. “I can’t promise that nothing will ever happen to me but I can promise to not be reckless, to not do anything that would put me in danger and take me away from you both,” he places a hand on her swollen stomach. “Every single stupid thing I’ve ever done in my life, including twelve years in Azkaban, I know I had to do to come home to you.” 

Hermione rests her forehead against his, her warm breath against his skin, her thumb caressing the back of his hand and her other hand behind his neck, playing with his hair. “What a pair we make,” she whispers, laughing. 

Sirius shakes his head against hers. “Wouldn’t change a thing,” he replies, leaning in and placing a gentle kiss on her lips, relishing in the freedom of it. 

She pulls away, a contented smile on her face being pulled apart by a yawn. 

“You’ve had a long day. I think it’s time for bed, tiny,” he announces, standing and pulling her up along with him towards his bedroom. 

She hums in response, resting her head on his shoulder as they walk. “Was thinking we should paint the nursery grey,” she murmurs. “Like your eyes. Baby’s gonna have your eyes.”

“Anything you want, sweetheart,” he agrees. 

“Think you should move into my room, too,” she continues, sleepily. 

“First thing tomorrow,” he smiles, pulling her inside and closing the door behind him. 

Chapter Text

Nine months (39 weeks)

The garden is coated in a woven white blanket of snow. Biting cold wind gently blows around him but he’s none the wiser, warm and dry under a shield and warming charms to protect him.

He watches as fresh snow flurries fall around him, a half-drunk cup of coffee warm in his hands. Even under the protection of the shield, he can still hear the quiet that the snow and cold bring, the stillness of the world even in its chaos – he takes in a deep breath, missing the sting of the biting cold air in his nostrils and lungs. 

This will probably be the only moment of peace he’ll have for the rest of the day and he wants to bask in its glory as long as he can. 

Sirius gulps down the rest of his coffee before he removes the charms from around him and quickly makes his way inside before the cold has a chance to settle into his skin and bones. He beelines toward the kitchen, to the sink, depositing his empty coffee mug before reaching for the cupboards to grab a glass. He fills it with an aguamenti. 

Crooks rubs himself between Sirius’ legs, prompting him to look over at the feline’s bowl only to find it still has quite a good amount of food and water left in it. Sirius smiles to himself, staying in place to let Crooks show his affections. 

The vibrations of his purring take him to a cold damp cave near Hogwarts after he escaped, when the feline would curl himself against him, doing his best to keep a shivering Sirius warm. 

Crookshanks had been Sirius’ only companion then. Sneaking him food from the Great Hall – although, most of the time, he’d bring him rats –  and helping him however he could in his quest to catch wormtail. 

Sirius would be lying if he said he didn’t miss waking up with Crookshanks curled up against him but, this time, in a warm bed next to someone he loves.

Drinking the rest of his water, he puts the empty cup in the sink at the same time he hears a frustrated huff. It’s so quick, so faint, Sirius almost feels like he imagined it. Keeping still, he concentrates on the quiet of the house. Last he remembers, Hermione was in her office — the room that used to be his — trying to get some work done during what is supposed to be her bed rest. 

“I am not going to be spending the rest of this pregnancy in bed, Sirius Black!” She argued even if Sirius was only trying to follow Healer Harper’s instructions.

“Sweetheart, I know you don’t want to but it’s for your own good,” he practically begged.

Hermione merely looked at him, eyes still hard and mouth set in a straight line. “Fine,” she sniped. “I’ll stop going in for work but we’re turning the extra bedroom into an office so I can continue working from home.”

That was as close as he was going to get her to agree to bed rest, so he conceded. Honestly, he should have seen this coming. Hermione isn’t one to stay still, always doing something to keep herself occupied. He should have known his witch would have fought against it. He loves her all the more for it.

He scrunches his brows, lifting a single one, doing his best to focus his animagus hearing on where the huff came from when he hears it again, this time followed by a growl. 

Making sure not to step on Crooks, he quietly and gently steps around the feline and towards the sitting room where he spots Hermione on the settee, hunched over trying to reach down for something but failing because her belly is in the way. She huffs again, shoving her wild curls over her shoulder in annoyance. 

He leans against the threshold, crosses his arms over his chest and watches Hermione try again and again, reaching down over and over and failing every time at whatever she’s trying to do. 

He admires her tenacity, he does – it’s endearing, really, though he can’t help but laugh at the fact that even with a full belly, she still thinks she can do the things she’d be able to do if she weren’t pregnant. He watches her struggle a few more times, huffing and puffing, cursing under her breath before he decides he’s witnessed enough, finally stepping over. 

“Sweetheart,” he calls for her attention, fighting against a smile. Hermione looks up at him through her lashes, indignation in her eyes, and leans back against the sofa, dropping her arms beside her in defeat. “What’re you doing?” 

“I’m trying to paint my toenails but your baby won’t let me,” she grumbles, exasperated. 

Sirius throws his head back in laughter, his shoulders shaking with mirth. “Ah, I see you’re already pinning the blame on me.”

“Well this,” she points to her swollen stomach, gesturing around it, “is your fault.”

He bends at the waist, leaning down and laughing into her hair, smoothing it down and placing a kiss on her head. “Don't worry, Tiny.” He sits on the coffee table, coming face to face with Hermione. “I’ll happily take the blame whenever they break the rules.”

“It’s the least you could do,” Hermione grumbles. 

“Of course it is,” he chuckles. “Would you like some help with your toes?” Sirius pats his thigh and Hermione lifts a leg, resting her foot on his knees at his silent request. He extends his hand, palm up, where Hermione places the soft teal nail varnish. 

In the months since moving in together and the few weeks of being together, they’ve learned how to communicate in silence. Something he’s only ever been able to do before with James. Only needing to look over at one another to know exactly what they’re thinking. 

Their friends have picked up on it too. Teasing them about how they hate being around them because they’re always in ‘ their own little world’ . Remus in particular said he hasn’t seen Sirius so in sync with someone since their best mate. 

A part of him feels like he’s betraying his deceased friend but another part of him feels complete once more. Never had Sirius felt more sure of who he was and what he could do than when James was by his side, understanding him, sharing that confidence in him. But now Hermione gives him the same; she makes him feel capable, solid.

Sirius dips the brush in the bottle, making sure there isn’t too much varnish on the bristles, grabbing her foot before he begins painting. 

He takes his time, carefully coating the nail until it’s completely covered. Cleaning around the edges if he gets paint on her skin then dips the brush into the bottle again, repeating this routine over and over, until he paints all five and starts another coat on each. 

“You’ve done this before,” she remarks, hypnotised as she watches his hands intently while he paints her toenails.

Sirius chuckles softly. “Painting my nails was my first official act of rebellion against Walburga.”

“Hmm,” she considers. “Not the salacious posters you hung up on your bedroom walls with sticking charms?”

This time he lets out a full belly laugh, moving the varnish brush to the side, away from her toes so as to not ruin his masterful work. “I hung up band posters, too, Tiny.” He winks at her. “Merlin, she fucking hated those posters. Beat me with Orion’s cane for it.” He laughs about it now, as if he wasn’t sore and bruised for days after. If he thinks about it too long, he can still feel them. 

Sirius shakes the memories away.

“No. No, the posters were the summer between first and second year,” he recounts. “I’m known for my disobedience – as I’m sure you’re well aware – but I tried to stay in line for the sake of peace and to avoid a beating. After getting a taste of being on my own and doing essentially whatever I wanted, when I came back from Hogwarts, I could no longer be arsed to care,” he shrugs a single shoulder. 

“Walburga would’ve hated me either way. I wasn’t the perfect pureblood son even when I tried.” Sirius delicately wraps his fingers around her ankle, placing her foot on the floor and taking the other, resting it on his thigh before he goes on. 

“Appearances meant everything to Walburga. It was important to her that we appeared as if we were a perfect pureblood family. Made sure Regulus and I were in every sort of etiquette class so we could play the part of perfect sons.” Sirius continues with her nails, gently blowing on the varnish to dry faster. 

“Appearances in every sense of the word. I knew that if I did anything to my physical appearance – anything that would disparage the image Walburga had so carefully crafted of and for me – take away her ownership of me, I knew it would be the beginning of my freedom. Albeit, it wasn’t an easy road but I got there,” he says, applying a final layer as he finishes his story. 

He looks up to find tears have welled up in her eyes, her bottom lip trembling. He reaches for her, cupping her cheek in his palm and soothing her skin with his thumb. “Sweetheart, no,” he laments. “It’s in the past. Can’t hurt us now.”

“Still!” She insists, “What a vile woman! I wish she were alive just so I could hex her and kill her myself!”

“I don’t doubt you would do that— not for a single second,” Sirius agrees, leaning forward and placing a soft kiss on the tip of her nose then her forehead. He grabs her hand and soothes away the crackling magic in her fingertips. “How’d I do, hmm?” He asks, bringing the attention back to her toenails. 

Hermione huffs, dropping her shoulders and tries to lean over, forgetting that her stomach prevents her from looking down at her toes. She lifts her other foot up and rests it on Sirius’ other knee. 

She tilts her head to one side then to the other – reminding Sirius of Crookshanks when he’s judging…anyone – wiggling her toes as she does so. “It’ll do,” she sighs, feigning exasperation and biting her bottom lip to keep herself from smiling.

