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Sirius wasn't entirely sure you could be real.
Dead serious.
It made no sense.
At that moment, he was in his flat, leaning against the dining table – which, from time to time, hosted Order meetings – holding an ice pack to his swollen and bleeding forehead while he watched you from across the room. You didn't seem to be paying him any mind; you were far too busy trying to rub some ointment into the purple bruise on your ribcage, your mouth holding your shirt up to reveal your waist and a glimpse of your ribs.
Sirius’s hands itched, aching to trace that space – surely warm and soft – that you displayed so carelessly.
He thought you couldn't be real because, as soon as you finished applying the ointment, you pulled your shirt down, looked up at him, and offered a smile so pure and sweet. Then you walked over, placed your hand over the one holding the ice pack, and lowered it, leaning in even closer to inspect his wound. Sirius could feel your warm breath on his face; he could see up close just how full your lips were. When you unconsciously ran your tongue over them, it left them glistening like ripe cherries damp with morning dew, ready to be picked and devoured. He could see your warm eyes scanning the length of his wound, and how gentle your hands were when they touched him, always with all the care in the world.
He could smell your perfume. It was incredible how wonderful he thought you smelled. Even after what you’d both just been through, you still radiated that scent. Floral. Peony and apricot. Instinctively, he closed his eyes and inhaled, letting you overwhelm his senses completely.
“Sirius?” He snapped his eyes open at the sound of your voice. “Are you alright?”
Merlin. He was going mad.
“Alright? Yeah, I'm fine. Just a bit knackered. It was one hell of a scrap.”
You laughed as you went back to lightly pressing the ice pack against his forehead. “Tell me about it. I wonder what Moody will say when he hears that the two of us cleared out an entire camp on our own. In a single night.”
It was Sirius's turn to laugh as he took the ice pack back, watching you move away to rummage through the kitchen cupboards. “Don't you have any healing potions in this place? Merlin's beard.”
“I’d wager Moody is more likely to give us a bollocking for being reckless fools than he is to pat us on the back, if you must know, love.” Sirius answered, ignoring your other question, his eyes following you as you sifted through his drawers, finally finding a bottle – likely expired – of Wiggenweld. “Besides, don’t be so modest. You took down most of them yourself. It was brilliant.”
You blushed and gave him another shy smile as you approached with the potion and some cotton wool. “It was nothing, really.” You raised your wand, making the damp cotton levitate to his forehead, gently dabbing at the wound. “Anyone in our shoes would've done the same.”
Sirius nearly choked with indignation. “No. Definitely not. In fact, I’d wager almost no one could’ve done what you did back there.”
“My dad could certainly do better than that.”
“Love, your dad is one of the most respected Aurors in Great Britain. Aside from him, I’ve only seen a handful of people with that kind of grit."
You only turned red and looked down, a bashful expression on your face as if you couldn't believe Sirius's words about how incredible you were. That was just one more reason for him to doubt you were real. How could you be? One of the humblest and kindest people he knew was also the most ferocious witch he’d ever had the honour of witnessing in battle.
At first, back in their early years at Hogwarts, you and Sirius were just acquaintances, housemates. There was no animosity or enmity between you, just cordiality. You only became close friends in the middle of sixth year, when you were paired up for a duelling tournament held by the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher and Professor Flitwick. It was Gryffindor against Slytherin that day, and Sirius was torn between the euphoria of finally being allowed to make Avery and Carrow swallow a few teeth and the disappointment of not being able to do it with one of his mates, since the pairs had been decided at random.
He watched as you calmly stepped onto the duelling stage conjured by Flitwick and looked at him, again with those kind, warm eyes, and gave him a slight nod of acknowledgment. At first glance, Sirius was slightly disappointed again. You seemed like a nice girl, but he didn't exactly see how that would help in a duel.
That was when you proved him wrong.
Avery and Carrow didn't wait for the count of three. Before the signal even sounded, the flash of Expelliarmus crossed the hall, sending Sirius's wand flying. He was defenceless, but you weren't. Without uttering a single word, you raised a perfect shield, holding the line while you thrust your own wand into his hands. "Hold the line, I'll handle the rest," you said, and before he could process the plan, you were already a blur of movement.
