A/N: We grow up watching Disney movies where the princess is always saved by the prince, and they live happily ever after. Then, when we grow up, we realize that disney movies, while they taught us magic, didn't teach us reality. Luckily, this isn't reality. This is my first work, so be wary, reader, for you may either hate me, but you might fall in love. Such is the way the world turns. A very warm thank you to my Alpha, KickyNikki, who screams her way through my grammatical errors, and my Beta, MamaPotterHead, who keeps me grounded when there is a storm in my brain. I love yall!

Sillage - (n) the scent that lingers in the air,

the trail left in the water,

the impression made in space after something or someone has been and gone;

the trace of someones perfume.

There was riotous laughter filling the halls and vibrating the walls throughout Grimmauld Place and she smiled, somewhat exasperated. She had asked for a simple dinner amongst friends and family the night before her wedding, but she should have known. With the whole Weasley clan and Order involved, such things as "quiet" were impossible.

Harry was sitting across from her next to Ron, laughing at the antics of Fred and George, both of whom had somehow obtained pink skin. Ginny was heckling Tonks about having more children, rubbing her hands over her own swollen abdomen. Kingsley was discussing a new piece of Legislation with Arthur on leniency for misdemeanor crimes and setting up a probationary system, not unlike the probation programs muggles had. Remus was sitting next to Sirius speaking in hushed undertones, though the Black heir hardly seemed to be paying heed to whatever was being said if the smirk on his face was any indication.

She supposed, as she sipped her glass of wine - she'd gone through almost a whole bottle on her own, that she should've felt beyond elated that it was finally here. Here she was, five years after the war, and she was finally to become Hermione Weasley. Most were surprised that the two had waited so long to wed, as Harry and Ginny hadn't. But Hermione was of a more practical sort, and every time the subject of matrimony came up, the only thing that popped into her head was a resounding why?

That wasn't to say that she didn't love Ron. She loved him to the depths of her soul and more. They'd been best friends for twelve years and lovers for five. He knew her deepest fears and her aspirations, hopes and dreams. He knew her heart.

So why wasn't she a blushing bride?

Because he does not know your desire, a dark voice in the back of her head answered.

Admittedly, their sex life was not what one would call… exciting. It got the job done for him, at least, and Hermione was all about making sure he was happy. When they were eighteen and blushing virgins, they had held onto one another as they had finally succumbed to their passion for each other, for all of three minutes. Hermione had logically assumed that first times were not as magical as one would have hoped. Surely things would only get better as they got older and more comfortable with each other.

At least the timing had improved, she thought bitterly.

Ron, bless him, was not a very strong lover. He was clumsy, almost sloppy. His kisses were open mouthed with an alarming amount of saliva. His breath was always too heavy against her ear and they never, ever, got creative during their escapades. Hermione tried to explore new territory with him, but he was just not interested. Sex, to him, was just not a broad spectrum of possibilities. It was wham, bam, thank you ma'am to him. Maybe she could have been happy with it, but she never got to the thank you, ma'am. She had never climaxed because of Ron Weasley, but nobody knew that. It had gotten to the point to where she would flex her walls around him as he drove in and out of her, as it would quicken his own release. Or she would go down on him to avoid the laborious job of having to fake her moans and groans of impending release. That was always the quickest. Not that he ever reciprocated. Honestly, she was afraid of what would happen to her vagina if he ever tried.

So why was she marrying Ron Weasley?

Because he was home. He was freshly mown grass and parchment, and wool sweaters and spearmint toothpaste. He was treacle tart and dopey smiles and bashful hand holding. He was her first love, her only love. He was loyal, and kind, if not a bit temperamental. Ron Weasley had always been there to protect her, and she him. Marriages had been founded on a lot less.

"-you listening to me?" Hermione snapped out of her thoughts to turn to Ginny.

"I'm sorry, Gin. What were you saying?" She smiled when Ginny glared at her.

"I said," she began in an obnoxiously loud tone, gaining the attention of the guests nearest to her, "that since you did not indulge me with a hen night you'll have to give me a girls night when you and Ron return from your honeymoon!"

Hermione rolled her eyes, "Of course, Gin. Anyone want another brew?" She waved her glass around and most of the members cheered their acquiescence.