“Oh, it’ll do, will it?” Sirius barks out a laugh, grabbing one of her feet and tickling her. 

Sirius also thinks he hasn’t laughed this much since he was in school. One wouldn’t know it if they weren’t close to her — and one would only get the side of Hermione that he gets if they were, maybe, a cherished lover — but Hermione is one of the funniest people Sirius has ever known. She’s witty and quick with her remarks, makes jokes without even trying to be funny and is raw and authentic when she’s around him. 

She’s expressed to him that sometimes she feels like she has to perform for her friends. After the war, Hermione finally let herself mourn the death of her parents in peace and on her own. Felt that she couldn’t properly grieve right away because she had to be Harry’s strength and a third of his brain if he wanted to defeat Voldemort. 

Even now, Sirius is surprised to know that he knows more about what happened with her parents than her friends do. Especially Harry. Their friendship means the world to Hermione but keeping her parents and their deaths to herself is important, wanting to keep some part of herself away from the world that took them from her. She doesn’t blame Harry and as much as she loves her magic and being a witch, she expressed that after the war, she’d sometimes wonder if it was worth it all. 

Hermione has opened herself up, shown him every sensitive, tender part and then given each of those parts, in every sense of the word, to Sirius. He wonders if he’s given enough of himself to her. There are days where he goes to bed emotionally exhausted, feeling completely exposed, not used to not hiding himself in the way he always has.

Still, he’s pleasantly surprised that for two people who were terrified to open themselves up to love have done just that in under three months. All that fear they once felt seems completely and utterly absurd now.

A loud screech slashes through their laughter, interrupting Sirius. He looks up, Hermione following his line of sight, and finds an elegant great horned owl perched by the window. 

Sirius lets go of Hermione's foot, standing up and making his way to the expectant, beady-eyed owl. “Hello, Artemis,” he greets the familiar bird. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”

The owl narrows his beady eyes at Sirius, spitting out the envelope onto the table that holds the perch. 

“Grumpy little thing, aren’t you?” He jokes, picking up the envelope to see his and Hermione’s names written in a familiar script. 

Artemis responds with a short annoyed hoot, shifting on his feet, impatiently waiting. 

“Right,” Sirius huffs, reaching for the bowl of owl treats. He grabs a single one and holds it out for Artemis to take but barely manages it before the bird snatches it out of his hands and flies into the chimney and back out to its owners. 

“That owl hates me,” he announces. Sirius slaps the envelope on his hand, walking back towards Hermione, this time sitting beside her, and hands her the letter. 

She snuggles up against him, ripping the envelope open and reading the contents inside. 

“It’s just Harry and Theo reminding us to be at their place in time for dinner,” she announces, releasing a soft huff. “Oh, honestly! I’ve never been late to anything.” 

She hands him the letter and Sirius reads it over, sighing. “Not only did they tell us about this yesterday but to send a reminder? This is terrible pureblood etiquette.”

The letter prompts Sirius to look up at the time— 3:10, 20 minutes till Theo and Harry’s stupid dinner.

He feels Hermione stirring beside him, snickering. “Since when do you give a troll’s arse about pureblood etiquette?” 

“Since my godson and his boyfriend expect me to be at a dinner at the last minute when I’d much rather stay here at home with you and have you as my dinner instead.”

Sirius hears Hermione whine, actually whine, and he can’t help the smirk on his face when she does. “I think you should definitely have a talk with Theodore about his terrible pureblood etiquette, then,” she mutters breathlessly, leaning closer, so close, he can feel her breath on his face. 

“I should, shouldn’t I?” Leaning closer still, murmuring against her lips. 

She’s barely able to nod in agreement before he closes the distance between them and kisses her.

Hermione melts into the kiss, her body sinking, relaxing, lower and lower into the settee. She moans into his mouth, encouraging Sirius to kiss her harder. 

He slides a hand down her front, between her growing tits, lower and lower, until he’s brushing the hem of her dress. Hermione snaps her hips forward, as if she’s mad he stopped and he laughs against her lips. 

Sirius lowers his hand underneath her dress, his fingers finding her knicker-covered wet cunt. 

“Fuck, ” Sirius swears under his breath. “I love how wet you get for me. Needy little thing, aren’t you?”

“Mhm,” she hums, nodding her head slowly and biting her bottom lip. “Always for you.”

“Yes, sweetheart, that’s right.” He mimics her nodding, kissing along her jaw, down to her neck. 

“Sirius?” She moans, her breath hitching and heartbeat rising from his ministrations. “Sirius, we’re going to be late.”

“This won’t take long,” he breathes into her neck, nipping at her skin, marking her. 

She whimpers when she feels his teeth, breathing harder and heavier. “N-not like this,” she manages. “Need more. Need you inside me.”

He breaks away from her neck, resting his forehead on her clavicle, calming his own heavy breathing. “Bloody hell,” he pants. “You’re right. Just, uh-give me…I need a moment.” 

His cock is pulsing, impossibly hard and weeping. 

“I’m sorry,” she says remorsefully.

Sirius lifts his head in an instant, boring his grey eyes into brown ones. “No, sweetheart,” his voice is deep, serious. “You never have to apologise for that. It’s me who needs to behave.”

He gives himself a few more minutes for his body to calm down from excitement, his eyes falling over the new pictures that are now mixed in with Hermione’s. 

They settle on a picture of James with his arm around Sirius’ shoulders, leaning into and cupping his hand over his ear, whispering something that instantly makes Sirius burst with laughter. James accompanies him, throwing his head back, his shoulders shaking with mirth before the photo loops once more. 

Then on another. A very rare and only remaining photo of a fifteen year-old Sirius with his brother taken on Regulus’ thirteenth birthday at Hogwarts. The one Hermione discovered while hiding in Grimmauld Place during the hunt. 

The candles, placed on a cake made by elves on request, are glowing before his little brother, reflecting in grey eyes that are filled with wonder and awe, tears threatening to spill over. Before Hogwarts and before James, Sirius never knew what it was like to have his birthday celebrated, wanting to extend that feeling of love and appreciation to his brother. Regulus’ thirteenth birthday was the first where he received a cake, where he was celebrated for simply being alive. 

After that day, things weren’t the same. Regulus made new friends — the children of those Orion and Walburga went above and beyond to impress. Regulus distanced himself from him, pushing him away. 

Sirius doesn’t even know if Regulus had another birthday cake after his first. For all he knows, the cake Hermione made him twenty-six years later was the only other one he ever had.

Before Sirius lets his emotions take over, he breaks the silence with a sigh. “We should get going, Tiny.”

He feels her release a sigh of her own, lifting her head and letting him guide her through to the floo. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

He’s spit out from the floo, the floors creaking beneath his feet from his movements until he stops directly in front of the floo and drops to his knees. He quickly dusts off the soot from his clothes before grabbing a handful of floo powder and calling for the flat. 

The emerald flames emerge once more, Sirius sticking his head into them to find a patiently waiting Hermione on the other side. “Alright, sweetheart. You can come through now.” 

He pulls away and stands on his feet again, taking a few steps back to give her room to come through. She appears not even a minute later, Sirius instantly at her side to help steady her. 

“There’s got to be better ways of transportation for pregnant witches,” she grumbles, holding on to Sirius by the arms. 

He hunches over, chuckling into her curls before planting a kiss on her hair. “You okay, Tiny?”

“Just a bit dizzy is all,” she reassures him before mumbling out, “Bloody floo,” displeased. 

Sirius runs the palms of his hands down her arms until he settles a hand on each side of her belly, still speaking into her hair. “Much better than Apparating and risking you and the little one getting splinched.”

“All I’m saying is that Ignatia and George could have considered the dangers of flooing and apparating whilst pregnant.”

Again, Sirius chuckles at her indignation, although, not at all surprised at the fact that she knows the names of those who invented the most preferred methods of transportation. “If there’s anyone who would be able to invent a safe and new method of transportation for expectant women whilst pregnant, it would be you, sweetheart.”

He leans back and glances down at her only to find a thoughtful look upon her face, like she’s already thinking of ways to make it happen. 

Sirius lifts her chin to look at her and smiles. “Look at that brilliant brain of yours already working.”

A blush blooms upon her chest, creeping up her neck and spreading under her freckled cheeks. In the months after they expressed their feelings for one another, he’s had plenty of time to explore and discover things about her that give him the same reaction. 

Amongst his favourites being the way she does a little dance in her seat when she’s eating something the baby’s made her crave, the way she’s absolutely loud and filthy in bed or the way Hermione gets as red as the Weasley’s hair when he praises her intelligence and performance. 

The last of which, he thinks, is at the top of the list. He’s taken full advantage of it, particularly when he’s fucking her or she’s got her mouth full of his cock.

His cock twitches in his trousers when he hears a loud “Ahem!” from behind them. 

Sirius turns around where he’s faced with a sitting room full of people who in unison yell, “Surprise!”

Their friends and family are scattered throughout the sitting room. He scans around seeing happy familiar faces. His godson looks genuinely excited for their arrival whereas Theo and Pansy, once again, have smug looks on their faces no doubt from overhearing their conversation. Remus looks exasperated and Dora – hair bright pink and all – is beside him folded over in laughter. 

