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“What?” Hermione chokes on her tea in disbelief, wincing at the stinging of the hot liquid against the back of her throat and sinuses, her teacup clatters on the table suddenly, and Sirius is there with a glass of cold water.
“If you think third-degree burns are bad, you should’ve seen Mrs. Weasley,” Harry snorts and rubs the side of his face, “She’s been cursing Fleur since Bill broke the news.”
“But a divorce?” she sips her water and squeezes Sirius’s hand in thanks before fixing her best friend a surprised look, “Is that even possible? I’ve never heard of magical divorces.”
“They exist, but they are extremely rare,” Sirius decides to speak this time and glances over at Hermione, “It's shameful for anyone who marries into a pureblood family or within a pureblood family to get a divorce. Even people who come from abusive marriages and are mistreated by pureblood families don’t get a divorce.”
“That’s so backward,” she wrinkles her nose.
“Yeah, but I kind of understand Mrs. Weasley’s take on it,” Harry responds and raises his hands up in defense when his best friend fixes him an outraged gaze, “Fleur and Bill got married before the law. They have two kids together, and they decide to divorce for no real reason other than—well, being bored.”
“But they weren’t happy Harry,” Hermione emphasizes, frustrated by the lack of substance.
“It really doesn’t matter, kitten,” Sirius adds gently and tugs on a curl, “Divorce also does a number on their magical core. Bonding is one of the strongest types of magics and when you divorce—it can take years for your core to recover. There’s also the headache with property and compensation. Separating happens a lot, but not a divorce.”
“So, you can be with someone else while still being married?” Harry asks in shock.
“Well, yes. Separation is much more common and doesn’t have any repercussions, but divorce? That’s magical and legal.”
Hermione thinks about that for a moment and sighs, “I think it may just get worse.”
Sirius frowns, “Why do you say that?”
“Because Kingsley is repealing the law next week.”
.
Sirius had married Hermione quickly—so quickly, that it never was reported until one day the union magically appeared in the Book of Unions at the Ministry. At first, it was done in haste because Arthur had overheard some of the legislation that Kingsley would be implementing after Wizarding London settled a bit. Hermione trusted Sirius more than anyone in the world and she knew that he would be able to protect her.
Ron had been furious—Molly had followed, and the accusations didn’t hurt any less.
But Hermione is her own person, and she could make her own decisions—she would not be bullied or pressured into marrying a family she knew since she knew of the magical world.
They had cooled down, eventually.
But Hermione still held them at a distance, and because of that, she had gotten even closer to Sirius.
So close, that just like their hasty wedding plans, they had fallen for each other—swiftly, overwhelmingly sudden, and wild.
The transition hadn’t been some hit-on-the-head realization or even a loud declaration. It had been sitting in the library with a cup of tea on the small lamp desk, a book in her hand, and Sirius’s head in her lap as he took his daily canine snooze. Hermione couldn’t remember when she has ever felt this calm—this happy before.
And Sirius has never had a nightmare—a visceral, heart-thumping, bone-chilling nightmare that had him waking in the odd hours of the morning, paralyzed and waning in agony.
Because Hermione had felt like the sun on a warm spring day.
.
“This is insane,” Harry’s eyes are glued to The Daily Prophet, “A record of ten divorces have been sent for approval and the law was appealed last Thursday!”
“Who is it this time?” Hermione butters a slice of toast and puts it on Sirius’s plate—cheeks tinged rose at his smile.
“Neville and Luna, Padma and Wood, and Malfoy.”
“Cissa is going to have a stroke,” Sirius winces at the sound of that.
“Is everyone getting divorced now?” she questions abruptly and frowns at her eggs, “They were all subject to the marriage law and to have children.”
“According to all the cases,” Harry shifts his gaze to his Godfather - which sends alarm bells ringing through his head and the air in his lungs is trapped - and nods his head, “Yes.”
“Interesting,” Hermione murmurs and takes a nibble out of her toast.
Sirius swallows thickly.
.
Maybe he’s overthinking it.
Sirius bobs his head rapidly, pivots on his heel, and walks the other way. Pacing is such a Hermione thing to do, he thinks ruefully, but after the three years they’ve had together, married, he can’t think of anything else. Smoking, he does have a pack of cigarettes in the bottom drawer of his desk, but he hasn’t smoked since he married her.
Couldn’t leave her alone—just the thought of it, it had hurt him.
But why would Harry look at him when he said that?
Did he think that the only reason they got married before the law was announced was to prevent her from being paired off with a pureblood sympathizer?
Well, yes.
That had been the reason.