"I'll help you, love," Sirius said, standing up to follow her into the kitchen, stopping at the island whilst she busied herself pouring drinks.

Hermione felt somewhat awkward. She could feel his eyes on her, and could not decide if it was just her or if the tension she felt was tangible to him as well. It wasn't the first time she'd noticed it, but had never felt quite courageous enough to ask him what he was looking at. To be fair, she was scared of his answer. She knew Harry looked at Sirius as a sort of father/friend figure, Ron looked up to him like another older brother, and she knew Sirius reciprocated these feelings with them in turn. War had forged an unbreakable bond amongst friends and family. But if Hermione were being honest with herself, she would say that no, those were not the same feelings she had in regards to the man. She didn't think he felt that way about her, either.

He'd always held her opinion in the highest regard, and never belittled her when she prattled on about whatever crusade she had adopted. He would always engage her in these conversations, listening intently and proving over and over that Azkaban and the veil had not taken his keen mind from him. Sirius Black was an enigma, something she hadn't quite figured out, something that frustrated her at times. But what did this even matter? She was getting married! She had no time to entertain such notions of frivolity when she had a party to attend to!

"Hermione, are you okay?" Sirius asked from behind her, causing her to turn around and bring her up short as she realized he was closer than anticipated. She could see the crows feet that had begun to gather in the corners of his eyes. His beard was growing wilder these days. But those eyes were still something to look at. They pierced into her with concern.

"I'm fine, love," she assured him, smiling a little at the way his mouth quirked up when she touched his cheek reassuringly. "Just lost in my thoughts, is all. I cannot seem to get my brain to shut off!"

"Aye, but a beautiful brain it is, kitten," he said, pecking her cheek ducking away from her as she swatted at him for the endearment.

Sirius let his laughter fill the kitchen, the sound resonating as he made to take some of the drinks from her to deliver to the guests in the other room.

The guests cheered as drinks were passed around the table, and Hermione reclaimed her seat as Arthur and Molly called for the attention of their motley crew.

"Arthur and I," Molly began emotionally, "would just like to say that it is an honor to know each and every one of you. Hermione dear-" she turned her gaze towards the younger witch, "we love you as our own, have for a while now. I can not wait to call you my daughter officially!"

Arthur nodded his agreement, "You've been an unofficial Weasley for a long time, and Molly and myself couldn't be more proud of the people you and Ron have grown into, as individuals and as a couple. To Ron and Hermione!" He raised his glass and everyone at the table responded in kind, toasting to the two as Ron caught her gaze and mouthed I love you, to her from across the table. She smiled at him, watching his eyes as they lit up. She really was a lucky witch.

The gathered crowd paused again when a loud clearing of a throat was heard, and the group turned to the head of the table where Sirius was standing. Remus was shaking his head, but remained seated.

"As the host of this shindig, it is only proper that I be the next one to make a toast." He raised his glass, taking a deep breath before speaking, "To Ron and Hermione," he said. "May your lives be filled with love, joy, kindness and kinship. I wish you two the utmost serenity, and may all of your arguments end in hot sex when that serenity is disturbed." He laughed when Remus hit him, and the crowd chuckled at Hermione's red face.

"Seriously," He began once everyone had calmed down. "I hope you both have more happy times than sad. I hope that your world brightens a little more each day, and may you never," he looked directly at her, his eyes clouded, "go wanting. To Ron and Hermione."

She took a generous gulp from her wine glass, thinking that the way his eyes bored into her, and the connotation of his words, were inappropriate. She felt heat, starting from her core and radiating throughout her body. She berated herself for overthinking. There was no way his words were filled with innuendo on purpose. But damn if her body didn't respond to it.

After another hour or so the party started to wind down. Arthur and Molly were the first to leave, followed shortly by the older members of the Order. Everyone kissed her cheek and bid her farewells with the promise of seeing her tomorrow at the reception. After awhile, it was only Ron, Hermione, Tonks, Remus and Sirius left in Grimmauld Place. They agreed to have a shot of firewhiskey before retiring. Ron was to be staying with Harry and Ginny, as the temperamental redhead had stated that no, Ron was to not see Hermione until she was walking down the aisle.