Sirius smirks at the pair, shaking his head, and looks beyond them where he sees the house is decorated with banners that say a mixture of Happy Baby Shower, Welcome Baby or Hello Baby hung around the house accompanied by pastel yellow and light grey ribbons and balloons. 

An overwhelming sensation tightens and sits heavily on Sirius’ chest. He’s not quite sure exactly what it is, only that his smirk falters and if he focuses on the feeling too much, or for too long, it will suffocate him. 

Instead, he grips Hermione tighter and closer, focusing on the chorus of voices from their friends and family, letting the warmth of their congratulations take over the darkness of whatever emotion he’s still not able to pinpoint. 

“Oh, Merlin!” Hermione gasps in surprise, pulling away from Sirius to cover her mouth with her hands. 

“We wanted to surprise you,” Harry begins, standing beside Sirius, gently clapping the middle of his back. “Sirius, Hermione, welcome to your surprise baby shower!” Harry announces, throwing a beaming, bright smile at the both of them as he gently pushes Sirius closer to everyone.

He’s slowly swallowed by the crowd, pulling him this way and that for hugs and congratulations. Sirius turns to look for Hermione in the crowd, the tightness in his chest getting stronger when she’s nowhere to be found, swallowed by the crowd herself. 

For a second, he has a hard time being able to differentiate the faces before him, getting pulled into hug after hug, mumbling thank you’s and exchanging half-hearted smiles.

He can’t help but think back to the last baby shower he attended. It was in this same house. A small, intimate, and quiet gathering. Something to make James and Lily forget about the terrifying situation they were in. To give them hope that everything would be okay, that they would come out of this safe and sound as a happy little family.

Sirius can’t help the guilt that rises up in his throat, burning as he swallows it back down. It should be them here instead of him. They should be alive, celebrating a new milestone in their life or Harry’s. Hell, maybe if Sirius had been the secret keeper, they’d still be here. Maybe they’d have had another baby. They’d have had the life James talked about relentlessly, night after night. 

He looks for and finds Hermione in the crowd, laughing at something Neville is saying with her hands on her stomach, gently rubbing her belly, and he can’t help the burst of pride and love. Like a nebula, the warmth of it spreads from his chest to the very tips of his fingers and toes.

It’s funny, he thinks, that nine months ago he was in this very spot, purposely getting himself pissed off of Muggle vodka to avoid and forget about his feelings for Hermione – back when he’d resigned himself to the fact that all he’d ever be was her friend – only to wake up next to the witch the morning after. 

He should know better by now, that his life can change in a single moment, let alone in a single night. It’s even a little cruel, but still funny, that in a single instant, twice in his life, he’s both lost everything that mattered to him and gained everything he ever wanted here, in this same house. 

No, he decides that it is funny. It so incredibly fucking funny he can’t help but to throw his head back in laughter, because the most important people in his life will never meet. 

Lily and James will never get to meet Hermione and their baby— or, for that matter, see him happy. Actually happy. It’s pretty fucking hilarious, actually.

“What’s so funny?” He hears a familiar voice behind him, turning around to find Remus, his arm extended offering him a drink. 

Sirius wipes the tears away from his face, declining the drink with a soft shake of his head. “My life, Moony. My life is what’s so fucking funny.”

The extra drink floats away from Remus’ hand, towards a random table, and rests his hand on his shoulder. “Your life?” 

“That’s right,” he clears his throat. “You see, I don’t know whether I love or hate this fucking house.”

“What do you mean, Pads?” Sirius can see the concern in his friends’ eyes, in his furrowed brows and slightly downturned lips. He can see pity.

Sirius hates pity, especially from someone who should understand him in this instance more than anyone. 

“I mean, Moony, that my life has drastically changed twice in this very house. I lost everything that night – James, Lily, Harry, you, all at once. Poof!” He emphasises with his hands. “So, I just think it’s a little bit funny that twenty years later, I’m at a baby shower, my own baby shower, with a woman who’s far too good for me, a woman I took home from here after a party, drunk and got her pregnant,” he says out of breath. “This house. This fucking house.”

The werewolf studies Sirius, standing there silently before him, looking him over with concern in his eyes. Sirius isn’t quite sure what he’s expecting him to say. He himself doesn’t even really know what to do with all the things he’s feeling.

Remus’ eyes flick over his shoulder. He gives whomever he’s looking at a subtle nod before fixing his eyes back on his. 

“Hey, Snuffles?” A familiar arm wraps around his shoulders, guiding him away from his worried friend. “Come help me light the fire pit, yeah?”

Despite the snow still falling, the garden’s grass is bright green as if it were the middle of summer. If Sirius focuses closely, he can hear the subtle humming of a shield charm surrounding the perimeter of the garden. 

Even through the shield, he can feel the cold air hit his face as soon as they cross the threshold to the garden, can smell the green grass and the snow that falls around them and it feels like he’s found his way up to the surface for air, the tightness in his chest loosening and getting lighter and lighter, his lungs stretching with every breath that he takes, burning on every inhale. 

When Sirius and Remus helped Harry restore Potter Cottage a few years back, his godson insisted on having a fire pit. Harry wanted a way of relaxing at the end of his Auror shifts, a way to decompress that wasn’t indoors. Together, they dug a hole in the ground and with magic, they decorated it with stacked bricks around the edges. Chairs now surround the pit, some with blankets over the backrests in case someone gets too cold.

Sirius is sure that Harry is perfectly capable of starting a fire on his own, nevertheless, he’s grateful for his goal of getting him out of the house and away from the party. 

Harry extends his arm, wand in hand, wordlessly sparking a fire before he turns to sit on a chair. Sirius follows his lead, letting out a sigh as he sits on the chair next to Harry’s. He lets his body sag as soon as it hits the cold surface of the seat, releasing all the stress he’s been holding since arriving at Potter Cottage only a few minutes ago. 

His head hits the backrest and his eyes flick up towards the sky. Grey clouds cover the blue sky, snow falling from them and melting as soon as the flakes hit the shield. “Did you know that the first time I flew a broom was at Hogwarts?” He asks, breaking the silence between them. 

“Really?” He hears from beside him. 

“Walburga didn’t allow fun of any sort, of course, you know that, but for someone who cared so much about blood purity, you’d think flying a broom would be allowed,” he scoffs. “It was freeing, being up there. Like I could go anywhere I wanted whenever I wanted. It’s why I like flying my motorbike.”

“I felt the same way when I flew for the first time.” His godson hums in agreement.

“You know, the first time you actually rode a broom was on your first birthday.” Sirius turns slightly to look over at Harry but he’s looking up at the sky the same way Sirius was only a few seconds ago. 

“That’s right.” He can hear Harry’s smile in his voice. “You gave it to me for my birthday, my mum sent you a picture. You’re a bad influence, you know.”

Sirius’ own smile falters and it occurs to him that…

“I’m sorry, Harry,” he whispers. “I don’t know if I ever even said it to you but I’m so fucking sorry for not protecting you, Lily and James the way I should have. I’m sorry for leaving you with horrid people–” 

“Sirius,” he interrupts him, placing his hand on his shoulder. “I forgave you a long time ago, mate. I know you never meant to and I know there was nothing you could do. But—” he lowers his head to meet Sirius’ eyes and his heart drops for a moment “—you’re about to be a father, start your own family. It’s time that you forgive yourself, don’t you think?”

He knows Harry is right. It’s the reason Sirius has been taking a few more clients than usual because, in a way, he was trying to distract himself from the fact that he’s going to be a father. 

While the thought of starting and having his own family was one of the things that kept him going while in Azkaban, it’s a whole other thing entirely for his hopes to become reality. 

Sure he has some experience. When Harry was a baby and he was able to visit, Sirius would help as much as he could— sometimes even change his diaper. The thing is, how is he supposed to protect Hermione and their baby and keep them safe when he wasn’t able to do that for Harry and his parents?

“You’re going to be a great father, Sirius,” Harry says, as if he’s read his mind. “You’ve been there for me since the moment you’ve been able to, haven’t failed me since. Even if Hermione’s up the duff because of you,” he laughs. “There hasn’t been a threat like Voldemort since the war ended and any and every other danger isn’t so big or bad that I can’t handle it.”

“That should never have been your responsibility, son,” he says.

“You’re right, it shouldn’t have. We were both deceived by someone we thought we could trust and that person is long gone,” Right. Dumbledore. The man can rot in hell for all he cares. “It never occurred to me to blame you for any of it, Sirius. You can rest easy knowing that myself and the Ministry are doing the best we can to keep the Wizarding World safe for everyone.”

With Harry’s words, the tightness in his chest dissipates and Sirius takes a deep breath in relief. He cups Harry’s face with his palm. “Your parents would be so proud of you, Harry. I’m so proud of you.”

“Someone very wise once told me that those who love us never really leave us.” Harry smiles at him and it’s a little too painful for Sirius to look at him. 

He thinks back to when he escaped Azkaban. Transformed as Padfoot, his heart beating so hard it felt like it was going to beat out of his chest. He remembers the moment his body hit the ice cold waters of the Northern Sea and how he told himself to keep swimming because if he didn't, they’d catch him. 

If he didn’t, they’d kill him. 