While Sirius maintained the shields, he watched, mouth agape, as you advanced without magic. With a precise slide across the smooth floor, you swept Avery’s legs, taking him down with a dull thud; before Carrow could react, you already had him pinned to the floor. The Great Hall fell into absolute stunned silence.
The duel sparked whispers that lasted for a fortnight, but Sirius wasn't satisfied with mere rumours. His interest, which began as an electric curiosity sparked by that duel, soon blossomed into a solid friendship. Not that it was very difficult, of course. You didn't need much to trust each other.
Sirius discovered that your prowess didn't come from long hours in the library; it was the reflection of a Muggle-born Auror father who raised you alone and never relied on magic as his only line of defence. He found it a bit intimidating to imagine that while most of his classmates spent their summers relaxing, you were under the rigorous eye of one of the Ministry's best men, learning to use your own body as a weapon before you even learned to use a wand. He saw, too, that it cast a pressure on your life that even you didn't seem to notice. The way you acted as if failure wasn't an option, but a death sentence you were constantly running from.
That was the first and only time Sirius had seen what you were capable of in a duel. Well, at least until you graduated and the first war finally stepped out of the shadows to live up to its name.
Over many years, he had become accustomed to your gentle, friendly manner, and he had perhaps forgotten how extraordinary you could be when someone tried to cross you. However, something changed when James and Lily got married. You became even closer. More like partners. Since James and Lily were now always together, it resulted in you and Sirius becoming an inseparable duo as well.
That was when Sirius began to realise, after observing the domesticity, familiarity, and happiness his friends shared, that perhaps you and he were that way with each other too. The difference was that Sirius had never put a name to the feeling of fascination and affection he had always carried for you. He had always pushed those sensations to the back of his mind. All the desire and the urge to hold you close and never let you go. He could never name what he was feeling because he could never risk ruining the connection you had and losing even your precious friendship.
But, seeing Lily and James overcome even hatred and pride, why would it be so bad to accept that he loved you, with your friendship as the foundation? That was how his feelings took complete hold of him during the first wizarding war. Even so, he could hardly believe you were real.
That same night, shortly before the two of you were resting and tending to your wounds in Sirius's apartment, you were patrolling an area outside the city, near a forest that hid a small wizarding village. Wormtail had said he detected suspicious movements around the location, and Moody feared they might be using the place as some kind of stronghold or were prepared to take the village by force, and had agreed to send the two of you on a – cautious – patrol of the perimeter.
What Wormtail had curiously failed to mention was that around the site, there weren't just suspicious movements, but a camp full of Snatchers in the service of You-Know-Who. And of course, before you could turn back to alert the Order, you two were surprised and captured.
What a lovely night.
The Incarcerous spell was tight around his limbs, and he could feel the bite of the ropes as they pushed him toward the large tent in the centre of the camp. Discreetly, he tried to keep his eyes on you. You were in front, also tied up. He wondered if the ropes were hurting you as they were trying to hurt him. Unlike him, who was walking, you had been thrown over the shoulder of one of the brutes who attacked you, and you were staring fixedly at him.
Sirius knew he could transform into a dog to get free of the ropes whenever he wanted and run as fast as he could to escape the camp. It would be a good plan if he were alone. But he could never abandon you to your fate, not even to seek help. Snatchers weren't Death Eaters and couldn't call You-Know-Who directly, but they weren't far behind in terms of the atrocities they could commit. Sirius felt sick just imagining what would happen to you if he abandoned you there.
Upon arriving at the tent, the gloom was cut only by a solitary lantern swaying over your heads. The smell of old wood and dampness filled the air. You were placed, still bound, on chairs. Your wands had been taken the moment you were captured, and one of the Snatchers, seemingly more concerned with Sirius than with you – who had your arms tied behind your back and appeared vulnerable – tied a piece of cloth over his mouth so he couldn't speak.
In front of him, one of the filthy men smirked while one of his colleagues tilted Sirius's chair precariously back.
“This one's a big fish, lads,” he said, in a tone that didn't hide his satisfaction, while he toyed with his own wand. “The notorious Black family renegade. Your cousin and your brother will be very pleased to hear we've found a loved one.”