As Hermione walked Ron to the door, they stood there, looking at each other pensively. "You know I love you right?" he asked quietly, his eyes troubled.

Somewhat baffled by his sombre tone, she nodded. "As I, you."

He smiled and gave her a chaste kiss, "I'll see you tomorrow yeah?"

Hermione laughed, "I'll be the one in white."

Ron laughed aloud at her, "That was almost convincing. You're going to be miserable tomorrow morning, 'Mione. I will try to keep Ginny away from you at least until daylight, but I make no promises."

Hermione groaned.

Ron, still snickering said, "We can still elope. You know I hate suits."

Hermione had honestly not thought about eloping and the look on her face told Ron she was seriously considering it. "Your mother and Ginny would murder us. We will just have to suffer together. I love you, Ron." She leaned in to kiss his cheek.

He gave her one last fleeting smile before he disapparated. Hermione leaned against the dark walls of the foyer, suddenly feeling very weary. There was a clawfoot bath in her bedroom that beckoned her forward. She stopped back by the kitchen to grab another glass of wine and found Sirius, Remus and Tonks whispering to each other heatedly. Hermione paused to listen.

"-like he wouldn't tell me?" Tonks scoffed, "I am his mate, Sirius."

Sirius glared at her, then to Remus. "Traitor," he stated petulantly.

Remus rolled his eyes, "Oh honestly Sirius, it is not as though anyone who bothered to look would not see that -"

"Hey guys," Hermione said, coming into the room and effectively silencing them. "Is everything okay?"

"Hermione!" Sirius exclaimed, smiling tightly at her. "Did Ron leave?"

"Yes," Hermione stated, her brow furrowed. "He's in a weird mood, but that's normal, I guess."

"Probably just nerves," Remus replied knowingly.

"Yeah, when Remus and I eloped he was so afraid I would leave him that he passed out."

Hermione and Sirius burst out laughing, and Remus sulkily glared muttering under his breath about "traitorous friends," and "tattle telling wives."

"Oh, Remus dear, you know we love you." Hermione brushed his cheek consolingly.

"My wife and I are going to bed," he stated petulantly, grabbing Tonks' hand and heading towards the staircase. "She needs to be taught a lesson," he grinned wolfishly, winking at Hermione whose face burned red, and Sirius who was cackling. Tonks slapped his rear before racing up stairs, and Hermione could hear them giggling until the decisive shutting of their bedroom door silenced them.

"On that note," she turned to Sirius, who was still chuckling quietly, "there's a bath with my name on it. Goodnight, Sirius." She kissed his cheek, breathing in his clean scent. It was mouthwatering.

"Goodnight, love," he whispered, his lips barely grazing the shell of her ear. She felt herself warm over again, and hastily retreated to the safety of her bedroom, knowing that try as she might, she couldn't not be curious.

The flames of the fire had been burning for a while, and there he sat, scotch in one hand, while the other casually draped across the armrest of the burgundy knole sofa. His body was positioned so lackadaisical that, to the random observer, he appeared the definition of relaxed. Only in his eyes, if one looked, could you see the pensiveness, and trouble that brewed within his otherwise stoic appearance. That fire danced in his eyes, the flickering orange turning his iris into a desert storm, with wind and lighting. It was symbolic of the feelings Sirius tried so hard to hide from everyone, from her.

There was a point in time where Sirius would have not been so conflicted. Self restraint had never been his forte, but in this, he was impressed with himself. Hermione had been the unattainable thing he'd admired for longer than he cared to admit. Even as a teenager, he'd found her indulging, and had adored her immensely. He had never looked at her like that, of course, but she'd been a breath of fresh air and warmth that his well worn soul hadn't experienced in well over a decade.

She'd been the first face he'd seen when she pulled him from the veil after the end of the war. He'd remembered being hit with a Stunner by his insane cousin, Bellatrix, and Sirius had felt his conscience slip away from him. But when he came to, there she was, leaning over him with that mane of hair flowing so much longer than a second ago, and her face was different, no longer childlike. Hermione had been smiling through her tears as she had ran her hands over his face, telling him how much she'd missed him and through her mumbling he realized that he hadn't blacked out. He had actually died. The thought still befuddled him to this day. Once he understood the rest of her rambling, how she had found a way to bring him back, his world tilted on its axis. A piece of himself he never knew was missing fell into place, and he knew he would never not love her.