So he swam and swam and swam and he kept swimming even after the prison was no longer looming behind him. His arms and his lungs burned and he couldn’t even really feel his body but he kept repeating ‘left, right, left, right’ all the while kicking his feet behind him, looking out for any sign of land. 

When he finally found somewhere to keep himself warm and to rest – rest from swimming and the fear of being caught – the grief from losing James and Lily flooded his senses tenfold from suppressing them for twelve years. His malnutrition was so bad, though, he couldn’t even cry. 

Sirius thinks that swimming across the Northern Sea eight years ago isn’t nearly as difficult as the twenty years he’s been swimming across the sea of his own grief. Swimming just as hard and just as fast towards an impossible horizon, towards a safety that cannot be guaranteed. 

He thinks of all the moments he’d given up, where he told himself, ‘I'll just rest for a little while’, only to be consumed by the waters, forced to swim again and start all over. 

Until finally, after so much swimming, he was able to see bouys in the distance, guiding him. 

The first was Harry, when he saw him for the first time from afar at Hogwarts, after escaping. 

The next was when he hugged his friend after being apart for twenty years. 

Another when Harry, Hermione, and the Weasley’s kept him company for Christmas after Arthur’s attack. 

The final ones, though, the ones that led him to shore and let him finally rest, were her. Hermione when she brought him Regulus’ cake, when she told him she was pregnant, when she had lunch with him at Diagon Alley, when she danced with him, told him she loved him…

“They would be proud of you, too, Sirius.” Harry pulls him back to the present. “And the baby will be proud and lucky to have you as their father.”

Even though the harsh waves of the sea of his grief will always be a threat, they’ll never compare to the safety he harnesses through the love of those he cares for and care for him back just as fiercely.

Sirius looks away from Harry, tears threatening to spill, before they both go back to sitting in silence. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Sirius finds his way back inside and next to Hermione, guiding her around the now somewhat crowded cottage with his hand on the small of her back so she doesn’t accidently bump into things or people, stopping every once in a while to partake in small talk. 

He’s guiding them towards the den, off to the side where hopefully it’s quiet enough for them to be able to get some peace for a few moments. He can tell she’s tired too by the way she’s starting to slow down and hopes to be able to give her some relief from her swollen ankles. 

Just as they round the corner into the den, they’re rushed into a hug by a very excited Ginny. “Oh, Merlin! Look at you!” She squeals, throwing herself onto both of them for a hug. Ginny spins them around once, her head between their shoulders. “Mione, you’re glowing! Pregnancy agrees with you.” 

“Thank you, Gin.” Hermione smiles. “Blaise said you were coming! Aren’t you supposed to be training in Belgium?”

“Told the coach about this as soon as I got my invitation. I would never miss this. I’m so happy for both of you!”

“Thanks, Gin,” Sirius responds this time. 

He’s about to ask her about Blaise when he spots Mrs. Weasley behind her, exiting the floo. Instinctually, he pulls Hermione closer at his side, his fingers slowly digging into her, remembering the last time they saw her, the way her words hurt Hermione. 

Ginny notices the change in his stature and turns to follow his line of sight into the sitting room and gasps. “I thought I told her not to come, that you might not be ready. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, Gin,” Hermione says smiling, making direct eye contact with the Weasley matriarch. “I know she’s the one who catered the party. Her treacle tarts are my favourite.”

“I– I’m sorry, I should have said something. She just wanted to do something for you.”

“I’m not upset, Ginny, I promise. We both know your mum can’t be stopped once she’s put her mind to something.”

Molly steps up right next to her daughter, her hands clasped together. 

“Mum—”

“No, I just—” her voice wavers, looking at them both. “I hope to be able to talk to you both.”

Hermione snuggles impossibly closer to Sirius. They both turn to look at each other, shrugging. “Hermione needs to take a seat though. In here,” he directs them both, Ginny throwing them a smile, walking away. 

He wandlessly puts up a silencing charm to keep the noise out and others from overhearing them. 

Sirius deposits Hermione on the settee, sitting beside her, fighting the urge to grab her feet to massage them. 

Molly takes a seat on a nearby armchair before she begins. “I-I know I probably shouldn’t be here and I could have done this before today, but I also wanted to give you both space.

“I want to apologise. To the both of you. I know I’m not your mum, Hermione.” She extends her arm towards her. “I know I’ve not acted and treated you well in the past and I feel absolutely sick over it.” She looks over at Sirius, wringing her hands on her lap. “The things I said to you, Sirius, thought of you. I feel absolutely horrible about it. I’m so happy to see you both living the life we all hoped you would have, taking care of each other. It’s the only thing I ever wanted.”

Sirius looks down at Hermione who’s looking back at him with a soft smile. “We appreciate you apologising, Mrs. Weasley. You’ll understand if it takes us a while to trust you again,” Hermione says although holding no anger towards the older woman. 

“Of course, my dear,” her voice wavers, tears in her eyes. “I completely understand. Thank you for giving me the chance to apologise.” Molly stands up and extends her arms out and open. 

He helps Hermione stand up to both give her a hug. “My, look at you!” She gives her a warm laugh. “Any second now?”

“Bloody hope so,” Hermione whines. “I miss sleeping on my stomach.”

“Are you ready to go, Tiny? Get some rest?” Sirius asks. 

“Yes, please. I don’t think I can stand for  another minute.”

Sirius chuckles, both of them waving and saying their goodbyes to Molly. 

It takes a minute to say goodbye to everyone else. Unlike when they first arrived, Sirius makes sure he and Hermione aren’t separated. He can tell she’s tired, she’s not usually on her feet for this long anymore and he wants to get her home and comfortable as soon as possible. 

They find Harry and Theo last. 

“Thank you for everything, son.” Sirius pulls Harry in for a hug, cradling his head with the palm of his hand, the way he did when he was a baby. “For everything. ”

“It was my pleasure,” he responds, hugging him tighter. 

He thanks Theo and watches Harry and Hermione hug goodbye, walking her over to the floo. 

He goes through first, making sure it’s safe before she steps through. 

“Did you have a good time?”

“I did!” Her smile is bright and wide and he’s maybe a little jealous because he hasn’t caused it. “Looks like we have loads of presents to open!”

Sirius looks up to find maybe a little over thirty presents perfectly stacked on top of their coffee table. “Oh, Merlin,” he whispers. “That'll have to wait for tomorrow.”

He guides her upstairs and helps her undress and into her pyjamas before he does the same and brushes his teeth. 

He climbs into bed, waiting for Hermione who is now brushing her teeth when he hears her call for him. 

Making his way back into the bathroom, he notices liquid on the floor. “Sweetheart?” His eyes travel up from the floor, up her legs where he sees her pyjama bottoms are wet. 

“Sirius, I think it’s time.” 

Chapter Text

Four hours into labour

He storms out of her room looking for and finding a mediwizard towards the end of the hall. 

Trying his best to keep his composure and remain calm, Sirius approaches him. “Excuse me, sir? My wife–” He quickly stops himself when he realises his mistake, clearing his throat. ‘Huh, that’s new,’ he thinks, though he likes the sound of it— really likes the sound of it. Perhaps he should look deeper into that later. 

Yeah, not right now. Definitely not right now. 

“Room seven, she’s in a lot of pain. Isn’t there anything you can give her?” 

He’s desperate and he feels entirely useless. He wishes he could feed her potions, soothe her pain, but even if he could, the possibility of putting both her and the baby in danger would be too great. 

Hermione’s screams are so loud, echoing in his head, over and over like a broken record in an abandoned house. So excruciating, he can feel them in his bones, but all he can do is hold her hand. Let her squeeze it as hard as she can, soothe her with encouraging words about how she’s ‘Doing so good, Tiny. Breathe,’ and ‘You’re almost there, sweetheart. It’s almost over.’ 

There were only so many things he could say to her before he stopped believing them himself. 

Not long after getting Hermione to St. Mungos, her contractions began. At first, they weren't too far apart. At one point, they went away for an entire hour, until they came back stronger and more painful. 

He hates seeing her like this, in so much pain. Even though it means that at the end of it all, they both become parents. It seems cruel to put her through so much pain for a lifetime of happiness. 

Hasn’t she suffered enough?

“I’m sorry, Mr. Black, Sir,” the mediwizard says, looking up from Hermione’s charts, looking pained at the news he’s about to deliver. “We can’t give her a proper dose of pain potion until she’s dilated eight centimetres.”

“What’s she dilated now?” He snaps. 

“She’s four centimetres.” He flinches as he answers. 

“Fo– fuck,” Sirius curses under his breath, turning away and running his fingers through his beard. His other hand rests on his hip. “Isn’t there something you can give her? Anything?” 

“The only thing I can do for her is give her a mild dose of sleeping potion. Give her a few hours of rest.”

A small wave of relief washes over Sirius at the news. 

“Please,” he begs. “She’s in so much pain and so tired. Anything.”

The mediwizard nods sympathetically at him before he walks away to give Hermione some comfort. 

Sirius leans against the wall for a moment, thinking that maybe it’s time to let their friends know that Hermione’s been in labour for the last four hours. 

Grabbing his wand, Sirius closes his eyes, conjuring his patronus. His familiar furry friend intertwines itself between his legs, as if the coyote is an actual animal. Sirius gives it a small smile before relaying his message, urging them to deliver the news to all those closest to them, beginning with Harry and Pansy. 