Sirius narrowed his eyes at the man. He would have spat in his face if his mouth were free, even if it might have done more harm than good. But then he worried about you again. If they had to call someone, he hoped it would be Regulus. Bellatrix would torture you – a half-blood – just for breathing the same air as her.
Noticing how Sirius kept his eyes on you, the man holding him shifted his attention, making Sirius roar as he tried to reclaim the Snatchers' focus. You kept your breath ragged, your eyes wide in a perfect mask of terror. Behind that, your sharp senses were calculating every inch of movement and the position of each of the three men in the room.
“What a pretty partner, Mister Black.” He pointed his wand at your cheek, making Sirius thrash even more in his bonds. “With such lovely company, I’d want to be lurking in the woods at night too.”
The man slid the tip of his wand along your jawline, and Sirius let out a muffled sound of pure hatred behind the cloth, the veins in his neck bulging as he fought against the ropes. You, however, let your lower lip tremble. A single tear rolled down your face.
“Please...” your voice came out small. “We didn't mean to interrupt anything. We were just passing through... my father... he has gold. He can pay whatever you want, just don't hand us over to those people.”
The Snatcher let out a raspy laugh, exchanging a knowing look with the other two. “Gold? No, sweetie. What the Master will pay us for a Black and his little toy is worth more than any coins your father’s saved up.”
While you were sobbing, your eyes swept over the table where the wands had been left. Beside them, a grubby bit of parchment lay open, showing what looked like a crude diagram of the wizarding village, with red markings on the old mines and the central inn. You forced a tremor into your shoulders, letting your gaze flicker over the map before turning back to face the man with feigned dread.
“The Master?” you sobbed again, hunching your shoulders. “But the village... we heard it was protected. It's impossible to get out of here without being spotted. Please, if you just let us go, no one will ever have to know.”
Noticing the moment your eyes found the map on the table, the man gave a cruel smirk, relishing what he thought was your despair at seeing an escape route.
“Found our map, did you, little dove?” He leaned in close, blowing tobacco smoke right in your face. “Those Ministry gits can watch the roads all they like. But they aren't half as clever as they think they are, are they, gents? We'll be miles away before the sun's up, and the village will be far too busy dealing with the 'little gift' we've left at the inn to come after us.”
Sirius stopped fighting for a second. His eyes widened, finally understanding what you were doing. He could still feel fear for you. The worry and hatred at the way those men were looking at you still coursed through his veins, until he looked closely at your face. The tear was still there, but the tremor in your lip was gone. The terror in your eyes dissipated like mist in the sun, revealing a completely different expression.
Your bright and warm smile was back, stamped on your face while you looked at the Snatcher.
“Right. Old mines. Secret entrance. Distraction at the inn,” you repeated. Your voice was no longer shaky. “Brilliant. That's everything I needed to know. Thank you!”
The Snatcher frowned, confusion clouding his filthy expression. “What did you say, you little bi–”
Sirius felt as if everything happened in the blink of an eye. Your first move was a sharp strike. With a surge of your body, you threw the weight of the chair back, hitting the foot of the Snatcher holding it. Before he could react by casting a spell, you used the chair itself as a lever. Tossing yourself to the side and dodging a shot from one of the other men, spinning in mid-air; the sound of wood snapping against the floor was drowned out by the shouts of the three Snatchers.
Still bound to the chair, you turned into a blunt force weapon. One of the Snatchers lunged, his wand pointing directly at you, the tip already glowing ready to fire a curse, but you, still seated, delivered a double kick to his chest, using the momentum to roll backward.
You tried to pivot the chair, but your bruised ribs flared with such agony that your vision went white for a split second. You missed the direct hit, but your momentum was enough to send the Snatcher stumbling back, giving you the opening you needed. Sirius saw you wince, a sharp, ragged gasp escaping your lips as the movement pulled violently at your bruised ribs. A bitter reminder that you weren't indestructible, just very good at pretending to be.
Another idiot tried to grab you again with Incarcerous, but you leapt back to where the chair shattered against the floor upon impact, partially freeing your movements. Then, in one fluid motion, you used a piece of the broken wood to strike the attacker's face, finishing with a spinning kick that sent him to the floor unconscious.