Once he found out she was with Ron, a boy who Sirius loved as his family, he braced himself for the reality that love was sometimes unrequited. Not that she didn't love him, she always told him as much. Just not in the way his heart wished she would.

But Sirius was not one to pine, no. He loved, and fiercely, so he was her friend first. Her companion in the ups and downs of her young life. He enjoyed debating with her for the simple fact that she was beautifully passionate and even more so when she was angry, and she was angry at him a lot.

He was the first to hug her and shake Ron's hand when they'd announced their engagement. The first to offer his substantial wealth to cover everything, because the young couple deserved so much more than the hand they'd been dealt in their younger years. He was the one to host Ron's stag night - the young lad was completely pissed when Sirius had delivered him to Hermione in the early hours of the next morning. Sirius still had a scar on his hairline from where she'd hexed him. He sometimes stared at it fondly.

He sighed and took a sip of his scotch, courtesy of the Black Family reserves. It had been getting more difficult to stay away from her as the impending wedding came upon them. He found himself unable to help staring at her, sitting closer to her, hugging her a little longer, as though she would disappear forever. He found himself dreaming of her, spread out for him, wanting him the same way that he wanted her.

He'd thought it impossible, but… the part of him that was more canine than man, well, those senses were making it difficult for him to think straight. He could smell her tonight, when he had caught her staring at him. It was a heady scent, that smelled of warm summer rain, and something floral, like honeysuckle. Remus had noticed too, and the discussion he had with Sirius only ended with Sirius brushing him off, denying it completely. That scent washed over him more potently after he gave the couple-to-be a toast. He had almost jumped across the table.

Now she was upstairs, asleep and dreaming of becoming Hermione Weasley, and all he could do was watch her leave him, though she was never his anyway.

He was going to need another drink.

"Sirius?"

She was standing in the doorway, clad in a robe, cabernet swirling in the glass she was holding.

"Hermione," he replied, donning his smile he reserved only for her. "Shouldn't you be sleeping?"

"I tried to," she shrugged her shoulders, and sat down on the middle cushion of the sofa, right next to him. He could feel how warm she was. She turned towards him, tucking her legs and bringing the wine to her lips, sighing as the flavor rolled over her tongue.

Sirius clenched his fist.

"I can't seem to settle, I feel so restless," she leant into the couch, looking at him and smiling ruefully. He nodded in understanding, he could certainly empathize.

"That brain of yours is your best friend, and your worst enemy it seems," he chuckled.

They laughed together for awhile, and talked about inconsequential things. She teased him about the last tart she'd seen doing the walk of shame out of his bedroom two weeks ago.

"Come on, Sirius, the girl was wearing fishnets!" Hermione laughed, "She looked like a dominatrix!"

"Oh love, she was a good time, don't be judgy." She stuck her tongue out at him, and he smiled at her childlike behavior. He loved it when she laughed, almost as much as when she was angry.

"You're disgusting," she quipped. He pinched her side and she squealed, shoving him away. Their laughter mingled for awhile as they calmed, him taking a swig of his scotch, and her sipping her wine. Eventually she was calm again.

"Can I ask you a question?"

He gazed back at her and smirked, gesturing for her to continue.

She took a breath, "Are you lonely?"

Whatever witty retort he had died on his tongue and her question resonated in his mind. She never did what he expected.

"What makes you think I'm lonely?" he asked her.

"Oh, come on, Sirius. You parade around with different women every few weeks. You can't honestly like doing it."

"Oi," he said defensively, "I like sex, there isn't anything wrong with what I do. Those women certainly don't complain either. It's not like I've found a girl who wants me too, so I do what I need to, to get what I want."
"I wasn't saying it was wrong," she said backtracking, "I just worry about you."

His anger died.

"Don't worry about me, love," he said, taking her hand, "I'm not unhappy, mostly."