Sitting on a chair just outside her room, he tries his best not to fall asleep. Head resting on the wall behind him, he waits for the mediwizard to exit her room. 

“Sirius!” He hears from down the corridor. 

He lolls his head to the side lazily, his eyelids heavy (he’s so tired but he’s not sleeping, dammit) where he sees a slightly panicked but excited-looking Harry running towards him. 

“Is she okay? Any updates?” He’s out of breath, his chest heaving rapidly with every short breath. 

He’s about to respond when the mediwizard quietly exits and closes the door behind him softly. Sirius jumps out of his chair at attention. 

“She’s sleeping,” he informs them, voice low. “I gave her a mild but quick acting sleeping potion. I waited a few moments to monitor her and the baby’s vitals to make sure everyone is safe. She should be asleep for the next two hours or so. Could be less.” 

“Sweet Merlin,” Sirius says under his breath in relief, “I can’t thank you enough.” 

“My pleasure,” he nods. “If there’s anything else you need, my name is Alaster. I’ll be working until 8 am tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Harry says, smiling and nodding in appreciation.

The mediwizard walks away when Sirius turns back to Harry. “She was in so much pain,” he explains, voice sombre. “I didn’t know what else to do or how else to help her.”

“I’m sure she’ll be happy to have some relief for a couple of hours, Sirius,” Harry reassures him. “You did the right thing.”

Nodding in gratitude, he slumps back down in his seat. “I’m sorry I didn’t let you know sooner. I was completely focused on her and the baby, I didn’t even think.”

“I understand. I probably would have done the same thing,” he chuckles. 

Sirius huffs out a laugh, rolling his neck. “Where’s Theo?” 

“He’s on his way. He insisted on packing a few things in case this takes a while.”

“Merlin’s tits, I hope not,” Sirius groans. “I’d hate for her to be in that much pain for so long.”

His godson rests a hand on his shoulder. “She’s one of the strongest people I know, Sirius. She’s going to be fine.”

Remus and Tonks join them ten minutes later, the same time Theo arrives with a weekender bag. Pansy and Neville arrive not long after with Ginny and Blaise following close behind them. 

Sirius doesn’t want to overwhelm Hermione with a lot of visitors and, selfishly, he doesn’t want too many people trying to covet his new baby once they’re born. He barely wanted to invite them in the first place for that very reason, if he’s perfectly honest. No, Sirius wants the least amount of people possible to be here for his and Hermione’s important day.

He lets them all know what’s happened so far, also apologising for not telling them sooner, and, just like Harry, they all nod in understanding. 

Sirius yawns, shaking his head softly to wake himself up. 

“You should get some sleep, Pads,” Remus suggests sympathetically. 

“No.” He shakes his head again a little harder. “No, I’ll be alright. Just need some coffee or something.”

“Hermione’s asleep and will be for the next couple hours. You should try to get some sleep too. You’ll be of better use to her with a well-rested mind.”

He yawns again, his eyes stinging with tears from the intensity of it. “Yeah, alright,” he says, defeated. “But I’m going in there with her. I won’t be able to rest if I’m not with her.”

Remus nods as if it’s what he expected to hear. “We’ll be here.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Six hours into labour

Her vision is blurry when she wakes, a harsh ray of light slashing through the darkness of the room, making it briefly glow from the light outside. Appearing and disappearing just as quickly from the door opening and closing.

She attempts to move, to make herself more comfortable, but she feels a sort of heaviness on her left arm and a calloused rough hand slipped into one of hers, keeping her still.

Lazily, she lolls her head to the side, finding a sleeping Sirius slumped over in a chair, his head resting on her shoulder.

“Sorry, Miss,” the same mediwizard, Alaster, from earlier says, bringing her attention back to him. “Just a quick check up to see where we’re at. Make sure everything’s okay.” His voice makes Sirius’ hand twitch under hers.

She lifts a single finger up to her lips, silently asking him to be quieter so as to not wake Sirius up. Alaster throws her an apologetic smile, nodding. “Glad to see your husband is getting some rest. He was very worried about you, Miss.”

Something inside her makes her not correct him, mostly because Sirius being called her husband sounds natural. It sounds like a title he’s held for years in connection to her. Before she can stop herself, she asks, “Really?”

“Absolutely,” he replies, not looking up from his wand work on her vitals. Although, she can see he has a sincere smile on his face. “He was absolutely frantic about getting you some comfort.”

Hermione opens her mouth to respond but Alaster speaks first. “Everything seems fine. I need to check if you’re further dilated so this might be a little uncomfortable.”

She bends her legs, resting her feet on the foot rests attached to the bed and flinches when she feels his cold gloved and lubed fingers probe her entrance. “About six centimetres now. Almost there.” He smiles. “Any pain or discomfort?”

Hermione shakes her head. “No, not at the moment.”

“Good. I can only give you one more sleeping potion with a much smaller dose when your contractions do return but I foresee you reaching eight centimetres sooner rather than later and only then can we give you the pain potion. That’s also when I’ll be calling Healer Harper so we can prepare for the birth.”

Alaster must notice when her eyes widen a bit and her breath hitches just a little because he says, “You and baby are healthy, Miss Granger, everything will go smoothly. Everything will be just fine.”

The mediwizard offers her a comforting smile. He looks sincere and he’s probably done this hundreds of times before so she smiles back at him, trusting him, as he walks away and out of the room once more. 

Hermione takes a deep breath, willing herself to relax before she looks over at Sirius, her smile stretching wider across her face. She’s tempted to run her fingers through his hair, feel his silky soft waves through her fingertips but he looks so calm sleeping. 

He looks peaceful, a juxtaposition from the small valleys of his wrinkles that time, stress, anger, and sadness have left behind on his beautiful face. 

There was once a time where Hermione wanted nothing more than to be able to help Sirius, to be there for him, when she was younger. Seeing him walking around Grimmauld Place after his escape and subsequent declaration of innocence by the Ministry, Hermione thought he’d be happy. That he’d go back to the once joyful man she’d heard about in the stories Remus told them. 

For many, it might have seemed like he did go back to what they deemed his normal self. Sirius joked and laughed, looking very much like a man healed from all the trials and tribulations he’d gone through since he turned twenty-one. 

To others, though, herself included, it was obvious it was all an act. Hermione knew Sirius wore a mask, performing for everyone, giving them the thing they wanted the most– someone who no longer existed, someone whose last fragments of his old self lay on the ground of his Azkaban cell mixed in with the dirt and grime.

Hermione was only fourteen then. It wasn’t her place to offer him advice, to tell him that everything would be okay and that he’d have the life he always deserved. Not only could she not promise him that, but it would have felt entirely too inappropriate for her to do so. 

Besides, Hermione didn’t really know the pain of losing people she loved the most back then. Of finding them dead in a home that was once filled with their love, warmth and laughter. 

Hermione may not have been arrested immediately after, but just like Sirius, she was forced to hide her grief during the hunt with Harry and Ron. To shove and swallow down her cries at night, especially in the Forest of Dean where she’d once camped and created memories with her parents. 

It was then that Hermione understood why Sirius walked around Grimmauld, a ghost of his former self. With a mask, ready to perform for everyone. 

A mask she hasn’t seen since he moved in with her. A mask that all but disappeared as if it never existed at all. When it was just the two of them in their flat, Hermione saw him laugh more than she’d ever seen him do before. She saw him vulnerable, raw, someone who trusted her enough to show just how beaten-up the circumstances of time and life had left him. 

And it only made him even more beautiful than the photos she saw of him before time, loss and grief touched him. 

She loves his tenacity, his desire to continue to better himself not only for their little family but because he has hope in the world again. She loves that he’s no longer scared to show who he really is, no longer fearing his emotions or to simply live his life even if life itself isn’t guaranteed. 

To think, she was so close to depriving herself of this feeling, of this love because she was scared of losing everything again herself. 

Hermione thinks she’s never loved anyone the way she loves him. In fact, she thinks their love might be something new entirely. Something much greater than even the oldest galaxies in existence. Something that, centuries in the future, the greatest of scientists will have discovered, naming it to be written in the stars for the rest of time. 

A love she’s glad she’s able to give him, guiding him for the rest of their lives. 

A tingling tickles her toes, asleep from the weight of his body on her thigh for so long. As much as she doesn’t want to, she gently squeezes his hand a few times to wake him. He jolts awake, dropping her hand as he flinches back up in his chair. 

It takes him a moment, blinking away the sleep in his eyes. His hands are on his neck and lower back, attempting to massage away the cricks that his terrible sleeping posture left behind.  

“Good morning, sleepy head,” she says softly, her voice laced with amusement. 

Sirius gives her a lazy smile, rolling his neck. “You’re awake. How’re you feeling, sweetheart?” 

“Much better. Thank Merlin,” she sighs in relief. “I suppose I ought to thank you for that.”

He lets out a breathy laugh, rolling his neck one last time before he reaches for her hand. “How d’you figure that?”

“Alaster. He was just here.”

“He– why didn’t you wake me?” He asks, worried. “What’d he say? Is everything alright? Are you alright?”