The Snatcher who had run his wand over your face tried to flee, but you were faster. Leaping toward him, you wrapped your legs around the man's neck in a perfect scissor lock and, with the full force of your body, hurled him hard against the wooden beams of the tent.
In less than a minute, the tent was silent again, broken only by the sound of your ragged breathing. You didn't stand up immediately this time. Sirius watched as you leaned heavily against a wooden post, your knuckles white and your hands trembling so violently you had to clench them into fists. Your expression flickered for a second, replaced by a flash of pure, raw exhaustion before you forced yourself to move toward him, undoing the enchantment binding Sirius and returning his wand.
You looked worried as you inspected him, your eyes scanning his entire face as you removed the cloth tied across his mouth.
“Are you alright? You're not hurt, are you?”
Sirius nearly shrank with shame. Just a few seconds ago, you were in mortal danger. You were still in mortal danger; on the other side of the tent, there were still Snatchers ready to use any kind of Unforgivable Curse if they saw what you had just done there, without even using magic.
And Sirius?
Well, Sirius was having a bloody, pathetic, sodding erection.
Merlin help him. He didn't know how his brain dealt with the terror and the fear of you getting hurt and turned it into desire in a matter of seconds, seeing how sensual you looked while breaking the faces of three men the size of broom cupboards. He felt ashamed for having wished he were in the place of the damn bastard you’d wrapped your legs around to throw straight into the beams. Even the subsequent blackout would be a fair price to pay for that experience.
“I’m fine. Don’t worry.”
“Good. You can help me then. Tie them up and break their wands,” you ordered, moving away from him as you dragged one of the unconscious brutes by his boots.
Snapping out of his trance, Sirius obeyed, heading toward the other two to do as he was told. When he finished breaking the last wand, Sirius turned to you, his chest still heaving with a mix of adrenaline and the shameful desire he was trying to bury.
“I think we've done enough for today. We need to get out of here. Now,” Sirius whispered, his voice tense. “There are at least twenty men out there. If we Apparate as soon as we cross the camp's anti-Apparition barrier, we can get to the Ministry and ask them to send a squad of Aurors.”
You shook your head. “Sirius, if we leave now to get help, they'll notice we’ve escaped and they'll definitely move up the attack on the inn.” You argued. “The village is vulnerable. By the time the Aurors arrive, there'll be nothing but ashes. We have the map of the mines and the element of surprise. If we hit their supply stores and tents, the camp will collapse.”
“Love, that's suicide.” Sirius took a step toward you, gripping your arm firmly but without hurting you. “I know you're like a steamroller, but I can't let you rely on luck like that again. There's no way in hell I’m letting you get hurt, or worse, die here because of a bunch of Snatchers.”
“I’m not going to die here, Black. You're underestimating me,” you pulled away, staring at him closely. Your eyes were flashing with that reckless stubbornness that always made his blood run cold. You weren't just being brave; you were being impossibly headstrong, refusing to see the danger he was so desperate to shield you from.
The proximity made his breath hitch. “Maybe I am, if you must know.” He moved away, turning his back to you. “But I’d rather be cautious than risk you getting hurt.”
You huffed and walked toward him again. “You knew we'd face situations like this when we joined the Order. And... and since when do we trust the Ministry? The Order wouldn't even exist if they were competent enough to do their jobs.”
Sirius turned his head back to you.
“My father taught me that in situations like this, opportunity is a finite resource. We either finish them here, now, or we carry the bodies of innocents tomorrow. You choose.”
Sirius growled in frustration, looking away even though he knew the glint of determination in your eyes won him over every time. He hated that you were right. He hated himself for agreeing with everything you said. Merlin, how similar you both were. He hated that too. Above all, he hated even more how that fire inside you made you look magnificent.
“If we die, I’m going to haunt you for the rest of eternity,” he relented, checking his wand. “What's the plan?”
***
When you stepped through the tent flap, the world seemed to explode. With a wide and violent sweep of your wand, you conjured an Expulso so massive that the other tent across from you was obliterated from the inside out, sending shards of wood and canvas flying like deadly projectiles at the nearest henchmen.