Sirius grits his teeth, but they are happy together.
Weren’t they?
He falters mid-step.
Sirius can’t think of any specific scenario or if Hermione gave any indication that she wasn’t happy—that they weren’t doing well because they are. They have been. The only thing that really is different is the children part.
That they don’t have any—which really is the reason the marriage law happened in the first place.
Sirius inhales shakily—is that why? Since they haven’t produced a child and she wants one? Is it because he could possibly infertile because there could be no possibility that Hermione is, no she’s gotten multiple check-ups from the healers and has even seen a—
“—dinner?” Hermione’s voice interrupts the trainwreck of his thoughts.
Sirius blanks, “What?”
“Do you want meat pies for dinner?” Hermione repeats slowly and glances at the imprints on the deep, purple rug.
“Of course,” then he pauses, “Unless you want to go out for dinner?”
She furrows her brows, “Did you make reservations? It’s Saturday night?”
“How many times are you going to forget that I am Lord Black,” Sirius pauses dramatically to wink cheekily, “And that you are Lady Black? We have no need for reservations.”
Hermione rolls her eyes and responds dryly, “Of course, how could I have forgotten?”
“Not to worry, kitten,” he sniffs and drops a kiss to the crown of her head, "I'll remind you constantly."
.
Sirius hadn't told anyone that he had gone to a healer—to check on his virality. He hadn't told anyone that the healer assured him that he was one hundred percent healthy, physically. He didn't tell anyone that they may or may not be trying for children, they—Hermione, because that is a conversation that he doesn't know how to breach. Instead, he tells Hermione that he had to check on his investments at Gringotts.
Which, technically isn't a lie—his investments must be fruitful.
Yet, the thing that fractured Sirius's nerves is the lack of his patience, or in this case, Hermione eyeing the Daily Prophet.
"Did—Hermione?" Sirius' voice cracks, just a touch.
Hermione blinks and looks up, "Yes?"
"Why are you reading the divorce numbers again?"
"I just find it so interesting that—"
"—did you want to get a divorce?" he honest to Merlin nearly vomits out those words from the depths of bowels and he stumbles into them like oil on water, ice on asphalt—rain on grass.
Hermione pauses mid-word slowly. It takes her a few moments to register the question that Sirius had asked—it takes her even longer for her to recognize that the emotions flickering over his face is dread, not anticipation. But it feels like an eternity when she doesn't answer right away, almost as if she's considering it, and it twists his heart from back to front.
"...did you want a divorce?" Hermione asks the question painfully soft and if her husband wasn't an animagus he may not have heard it.
"No," Sirius recoils immediately as if the question was unthinkable, unimaginable, and it was. He shakes his head quickly, alarm, and nerves replacing the blood in his veins.
Hermione responds quicker now, "Well, I don't want one either," she drops the newspaper on the side table and snaps, "What the hell made you ask me that anyway? Are you not happy is that why—"
Good, she's angry, Sirius thinks happily because she's furious with the idea of divorce and that's wonderful.
So wonderful, because she still wants him.
An angry Hermione is something he thinks of lovingly. Gorgeous and full of life, nothing shy and disdain about her. There are no lines he has to read in between, no nuances that he has to search for, because after years and years of not seeing the obvious, constantly looking for a false floor is exhausting and tiring, and he's so tired.
"Of course, I'm happy," Sirius cuts her off before she can get in her head and walks over to her quickly, "I thought you—I mean you kept asking about the divorce rates, the way everyone is separating, and you were interested."
"I was interested because it's so—so sad! It's so sad that all these people were forced to get married and have children despite not wanting to be married, it's barbaric! It's sad for the children and for the parents. Can you imagine having children with someone you did not want to be with? How would the child feel?" Hermione rants and raves—hair crackling with magic and embers, "And I thought, Merlin, how lucky we are. How lucky are we to have this—us? How lucky are we to be happy during one of the worst laws implemented by the ministry?"
"Children? And what about children? Are you happy that we didn't have children or that we aren't—"
"For Merlin's sake, Sirius! When we have children, we have them. It's not something we can order from the store," she huffs and tosses a pillow at him, "And we're not trying anyway—I'm still on the yearly potion.
If it were physically possible to receive more relief or release Sirius could've dropped dead. Instead, he drops his head into her lap and curls into her stomach, and groans, "Fuck. You have no idea how glad I am that I was wrong."
Hermione sighs with exasperated amusement and strokes his hair lovingly, "Silly man, how can you not know?"
"Not know?" Sirius flickers slate eyes upwards in confusion.
"That I will always want you, Sirius."