“Everything is fine, love,” Hermione reassures him, smoothing her thumb over the back of his hand. “He checked our vitals and said I’m six centimetres dilated. Said he could give me another much less stronger dose of sleeping potion when the contractions come back but he said he anticipates me dilating to eight centimetres soon and could give me the pain potion then.” Hermione coughs then, her throat dry from sleep.

Sirius lifts a hand, summoning a jug of water and a cup from her bed-side table. He fills it up, lifting the cup to her lips. 

She drinks the water offered to her but can’t help it when she’s overcome with emotions, her eyes welling up with tears. Hermione knows she’s probably just being overly emotional, given that pregnancy has had her emotions completely haywire. But even with the water, she can’t swallow down the overwhelming feeling of what it’s like to be loved by Sirius. 

It’s like when the feeling rushes back to a limb that has long been numb and forgotten. She’s numbed herself, prevented herself from being loved by anyone new for so long that she’s forgotten what it’s like to be cared for. To have her needs met, to be offered something before she even knew she needed it herself.  

There’s only one other person who was so in-tune with her, who knew exactly what she needed before she did. Who knew exactly what to say and when to say it and who was there for her when she needed someone the most…

Sirius pulls the cup away from her lips when he sees she’s crying. “Baby, what’s wrong? What is it?”

She shakes her head, incredibly embarrassed for letting her feelings get the better of her. “It’s nothing, really.” She wipes the tears from her face. “I’m being stupid.”

“Hey, hey—” Sirius deposits the cup in a rush to take her face in his hands. “None of that, Hermione. Absolutely nothing you say or feel is ever stupid.”

“I just–” a sob racks through her. “I miss my mum so much. This is the kind of thing mum’s are here for, you know? She always knew what to do or what to say or what I needed.”

Sirius looks at her with compassion in his eyes and she cries harder because he doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand that he’s the one that now gives her all of that. Hermione tries to gather herself but the more she thinks about how much he loves her, the harder she cries. 

“But then I look at you and, I know this sounds so bloody stupid, but I can feel how much you care for me, how much you love me. You take care of me and you always know what I need and I’m just, I can’t…” She‘s crying so hard, she starts hiccuping, unable to finish, which is just as well because she doesn’t even know what she’s saying or how to say it.

“Breathe, honey. Breathe,” he soothes.

Hermione does her best to calm her breathing. In through her nose and out through her mouth. Again and again until the hiccups go away and the tears are no longer running down her face. Feeling embarrassed, she tries to look away to hide her face but Sirius has none of it. 

He’s got a hold of her chin, turning her to face him. “Hermione, don’t be embarrassed about how you feel. Not with me. Never with me.”

Taking another deep breath, she nods, his hand still on her chin. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever loved anyone in my life the way I love you. If this, you and our baby, are what’s waiting for me at the end of everything I’ve been through, I’d do it all over again. All of it.”

She knows exactly what that implies: James and Lily, Peter and Remus, Azkaban. 

Regulus.

“I know I’m not your mum and dad. I’ll never try to replace their role in your life and I know it won’t be enough but I’ll always be here to love you when you feel like you don’t deserve it.”

“It’s enough, Sirius,” she says with certainty. “It’ll always be enough.”

Sirius leans down to kiss her and she melts into it. Returning it fervently and pouring all her feelings for him into it. She breaks the kiss, leaning her forehead against his, his warm breath caressing her face. 

They sit in a comfortable silence for a moment, enjoying each other’s company until her lower back begins to ache. She drops Sirius’ hand and scoots herself further up on the bed, positioning one of her pillows just below her back. Once she’s in a comfortable position, she reaches for his hand again, tracing small circles on his skin with her thumb.

“Are you scared?” She asks, breaking the silence.

“Bloody fucking terrified,” Sirius doesn’t even hesitate to answer. Laughing, although there’s no humour behind it. “I didn’t exactly have the best parental example growing up. The only people I knew who had any experience being parents were James and Lily.”

“Then I say you had two perfect examples. I don’t for a single moment believe that you won’t be a great father,” she says. “You love so fiercely because of how your parents treated you and through James and Lily, you’ve seen what it’s like for parents to love their child. And if it ever feels like you’re failing, at least you know you’re trying.”

“How do you always know exactly what to say?” He raises both their hands, a fist of intertwined fingers, and brings them to his lips, kissing her hand. 

“I could say the same about you.” She squeezes his hand. “Besides, I’m the brightest witch of her age, remember?” 

Sirius laughs into their hands, shaking his head. He kisses her knuckles one last time before he drops their hands again on the mattress.

“I called a few people. They’re outside waiting.”

She hums in acknowledgment. Settling more into her hospital bed, burying her head further into her pillow. “How long have they been waiting?” 

“Just a little after you fell asleep a couple of hours ago.”

“Are you sure they’re still here?” Her voice wavers a little. “What if they got tired and left?”

Since Hermione’s mum can’t be there, it’s important for her to have her closest friends, family even, support during one of the most important days of her life. 

If they left…

“They would never leave you, honey,” he reassures. “Theo even brought a weekender bag just in case. Do you want to see them?”

Hermione nods. Sirius presses another gentle kiss to her lips before he leaves the room to call for their friends. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Two hours later

“Would you like to hold your daughter, Mr. Black?” 

Sirius looks away from Hermione, who is currently holding their daughter, and up at Healer Harper. 

“My–” his throat closes. Daughter. He’s a father now and has a daughter. A daughter who looks like a perfect mixture of himself and Hermione. 

A tiny little human who is the personification of everything he and Hermione have ever fought for. All the blood, sweat, and tears they shed for a better world all led up to this moment. A human who, with great pleasure, is now his responsibility– in the same way he protects and nurtures the bond between him and Hermione.

He’s a father now when hours before he was only just anxiously awaiting her arrival. 

Things progressed relatively quickly soon after. One by one, their friends took their turns to see Hermione. Pansy spent the longest with her and was in the room when her contractions came back, running out to call Sirius back inside. Hermione tried to reassure them both that they weren’t as painful as the first round but Sirius didn’t want to take any chances, calling Alaster over anyway to check on her.

Not long before Pansy ran out to grab him, Sirius was laughing with Harry and Remus about James’ hysteria the day Lily went into labour. He’d driven Lily absolutely barmy — probably crazier than the contractions themselves — with his constant overbearing worry and concern. Now that Sirius was in his position, he doesn’t blame the bloke for worrying about everything, even as small as her burping.

Alaster concluded that Hermione was dilated nine centimetres and immediately called Healer Harper in to prepare Hermione for childbirth. 

There was no time to prepare, even though they technically had nine months to do so, everything happened in a flash. 

Hermione was rushed to the delivery room where she pushed for what seemed like hours. A few times she turned to Sirius, crying about how she couldn’t, how it hurt and how she was tired. His heart broke every time a loud sob escaped her lips. 

Until a sharp, loud, strong cry overpowered hers. Hermione’s tears of pain instantly turned into tears of joy and relief. When their baby was rushed to be taken care of, Sirius dropped down next to Hermione, pulling her close and crying into her shoulder. All he could do was thank her, tell her how much he loved her, and praise her for her strength. 

Sirius watched as Healer Harper placed his newborn baby on Hermione’s bare chest, witnessing the exact moment she fell in love with her and it was that exact moment that Sirius fell deeper in love with Hermione. Although they’d been parents for all of three minutes, it seemed like motherhood came just as natural to Hermione as magic did. 

He looks back down at Hermione, who gives him a smile and nod, and back at the healer. “H-how do I-what do I-?”

“Just hold your arm up like this.” Healer Harper reaches for him, bending his arm just so. “With your other hand, you’ll hold up her head as she can’t quite hold it up herself.” 

Sirius nods as he takes the baby from Hermione’s arms and into his. 

It’s an overwhelming feeling, holding his daughter for the first time. More overwhelming than when he held his wand for the first time or rode his first motorbike. 

She fits perfectly there, cradled against him, his hand covering the entirety of the back of her head. He’s scared to move, to make a single sound, afraid that if he does, she’ll disappear. As if none of this is real. As if it’s all a dream he’s still having on the cold damp floor of his Azkaban cell. Sirius counts her fingers and toes, one to ten, over and over again and only stops when her little hand wraps around his pointer finger as if asking him to please stop. 

He can’t help but laugh, realising then that he’s been crying. 

“Sirius? Darling, what’s wrong?” 

He shakes his head, trying to shake away his emotions but he can’t help it. “She’s perfect,” he whispers. “She’s perfect and she’s beautiful and she’s our daughter.”

“She looks like you,” he hears Hermione say, her voice wet. 

“No, no,” he argues. “She looks like her mum. My perfect girl, just like her mum.”

Sirius thinks of all the times he’s comforted others over the course of time. Over the loss of his friends, ensuring them that they’re not really gone. Only, Sirius didn’t give himself time to fully grieve, realising that he himself needed to take his own advice. 

It hurts like hell every day. Every breath he takes is a reminder that they’re no longer here but days like today, the birth of his daughter, days like the day Hermione told him she was pregnant, told him she loves him, are a reminder that he’s alive. That although they’re not physically here, life still moves on after tragedy.

James and Lily are alive in him and Remus through the memories they share and stories they tell. They’re alive in Harry, in not only his looks but his personality and everything he’s accomplished. Regulus is alive through him and his memories.