He wondered if she felt it, that electrical current that seemed to pass between them when he touched her skin. Her hands were soft despite the strength he knew they possessed, he'd borne the brunt of her strikes in the past. Those small hands were strong, he mused. He imagined what they would feel like threading through his hair, or curled around his shoulders as she pulled him closer. No, he thought. Those thoughts were too dangerous to think about while he was touching her.

It's the night before her wedding, he told himself, she doesn't want you, quit being selfish.

She studied him, almost as if she was looking for any sign of deception. Hermione was intuitive that way, and so he couldn't quite meet her gaze. Her stare made his nerves come alive, and he shook himself.

"My turn," he said abruptly, "can I ask you a question?"

She nodded, and he took a breath, knowing he shouldn't ask because his nerves were strained, and she was there smelling sweet like that honey shampoo she used, and there was a small, desperate part of him that needed to know before she was lost forever.

"Why are you unhappy?"

She started, looking up to find him staring at her intently, and she was once again reminded that Sirius Black was beautiful. His eyes were the color of a thunderstorm, greys and silvers leading downward into a black pupil that dilated when she looked at him. He had high cheekbones and a jaw she'd dreamt about biting, even now as scruffy as it was. His hair was thick and fell in waves down just past his shoulders. A lean body, muscular even, from all of his hard work to regain what Azkaban had taken from him. Yes, Sirius Black was beautiful. More beautiful when he was staring at her with concern and something else she couldn't identify.

She felt compelled to be honest with him, "I thought I'd be more excited. I thought that I would have butterflies and would be nervous. I thought this would feel different."

He stared at her intently, searching for something. She wondered if he found her lacking. Hermione was brilliant beyond measure and could banter with the best of them, but what did that mean when it came to laws of attraction? She and Sirius had their fair share of conversations pertaining to his promiscuous ways, but he'd always smile at her, telling her when he found someone as perfect as she was he'd settle down. She would laugh and then hit him. But that's what she loved about Sirius, he was easy going and she could tell him anything.

"What does it feel like?" he whispered quietly.

"Sirius, I love Ron. I love him so much it hurts. But it feels anticlimactic! Our family and friends are so ecstatic for us, and he… and they… and I just sit here and wonder - is this it? Is this passionless life and sneaking off to the shower to finish myself off after he's passed out… is that what I want? Then I think of everything else and feel really selfish and ungrateful. He is unbelievably loyal, and kind. He's selflessly brave. Should I really be complaining over one small thing?"

He was silent as he regarded her, his eyes slightly glazed as he looked at her, measuring her. The amount of tension between the two was so thick she could smell it… taste it. He had edged closer to her, though she wasn't aware if it was intentional.

"That doesn't sound selfish," he whispered. "The fact that you're worried about being selfish actually tells me that you're the exact opposite. You're always putting people before yourself. Your wants, always on the back burner." He tucked a wayward curl behind her ear, and she shivered from the intimacy of the gesture.

"That's no way to live."

She scoffed, self-deprecating. "And what do you know of it, Sirius? When have you been selfless with someone other than Harry? Or your friends? It's not like you've had real experience with this."

He then very obviously stared at her. His gaze traveled the length of her body, slowly. When he finally held her gaze again, he was closer still.

"I've never been selfish with you."

She swallowed, feeling slightly breathless, "As I said, with the exception of Harry and your friends-"

"I think you and I both know that we've never been friends," he said dangerously. His fingers reached out, brushing her cheek before taking her chin between them, forcing her head up to meet his gaze.

Her mouth went dry, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. That same warm feeling from earlier ignited her veins, like liquid fire, the flames licked her skin and burned her very soul. His nostrils flared.

"Sirius don't," she pleaded. "Don't do this now."

Neither one of them realized they were both standing.

The sad reality was that she knew it too. Over the years, since he was spat out of the veil shortly after Voldemort's downfall, Sirius Black had been far more important to her than she would ever admit out loud. She also knew that he would stare at her when he thought she wasn't looking. But she had never allowed herself to dwell on it, because she could not take the risk of losing herself to someone like Sirius Black.

"Tell me to walk away," he said in desperation. "Tell me you don't want me to taste you just once. Tell me you don't want me to love you one time before you're bound to someone else. Tell me that you've not felt this-" he gestured between them, "and I will step back, and never say another word about it."