Sirius barely had time to process the scale of your power. He moved to the left flank, casting curses that cut through the air with the sound of a whip, though his attention was still fixed on you.
On the other side, you threw a Confringo toward the supply wagons. The resulting explosion sent up a shockwave that tore the structure of the wagons apart and sent twisted metal flying in all directions.
One of the Snatchers then lunged from the right, screaming an Unforgivable Curse. You tried to pivot, to dodge as you had done a dozen times before, but your bruised ribs finally betrayed you. A white-hot spike of agony flared in your side, locking your muscles and leaving you stumbling, wide open.
The sickly green light of the curse missed your shoulder by a terrifyingly narrow margin. Before the man could level his wand again to finish what he started, Sirius was there. He moved like a shadow possessed, a roar of pure, protective fury tearing from his throat as he threw himself in front of you. With a violent, wordless flick of his wand, he sent a jet of red light hitting the Snatcher square in the chest. The impact didn't just knock the man back, it sent him hurtling into a nearby tree with a sickening crack of bones and branches.
Sirius didn't even glance at the fallen man; his frantic grey eyes were already on you, his hand reaching out to steady your shaking frame, his breath coming in ragged hitches of pure terror for your life.
Twenty minutes later, the camp was nothing but a heap of embers and low moans. Fire consumed what was left of the tents, and black smoke spiralled up toward the moonlight. You two were standing in the centre, alone. You held your hand over your ribs with a satisfied smile on your face, your breath heavy and your shoulders finally relaxing. Your hair was a matted mess of soot and dried blood, and there was a frantic, almost desperate look in your eyes.
Sirius walked up to you, his shoes crunching through the ashes. He had a rather nasty cut above his forehead, but overall, he looked alright. He still couldn't look away. The way you moved through the chaos, the dust covering your clothes, the satisfied look of victory... he wondered if you’d make that same face after a different kind of activity.
Sirius was lost.
“You, love, you are...” Sirius began, his voice failing him, completely husky. He took a step closer, invading your personal space “You are the most dangerous and lethal creature I have ever seen in my life.” He paused, his expression suddenly darkening as he remembered the flash of green light that had nearly taken you. “But Merlin’s beard, you nearly gave me a heart attack. If I hadn't been fast enough to get to you... if I’d lost you back there...” He broke off, the thought alone making his hand tremble against your skin.
The smouldering silence of the camp felt heavy, a stark contrast to the violent chaos of moments before. Surrounded by the ruins of a victory that had nearly cost him everything, Sirius found himself anchored only by the sight of you. The adrenaline was cooling, leaving behind a raw, aching clarity.
His hand, still trembling from the terror of the green light aimed at you, finally found your soot-stained face. His fingers traced the line of your jaw with a desperate, quiet reverence. He realized then that he would have traded every drop of pure-blood legacy in his veins just for the right to hold you and protect you and never let go.
***
The memory of the camp in flames and the destructive glint in your eyes still pulsed in Sirius's temples, mixing with the throbbing pain of the cut on his forehead.
But there, in the gloom of his London flat, the smell of smoke and burnt wood seem had long been forgotten, replaced by your fragrance that seemed to emanate from your skin. Sirius watched you with an intensity bordering on despair as you concentrated on the bottle of Wiggenweld, your hands – the same ones that had taken down men with the force of an earthquake – moving with a delicacy that was almost painful as they held the wand.
Sirius couldn't take it anymore. He wasn't a man who usually submitted and suffered to hold back his own desires. Maybe it was the cut on his forehead, or all the adrenaline from the fight earlier that was messing with his head. But with your hair tickling his face, your fresh lips, your skin with its sweet, vivid scent, it formed an intoxicating mix that didn't help at all.
You love her, don't you?
He remembered James asking the week before when he caught him staring at you from across the dining table, right there in that same flat. That day, Sirius pretended the question sounded comical and faked a laugh, saying he was imagining things. But the truth was that Sirius was too much of a coward to say it out loud. Too much of a coward to say that you were the most special person in his life. Too much of a coward to say that he thought about you all the time, awake or asleep, remembering how smart, fierce, kind, and beautiful you were.