Sirius thinks he has a good life. He’s just had a baby with the woman he loves, has a great relationship with his Godson, and a fresh start in his friendship with Remus. While life hasn’t been fair or easy, at all, while he misses his best friends more than anything and wishes they could be here for this part of his life, he understands that things had to play out this way for him to get this outcome. 

It’s bittersweet but he understands. He accepts it. 

“Do you have a name for her?” Healer Harper asks, smiling at them both. 

He looks down at Hermione who’s already watching him with a soft smile and heavy eyelids. “Make our own traditions, remember?”

A smile breaks across his face before he looks back down at his sleeping daughter. “Her name is Bowie Jean Granger-Black.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Six months later at Potter Cottage

With Bowie finally down for her nap in her bassinet in the den of Potter Cottage, Sirius bends down to place a gentle kiss on her forehead before setting down a baby monitor beside her. He throws up an imperturbable charm around the crib – graciously provided by Theo and Harry – and grabs the other monitor from her diaper bag before he returns to the gathering.

The chatter and laughter gets louder and louder as he approaches the sitting room. The last time he’d seen everyone in the same room together was when Hermione gave birth.

After the birth, they both took breaks from working to focus on being new parents and politely asked everyone to give them some time with Bowie before they visited. Hermione stayed home for the first five months before deciding to go back to work with Sirius taking the same amount of time off, essentially working with and around whatever made her comfortable.

Bowie Jean was an absolute joy during her first three months. She wasn’t generally fussy and only cried when she needed to be fed, changed, or needed a nap. When she hit three months, her constant crying became worrisome. It got so bad that Hermione couldn’t think of anything else to do but to ask Molly what could possibly be wrong. 

“Oh, how exciting!” She practically cried from the other side of the floo call. “She’s teething!” 

Molly supplied a few remedies, even offering to come over to help. They politely declined her visit but thanked her for her advice, even sending her a gift basket when said advice worked. 

It's been bittersweet watching Bowie get bigger within the last six months, to witness her milestones. When Bowie was first able to sit on her own, he couldn’t help but picture her sitting in a compartment on the Hogwarts Express for her first time. When she started babbling, believing she was saying something, he couldn’t help but picture her having her mum’s fierce attitude. 

And yet with her eyes and hair colour a perfect match to his and her curls and freckles just like hers, he couldn’t help but be excited to learn what other traits or attributes she’d get from them and which would be uniquely hers. 

When the sitting room becomes clearer, he notices that Hermione isn’t where she was before he put Bowie down for her nap. A couple of voices coming from the dining room pique his attention, and he turns to see her with Pansy, sitting and talking. 

As if she can sense his stare, she turns to look over her shoulder and smiles at him before she gestures towards Harry to remind him. 

“Right, alright,” he mouths at her. She holds in a laugh before turning her attention back to Pansy.

“Uh, Harry,” he calls for him, Harry’s bright green eyes looking up at him from the couch. “Can I have a moment?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Sirius puts the baby monitor down on the coffee table, facing it toward Hermione so she can better hear if Bowie awakes, and walks out the door. He takes a deep breath of fresh air and sits on the bench beside the door on the porch. 

“Fatherhood looks good on you,” he hears from beside him as Harry joins him, taking a seat next to him. 

He can’t help but smile, thinking about Bowie, who’s now sporting freckles on her little face much like her mothers. “She’s getting so big,” he sighs. “It feels like it was just yesterday she was born.”

“Just remember to take in every moment. Take as many photos as you can. Before you know it, she’s going to be running around Hogwarts,” he laughs. “You can always have another one.”

“I already want another one.” It might sound like he’s joking but it’s true. He already wants another baby. Someone for Bowie to grow up and be close to. A lasting, indestructible friendship between siblings. The relationship he had with Regulus before the very real world came between them. “But uh, I wanted to ask you something, before we start talking about more kids.”

Harry makes himself more comfortable, one leg folded on the bench and his elbow resting on the backrest. His full attention on Sirius, he doesn’t say anything but nods for him to continue.

“Hermione and I have been talking and we know you’ve already accepted once to someone else but we wondered if you and Theo would like to be Bowie’s godparents?” 

His Godson takes in a sharp breath, apparently not expecting that question from Sirius, whatsoever. “Me?”

“Well, it’d be you, Theo and she’s in there asking Pansy right now, as well. But, yes. You.”

“I–I don’t–” he stutters before Sirius quickly cuts in. 

“It’s alright if you don’t want to, son, really. We just–”

“Of course I want to!” He interrupts. “I would love nothing more! I guess I’m just surprised.”

“Why’s that, son?” He tries his best to think back to all their past interactions, wondering if he’s said something wrong somewhere down the line for Harry to be this confused. 

“Well,” He shrugs a single shoulder. “Remus.”

“Right.” 

Of course he’d think that.

“This doesn’t uh– you wouldn’t by chance be asking me because of my dad, would you? Because you thought it’d be him you’d ask one day?” 

Sirius is taken aback by the question but Harry doesn’t ask it maliciously. It’s more curiosity than anything. His heart feels like it’s fallen to the pit of his stomach and he wants to kick himself for ever giving Harry that impression. 

Sirius shakes his head, turning to fully face Harry. “I do miss your father, Harry. I won’t lie. I miss him all the time and do wish he were here,” he states. “And as much as you resemble each other and might have the same mannerisms, you’re not the same person. I’m sorry if I ever made you feel that way.”

“You didn’t,” he says. “I guess I just always wondered.”

“Harry, you’ve been through things no one person should ever go through and those things kept you kind. Rather than letting the world’s darkness consume you and turn it into hatred, you turned it into compassion and kindness,” he says fervently. “That strength and courage, those are the kinds of things I want my kid to know about and learn. That’s why we’re asking you.”

Harry pulls him in for a hug and Sirius returns it fervently, putting years – decades – worth of hugs he didn’t give him into this single one. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here with you to raise you,” Sirius manages to say through the emotional knot lodged in his throat. “I’m sorry I missed it all.”

“It's alright, you're here now.” Harry pulls away, his glasses lifting as he wipes tears off his face. “This time, I’ll get to help you raise your baby.”

They sit in silence for a moment. Both of them looking out into the cobble-stone streets, the gentle breeze of the warm summer day blowing through the wind chimes. He hears the sound of clothes shifting beside him and then Harry speaks. “Coming?” 

Realising he’d closed his eyes somewhere along the way, he blinks a few times and looks up at his godson. “In a minute.”

Harry places his hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently before he walks away and back inside. 

It feels like a brick is sitting on his chest. Recognising it for what it is, Sirius closes his eyes and reflects on how much his life has changed within the past nine months. As much as he misses his friends and his brother, he feels guilty that the voice in his head that used to berate him, used to keep him awake at night, has been silent for the past year.  

It’s been a hard journey, grappling with the fact that, given everything, there’s absolutely nothing he’s willing to change. He meant what he told Hermione on the day Bowie was born— he’d go through every agonising moment all over again if it meant holding his daughter as she falls asleep in his arms or doing something as mundane with Hermione as grocery shopping. 

Pieces of his old life were scattered like shedded skin throughout his most traumatic moments. Moulding, shaping, and preparing him for a life he never imagined could have made him as happy (if not, happier) as he was before the first war. 

He’s pulled back to the present when he hears someone clearing their throat. When Sirius turns to look over his shoulder, he sees Remus leaning in the door frame with his arms crossed over his chest. “You alright, Pads?”

With his palms on his knees for leverage, Sirius stands up. He walks up to Remus, intending to stand beside him when he stops in his tracks. 

From where he’s standing, he can see Harry in the sitting room, standing by a sitting Hermione, holding Bowie. If he didn’t know any better, he could have sworn it was…

“Pads?” Remus asks, leaning over to look at what has him so speechless. 

“I thought…” Sirius shakes his head, blinking away the illusion before his eyes.  “He looks so much like–“

“Like James,” he interrupts him. He feels Remus’ hand between his shoulders, faintly patting. “He’s going to be a great godfather, you know? Just like his own.”

“Bloody hell, I hope not,” he laughs, lightening the moment. Sirius steps inside the house, leading them both inside. “There’s some things I’d prefer Harry not repeat.”

When Sirius is close enough to Harry, he reaches for Bowie, cradling her in his arms. 

Her big grey eyes find him, looking up at him, and she smiles.

Chapter Text

Six years later

Steadying his breathing, Sirius concentrates on his task, taking it one step at a time. With delicate yet shaking fingers, he works on his lavender silk tie. Wide end of the tie over the narrow end, and loop. He stands in front of the mirror, straightening the piece of cloth and folding the collar back down. The exact same way he’s done thousands of times before. 

Somewhere in the distance, down the hall, he hears a loud high-pitched voice excitedly screaming, “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!” Sirius looks in the direction of the noise and laughs, a wide smile spreading across his face and suddenly his nerves are gone.

He turns back to look in the mirror, fixing his hair – a slick bun holding half of his hair up – and runs his fingers through his freshly groomed beard when he hears a soft knock on the door. “Come in!” 

Without hesitation, the door opens, revealing Remus carrying a miniature version of Sirius who runs to him when Remus puts him down. “Someone insisted on coming back.”