Her blood sang for him, of that she was certain. Every cell in her body was burned by his touch, his voice, the feeling he gave her when he was looking at her like that. His voice had taken on a furious quality, because Sirius Black always got what he wanted and Merlin be damned, he wanted her. All that mattered in that moment was the promise of what he would do for her, with her, to her. Somehow, her brain disconnected from her body and she felt herself reach upward and kiss him.

He wasted no time reciprocating her ministrations. His tongue invaded her mouth with precise movement, assuring her that he lived up to his reputation. One hand moved to grip the nape of her neck while the other pulled her upward; her legs wrapped around his waist, as if they were meant to be there.

He was selfish, of that much he was sure. But as soon as she was on him, all thoughts of doing the right thing disappeared. All he could focus on was the taste of her lips, punishing his own. He laid her down on the persian rug in one smooth motion, their mouths fighting for dominance, but never breaking apart. The burnished flames crackled in the background. He kissed her, bruising her lips as his tongue massaged her own, whiskey and wine melting together deliciously. One hand bracing himself above her, his other reached down and bunched the bottom of her robe in his clenched fist.

This is happening.

She tastes so good.

This isn't right, I'm getting married tomorrow.

She's perfect.

He's making me breathless, I can't think.

I can't stop touching her.

Please don't stop.

Her hands fisted in those black locks and tugged, eliciting a growl that rumbled through his chest and he pulled away, hovering over her. Staring. Hermione was flushed, her skin a beautiful pink, her eyes dilated and chest heaving. She was ravenous. With Ron, there was nothing but disappointment and disinterest. But this, with him… this burned. She reached up, making to unbutton his shirt when he stopped her.

"Hermione," he said, desperate. "I don't think I can stop."

Her stare liquified his soul, scorched his blood, and his nostrils flared as that scent hit him full force. Her gaze burned through him.

"Then don't."

He waved one hand behind him and the doors to the library slid shut, and the lock clicked into place. He muttered a soft silencio as he waved his hand towards her, vanishing her robe to reveal nothing underneath but a pair of lacy black knickers.

Seeing his namesake on her skin, where he wanted to be most, threw him over the edge. He lowered himself to her breasts, sucking and biting her flesh as she moaned incomprehensible words above him. He made his way up, sucking on the pulse point in her neck before whispering into her ear.

"I'm going to make you say my name, love," he whispered. "I'm going to savor every taste, and I'm going to make you remember me."

Hermione could only nod breathlessly, scared that her voice would crack and ruin the moment because, Merlin, she never wanted this to end. His hands roamed her body freely, and she ground her hips upward towards him, causing him to laugh darkly.

"Uh-uh," he teased, "be patient, love."

He kissed her softly, before working his way back down to her breasts, making sure to pay homage to them before making his way lower, all teeth and tongue and open mouthed kisses until he reached those damn infuriating knickers. He could feel the warmth from her core radiating on his face, and ever so softly he placed a kiss on her seam.

She could've cried.

"Evanesco," he whispered, and she was bare before him. He groaned as he smelled her arousal at full force for the first time. He was intoxicated. She was warm rain, honeyed perfection, and as he began devouring her he couldn't help but think that he could stay here forever and still not be satiated. With every lick, she thrashed above him whimpering and groaning, her eyes were squeezed shut and her mouth was parted slightly. She had never looked more beautiful to him.

Hermione felt exposed. No one had ever done this to her, and she was nervous. Sirius was a master at his craft, playing her body like a finely tuned instrument until she was singing for him. Every moan she couldn't contain played a melody he was so accustomed to hearing and yet it floored him by how different he felt when it was her song he was playing.

His previously languid licking became more forceful as his mouth latched onto her clit and his index finger found her entrance, pushing and pulling in tandem with his tongue.

Hermione was shaking uncontrollably, her fingers moved from his hair to prop herself up so she could look at the beautiful man.

He was working her over, bringing her to the precipice and then backing off again. When he met her gaze he smirked at her through his ministrations.

"That's right, love," he said, taking in the way her legs were shaking, chest heaving, and her eyes were nearly black with arousal.

He inserted a second finger.

Hermione fell over the edge. She had never believed in heaven, but she assumed that this feeling would be close to it. Doing it herself had never brought her this much pleasure, and she knew it was because of him. All for him.