He had finally understood what James had been trying to describe since he fell for Lily. The feeling that took over everything until there was nothing left but the urge to explode, to scream, to show you in whatever way you wanted just how deeply he had fallen in love.
But Sirius couldn't contain himself any longer. He would tell you. Right there. Now. How much he wanted you. Whatever you wanted, he would do. If you said you could never be anything more than friends, Sirius would settle for his own misery and move on. But if you said you wanted him too, then Sirius would be yours. He just couldn't keep it in for another minute.
“You haven't a clue, have you?” he murmured, gathering his courage. His voice came out huskier than he intended, breaking the domestic silence that had settled between them.
You stopped moving the cotton millimetres from his skin and looked up, confused. “A clue about what, Sirius?”
“About how impossible it is to take my eyes off you,” he confessed. Sirius held your wrist gently, not to pull you away, but to anchor you there, in that small space between your bodies. “I spent so much time trying to label what I feel as just "fascination" or "pride" in you. I tried to convince myself that our friendship was the most valuable treasure I could have and that I couldn't risk it for anything.”
He felt your pulse quicken under his fingers, a silent response that encouraged him to continue. Sirius drew closer, invading that personal space he so coveted, feeling your warm breath against his face.
“But I can't do it anymore. Today, seeing you in that camp... seeing how you protected what's right and how you came back to me with that sweet look... how you always try to take care of me. Always by my side.” He let out a low, bitter laugh, his eyes fixed on your lips, which glistened like damp cherries under the dim light of the room. “I realised I'm a coward. A bloody coward for being afraid of losing your friendship, when what I really want is to be able to say how much I'm in love with you. How much I want to be able to hold you like this every day and keep you even closer.”
You didn't pull away. On the contrary, the hand holding the wand dropped, forgotten, and your free fingers rose to stroke Sirius's jawline, wiping away a trace of soot he didn't know was still there.
“I thought you were never going to say anything,” you whispered, the shy, sweet smile returning to light up your face, disarming Sirius faster than any spell. "I didn't either... I didn't know how to tell you. And honestly, Sirius... in that tent? I wasn't just pretending. When that man was talking to you, I was bloody terrified. I thought I’d lost every chance I had to ever be standing here with you like this."
Sirius lost his breath, holding your hand with more passion.
"I was so dumb. It was so many years telling myself that this,” you gestured to him and yourself, “that this would never be more than friendship. That you would never feel the same about me.”
“You could never ruin anything,” he whispered, his voice thick with a sincerity he rarely allowed himself to show. He let go of your wrist only to wrap both hands around your waist, pulling you closer, until there was no more room for doubt or fear between you.
The final threshold had been crossed. Sirius touched the tip of his nose to yours, closing his eyes for a brief moment to absorb the reality of that touch. “God, I was such an idiot,” he continued, laughing softly against your lips. “I’d look at you... and convince myself I had no right to ask for more than your friendship. I thought if I told you, I’d lose the most precious person in my life. But the truth is, I was already lost anyway.”
He felt your touch on his jaw and leaned his face to kiss the palm of your hand, a tender gesture that contrasted with the image of the fierce duellist you had just projected at the camp.
“We're not going to say anything more to ourselves about "just friendship",” Sirius murmured, his grey eyes now shining with a spark of protection and devotion. “I want you to know that I am yours. If you want me, I am entirely yours.”
Your eyes lit up completely, as much with joy as with the tears you were desperately trying to hold back, a huge smile now plastered across your face. He didn't wait for a verbal answer. He didn't even need one.
Sirius tilted his head and, with all the love he had saved up during the time he had wanted you, sealed the beginning of something new with a slow, deep kiss. He no longer had to wonder if you were real; you were his reality – strong, soft, lethal, and gentle in equal measure.
When he tried to deepen the kiss, sliding his tongue into your mouth, teasing and tempting you to respond until you reciprocated, Sirius felt he could never get tired of you. It was as if even tasting your lips, holding your body, he still needed more of you. It was as if what he felt would never end. And perhaps that was the case. Pulling apart just enough to breathe, Sirius leaned his forehead against yours, a genuine smile finally appearing on his lips.
“Merlin help me, woman,” he repeated the whisper he had said in the ashes of the camp. “I am completely lost for you.”