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“I know, considering you were in Azkaban for twelve years that your mental facilities are questionable, even more so than they usually were, according to Remus, do not give me that look, so I have to remind you, that running out into the middle of a thunderstorm is not good,” Hermione states with half exasperation and half disbelief.
“You almost sounded like Remus there for a minute, kitten,” Sirius looks at her in slight shock, but shrugs nevertheless, “At least you’re much better looking.”
She’s not sure if she should be flattered or offended.
“Don’t you love storms?” he asks off-handedly, not really expecting an answer as he perks up and glances at the ravaging winds through the windowpane near the backyard.
“I do,” Hermione says warily and then glances at the flash of lightning that strikes prominent—bright. “From inside and far away.”
“Live a little, will you, Hermione?”
“Have you forgotten who you’re speaking to?” she huffs with irritation and looks away. She’s had enough adventure to last three lifetimes, at least. Getting strike by lightning was not as likely as the winding blowing something — anything at you. However, with her luck, their luck, anything is remotely possible.
“You know I didn’t mean it like that, kitten,” Sirius looks faintly contrite, his laugh lines creasing with his frown and glances back at the window, “Besides, we have magic.”
“So?”
He rolls slate-gray eyes and decides that a demonstration may be more educational than verbal reasoning. He takes a step back from the window, hooks his finger on the button of his charcoal, silk shirt and slides it down. He tosses his shirt across the room, not looking to see where it lands, so he misses Hermione’s startled flush and open mouth when he does so, and tugs the hair tie from his hair—the dark shaggy strands hang over the back of his neck like a curtain.
“Sirius,” Hermione hisses as he slams open the door to the backyard and jogs over to stand in the grass—barefoot.
He is ethereal and heartbreaking in the rain.
Water drips down his hair, catching at the ends, dropping down his shoulder blades, and trails into rivulets down his chest. The lightning flashes behind him like a flash—blankets of white and a silver gleam encase him and then shimmer away like pixie dust. His tattoos look darker under the water, a stark contrast from the pale of his skin and he lifts his arms to run his fingers through the slick strands of his hair.
She swallows and scowls from the doorway, “You’re going to get sick!”
Sirius spins around, rain hugging the side of his cheek as he grins, a dimple nestling in his left cheek, and then waves his hand – wandless magic. Blue, gentle and soft encases him like stardust. A heating charm, she thinks absently, but the lightning never touches him, not once. Not even as it strikes to ground in violent strokes.
“C’mere, kitten,” he chirps from the grass, his feet bare and graceful as he spins.
Hermione narrows her eyes, but then he’s in front of her and dragging her out into the middle of the downpour. She shrieks as she’s pelted with rain, the back of her shirt weighing with water, sticking to her skin like a limpet and she presses herself unconsciously to the animagus in an attempt to hide from the torrent of rain. She yelps, “Sirius!”
“Yes?” he laughs and holds her closer to his – bare – chest.
She flushes at the feel of naked skin beneath her fingertips and tries to distract herself from—from him. It doesn’t work, obviously because as much as she tries to push him away, he pulls her back and forces her to take the brunt of the rain. He lifts her, just slightly, enough for her feet to stand on his and spin her around as the rain falls around them.
“It’s cold,” Hermione manages to say lamely and she can only imagine how horrible her hair looks wet—probably like a wild sheep.
“I’ll keep you warm,” Sirius promises and dips her suddenly—rain falling down the elegant curve of her neck.
She squeaks a laugh.
“Liar,”
He makes an offended sound from the back of his throat and pulls her back to his chest. He looks up, she follows the bob in his Adam’s apple and trails up his line of vision. Lightning looks like streaks of starlight from above, she thinks. “I’ll always keep you safe, Hermione.”
Hermione’s breath hitches and then shakes her head—heart thumping in the center of her chest. She murmurs with wet lips, “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Sirius. No one can keep you safe.”
It’s the logical, the rational side of her that makes her say this. It’s not completely guaranteed that anyone can keep you safe, but it’s a nice thought to have. A pretty promise, but she’s seen the horrors of the world and can’t help but doubt the peace that fills up the spaces after the war. Sirius knows this, but that doesn’t mean he’ll stop trying and he tightens his grip on her, “Guess I’ll have to keep trying.”
“Trying?”
His eyes glint mischievously, “To prove you wrong.”
“I’m never wrong,” she sniffs.
Sirius lifts his head, “Yet.”
She couldn’t help the smile at that. It wouldn’t be them, if they didn’t have some type of debate or bet or challenge between each other. That’s the nature of their relationship. It always has been. Even now, when they’re underneath the thunderstorm, with rain flooding the yard, the wind blowing leaves and petals everywhere, and lightning striking the earth, somehow, they manage to find a middle ground.
“I look forward to seeing that, Lord Black,” Hermione replies amusedly underneath the roll of thunder.
Sirius makes a face at the name but presses a hand to the back of her neck. There’s a shift in the atmosphere, one heavy with tension and electricity. Magic running like zings of energy and her ears are cloudy with the rush of blood. There’s a change here and it’s so subtle, that she might have brushed it off if she didn’t notice the drop in his gaze. Half-lidded silvery, cobalt eyes and warm—warm, skin. He smirks against the side of her cheek, stern and gentle, “And you will.”