Sirius watched her fall apart in front of him and immediately vanished the rest of his clothing. He was harder than he'd ever been, and while he'd been patient because he wanted to please her first, it was time. He was going to take her, and he did.

He fluidly crawled up her body, his mouth found her again and he plunged inside her to the hilt.

"Oh, God," she cried.

"Just Sirius, love, not god." His dark smirk turned her on and though she couldn't fight him for his insufferable ego, Hermione's hands yanked on his hair, pulling him to her roughly as her legs wrapped around his waist.

He drove in and out of her, pistoning and snapping his hips, his eyes never leaving her face as he watched her sighs of ecstasy when he found that sweet spot. She was tight around him, so wet, and he was delirious, lost in her.

He'd never felt like this with a woman before. Sirius should've known she was the exception to the rule. He could feel their magic sparking around him, two different energies meshing and mingling together to create a harmony that he had thought only existed in fairytales.

She felt like life and whiskey, she felt like every single sunrise he had ever seen and felt hotter than the embers of that now dying fire in front of them. He felt her walls fluttering around him and knew she was close.

He drove into her fast and hard, trying to get her there knowing he wasn't going to last much longer.

"Come for me, love," he coaxed her, rubbing his thumb against her swollen clit, eliciting a guttural response from her that he silenced when he kissed her again.

As he kissed her, Hermione came, long and hard as Sirius pushed in and out of her for a few seconds longer before he stilled, his brow furrowed, mouth open and eyes closed. She was in awe. He was handsome when he was flirting, he was beautiful when he was compassionate. But he was never more perfect than in that moment.

They lay there for a while, her hand on his chest while he stroked her hair and back softly.

It was silent, as though they knew everything would be ruined the moment they spoke. Yet, they had to. Hermione realized that everything she had felt for him was real, and requited, and they were compatible in the bedroom as well as out… and it didn't matter. A glance at the grandfather clock told her it was just after three in the morning, and it was her wedding day.

She sat up and looked at him finally, finding that his eyes were already sad, knowing that she had to go. She made to speak but he cut her off.

"I know," he said, "I know that you love Ron, and I do too. But I think you aren't in love with him, nor he you. I think you love each other too much to hurt the other. So you're still getting married," he said with a heavy heart. "This doesn't mean anything."

"No, Sirius," she choked out, "it means everything. But we can't hurt Ron, or disappoint our family."

He nodded in understanding, they were both too duty bound, and loyal to a fault. He stared at her naked form, immortalizing every curvature of her body into his mind, knowing that this was the last time he'd see her like this, young and perfect, and looking at him the way he'd always wanted.

She, too, was trying to remember this moment, because though their friendship would continue, and they would see each other more often than not, Hermione knew she would never see this part again. She would never have his heart in her hands, never see him want her again, and she was sick at the thought. But, Hermione was getting married today.

She kissed him softly, and pulled her robe on. He mimicked her motions, buttoning up his pants and then pulling her into his arms.

"I love you," he said, his voice was barely audible, but Hermione heard it loud and clear.

"I think I love you too," she said, her eyes burning. "I wish it changed anything."

Sirius kissed the top of her head, blinking back the moisture in his own eyes, and lightly shoved her out of the library. "You're going to be a beautiful bride, now go."

He watched her walk up the stairs and heard the her door open and shut quietly, taking the last remnants of his battered heart with her.

"Hermione!" Mrs. Weasley, and Mrs. Granger gasped as they stepped into her boudoir, examining her with tears in their eyes. Ginny had outdone herself. Hermione was always pretty, but today she looked radiant.

Her hair was long and flowing, in beach curls rather than the kinky curls she was accustomed to. Her makeup was minimal, only highlighting her natural features.

Her dress was a simple a-line bodice with a sweetheart neckline. There were rhinestones across the bodice that twinkled when the light caught them. The dress itself was made of chiffon, and the train was nothing dramatic. Ginny had tried to get Hermione to choose a different dress, but Hermione liked this one. Pretty, and simple, just like her.