Sirius bends down to pick up Ozzy, who’s wearing a matching grey suit and lavender tie, just like his. “You look so handsome, sweetheart!”

“Mummy said I’m the most handsome boy she’s ever seen,” his son announces with a big toothy smile. “I reckon I look better than Bowie, too.”

“Both of you look beautiful,” Sirius tells him, pressing a kiss on his temple and letting him back down. He looks over at Remus, shaking his head at their innocent sibling rivalry. The werewolf lets out a soft snort, shaking his head himself. Ozzy walks himself to the side where he sits on the floor to play with the toy he was playing with before he went to go see Hermione.

Sirius gives him a once over, smiling at his oldest friend. He’s in a brown tweed jacket with even darker brown leather elbow patches. A white button up underneath, lavender tie, and slacks that match the elbow patches on his jacket. His style has never changed, even after all the success Remus found in the books he published, educating the wizarding world on the truth and reality of being a werewolf. Books that with Hermione, Tonks, and Pansy’s help, are now required reading material at Hogwarts.

“How do I look?” he asks, his hands in his pockets, sheepish in the face of Sirius’ evaluation. 

“Like a dashing prick,” he chuckles, a soft smile on his face. 

Sirius flinches when he hears Ozzy yell: “Oooh, Daddy said a bad word, Uncle Remus!” 

The werewolf covers his mouth with his hand, hiding his laugh, then sets his forest-green eyes on his. “How do you feel?” Remus lowers his head, looking at him earnestly. 

Sirius sets his eyes on his friend’s through the reflection in the mirror, his hands smoothing down his suit nervously. “Not quite as nervous as before but...”

“You’ve been together for six years and have two beautiful children together. She absolutely loves you. I don’t think there’s anything to be nervous about.”

He’s about to respond when the werewolf cuts him off with a soft sigh, walking towards Sirius and sitting on a chair next to the tall mirror. “I know I wasn’t receptive when you told me that she was pregnant, but when I saw you two together, you reminded me so much of James and Lily,” he chuckles. “Always next to one another, whispering Merlin knows what into each other's ear. Giggling at your inside jokes. You even communicate without having to talk to each other.”

Sirius huffs out a laugh, shaking his head, letting him continue. “Aside from them and my own relationship with Tonks, I thought I’d never met two people more in love, more perfect for each other.” Remus looks up at him with conviction in his eyes. “I’m convinced you’re more yourself with her than you've ever been with anyone else in your life.”

“She’s my–” he feels his emotions lodge in his throat, unable to speak. Clearing it, he continues. “She’s my best friend, Moony. She’s seen everything. Every part of me that I hated, that I was ashamed of, she’s seen it all.”

Remus smirks at him, no hurt or resentment behind his eyes. “I know she is, mate. Believe me, I know the feeling.”

“I still feel terrible for thinking it. For saying it aloud,” he whispers. “I miss him.”

Silence settles between them but Ozzy’s giggles cut through it like a knife. Sirius looks over at him, a toy broom flying around him, and Ozzy looks up, throwing his head back, laughing. Remus stands up, resting his hand on his shoulder. Before he lets go, he reaches into his coat pocket, pulling out an envelope. 

Confused, Sirius is about to ask what it is when Remus turns it over in his hand, revealing the handwriting. Handwriting he hasn’t seen since 1981.

He furrows his brows and reaches for the letter, his hand shaking. 

“James wanted me to give this to you.”

“I don’t…I don’t understand,” he stammers. “Give it to me? H-how? When?”

“You and James had just had a big spat,” he explains. “I’d gone over to help with Harry when James pulled me aside and gave me letters.” He looks down at his feet. “I burned Pe– I burned his after, well…I uh…I promised him I’d give this to you on your wedding day.”

“On my–” His emotions get the better of him, overwhelming him, and his lungs feel like they’ve collapsed. He takes a few deep breaths, composing himself. “Did he…did you…?”

Remus gives him a simple nod. “He did. Said mine was for when…” He takes a deep breath. Biting the inside of his mouth, fighting off tears. “For when I had my first child.”

James was the best of them. The heart. The conviction with which he loved his friends was sometimes too much for Sirius, if only because he’d never been shown such love and compassion before by anyone. James was so sure that Remus and Sirius would have all the things they were so sure they would never have. 

He’s curious. He wants to ask Remus what his letter said but he also knows that it’s none of his business, that he wouldn’t tell Remus what his letter said either. 

“I’ll leave you to it, mate. Give you a moment.” Remus breaks him away from his thoughts, dismissing himself. When he reaches the door, he looks over his shoulder at Ozzy, then at him, as if asking if it’s okay for his son to stay. 

Sirius shakes his head, mouthing, “It’s okay,” and with that, the werewolf leaves the room with a soft click of the door behind him. 

He looks down at the envelope, running a finger over his name in James’ perfect pureblood calligraphy. 

“Did you get an owl, Daddy?” He hears Ozzy, who’s now next to him and climbing on his lap. Sirius grabs him, steadying him on his knee. “Is it from Mummy?”

“No, sweetheart,” he chuckles. “It’s not from Mummy.” Sirius kisses the top of his head before he wraps his arm around him to be able to open the envelope.

With a deep breath, he rips it open. 

Pads, 

If you’ve received this letter, then it means you’re getting married today. If you're reading this letter, then it means I didn't make it through the war. 

It pains me that I’m not there. Mostly because I cannot believe you’re actually getting married, you slag. 

Jokes aside, I can’t think of anyone more deserving of happiness. I’ve known you since we were eleven, and I know all that you’ve been through. The pain and devastation your family put you through. The ways in which they broke you down and apart. You always told me you weren’t capable of falling in love. That no one could ever fall in love with someone as broken as you. 

Usually, I take great pleasure in telling you that you're wrong and I'm right, as you well know. This time, it's bittersweet.

How could someone not fall in love with you? So many people have got it so wrong. You’re not the cynical and jaded man you make yourself to be on the outside. You’re incredibly loyal, you’re honest when you need to be (even if it pains you because you don’t like hurting the people you love). You drop anything and everything to be there for us when we need you. 

You never once judged Remus for his condition, you gave Peter the confidence to stand up for himself, and you gave me patience, honesty, and loyalty when I was being too stubborn or hard headed to listen. 

None of us three would be who we are without you.” 

Sirius pauses, clenching his jaw at the mention of the rat. His heart hurts because James always saw the best in everyone. Even with all the proof in the world, if he were still here, James would probably still refuse to believe that Peter betrayed him. Holding onto Ozzy tighter when he snuggles closer to him, he calms himself down and continues reading. 

“If you’re scared or nervous, don’t be. Marrying Lily and being married to her has been one of the most rewarding and easy experiences of my life. I only wish I could have been around longer, if only to have more time to be her husband. 

Being your best friend, your brother, there are no words for how much that has meant to me and I’m so sorry I can’t be there to share this moment with you but don’t doubt for a second that I’m not with you in spirit. 

I love you, Sirius. It’s as simple and as easy as that. I love you and I couldn’t be more proud and happy for you. Not only for finding love and getting married but for fighting and surviving and for pushing through even on the days you felt like you couldn’t do it anymore.  

Keep doing it. Do it for your partner. Do it for your kids. Do it for yourself. 

Congratulations, Pads.

All the love in the world, your brother,

James

Sirius brings the letter up to cover his face, to hide from his son, sobbing into it. 

He misses him so fucking much. Sirius has long accepted his life without his best mate, the pain of missing him like a bruise that’s faded and only hurts when it’s gently poked. 

“Daddy? Are you okay? Do you want me to get Mummy?” His son's concerned voice is accompanied by his tiny hand on his cheek.

He collects himself, wiping the tears from his face and kissing Ozzy’s wrist. “No, baby. It’s not time for Daddy to see Mummy yet. I’ll be okay.”

Ozzy wraps his arms around his neck. “It’ll be okay. I’m here.”

Much like Bowie, Ozzy’s level of empathy and sympathy at only four years of age has always surprised him. Both of his children feel so much and care so much for those around them, that sometimes Sirius finds it difficult to accept the fact that someday he's going to have to let them go out into the world, unable to protect them. Scared that such traits will have others taking advantage of them for their own means. Though, both Bowie and Ozzy, despite their friendly and harmless sibling rivalry, are extremely protective of each other. 

Sirius sets Ozzy’s feet back on the ground, before he stands up too. He puts the letter in the pocket inside his suit jacket, pressing it against his heart, then grabs his wand from his pocket.

“Okay, bud, it’s time to get going. We’ve wrinkled our suits though and we want to look dashing for Mum, don’t we?”

Ozzy’s big bright brown eyes look up at him. “I want her to still think I’m handsome.”

Sirius laughs, waving his wand at his son’s suit, then his own before putting his wand back inside his pocket.

“Sirius?” He hears from the other side of the door before it opens, once again revealing Remus. “We’re ready to begin.”

With a deep breath, he grabs Ozzy’s hand and walks towards Remus.

“You okay?” His friend asks with concern.

“I’m ready to see my wife.” Sirius smiles.

“Not quite yet. Not until I officiate, Mr. Granger-Black.” He smirks.

“Not quite yet,” Sirius agrees, echoing his words.

Remus laughs, shaking his head. “Well, let’s get on with this wedding then.”