"Okay, Hermione," Mrs. Weasley said, "Th is tiara was my grandmother Prewetts, it's been in the family for as long as anyone can remember. I would be honored if you would wear it on the day you become my daughter."

Hermione was ashamed, and blinked back tears as Mrs. Weasley fastened the tiara to the crown of her head.

Mrs. Granger stepped forward next, holding new box in her hands. "My little girl," she said tearfully, "I had hoped you would get to see this day, what with your life being so dangerous at times." She glared half heartedly at her daughter, who smiled sheepishly through her tears. "These sapphires represent the best day of my life, the day you were born. I hope," she sniffed as she placed them into her ears, "that though they are new to you, that you can give them to your daughter on the best day of her life, as something old."

Hermione hugged her mother fiercely, wishing more than ever that she could go back in time and be a little girl again, to feel safe in her mother's arms again.

Ginny cleared her throat as she stepped into Hermione's line of vision, and Hermione smiled at her vivacious friend. "Here," she said, stuffing a silver garter into Hermione's hands, causing her to blush furiously. Ginny laughed.

"I want that back," the red-head warned.

Hermione laughed and slid the garter up her stocking clad foot.

A knock on the door disturbed the serendipitous feeling and Ginny rushed to the door.

"What?" Ginny snapped.

"It's me!" Rons muffled voice could be heard from the door, "I need to talk to Hermione, now!"

"No, Ron," Ginny screeched, "No seeing the bride before the wedding!" Hermione was pretty sure she stomped her foot.

"Gin, I don't care about stupid traditions, I need to talk to Hermione, and I need to talk to her now!"

"Fine! But you better put this mask on!" Ginny flung the door open and pulled an eye mask over Ron's face, obscuring his vision. Ron brushed her off vehemently and felt his way into the room, telling everyone to leave in the process.

"Ron?" Hermione asked, concerned for the man, "What's wrong?"

He shuddered a breath before taking his mask off and looking into her eyes.

"Hermione, I'm gay," he stated, desperately reaching for her hands, grasping them in his own. "I thought I could control it, that if I ignored it I could be a good husband to you. That I wouldn't feel this way anymore if I could just love you hard enough. I had an affair, and I don't know why I chose now to tell you this, I guess I'm just too guilty to not ruin this day, but Hermione, you're my best friend. I love you so much and I couldn't stand the thought of marrying you without you knowing the truth, even if it breaks your heart. I couldn't lie to you anymore. You deserve so much better than me. I understand if you never forgive me, I don't deserve your forgiveness."

Hermione was shocked, to say the least. Ron was the last person she would expect to be gay, what with his prejudices as a child. But people grow, they change, they develop into people that they themselves can't recognize. Hermione had known Ron since she was eleven years old. A lifetime of heartbreak, and love, friendship and trust. No, Hermione would never, ever, not forgive Ron Weasley.

She hugged him, feeling his shoulders sigh in relief and then quickly shudder as he tried to suppress his guilt and sadness. She couldn't imagine what it must feel like to have to hide who you are, and she felt her heart break for her best friend, lover, and confidant. Slow tears descended her face, and he pulled away to look at her. His eyes, cerulean blue, were red rimmed, wet with his shame.

"Ron," Hermione said, "I don't think I'm in love with you anymore, either. But, we can't turn our backs on our families, not to mention wizards are still very archaic. It could be dangerous for you to not be married and continue dating this guy."

In events of extreme stress or crisis, Hermione's brain would always fall back on that unfailing logic. Ron stared at her knowingly. Wizards did were about as open minded as their muggle counterparts, if not worse. Equal rights was a worldwide issue, even in the new millenium.

"What do we do, then?" Ron asked, rubbing her hand with his own. "We get married, then what? Mione, I want you to be happy too." his voice was small. "I don't want you giving up love for me."

"Oh, Ron, you and Harry are who I live for. When the time comes, you and I will get a divorce, it's not as though you and I are entering into a traditional marriage contract between two pureblood families. You and I get married, you can continue seeing this boy to see where it goes, and we go from there. I expect to meet him though," Hermione glared at him, "and soon."

He exhaled, chuckling on a shaky breath.

"Who did you sleep with?" Hermione asked suddenly, curiosity getting the better of her.

"You can't say anything," Ron cautioned her, "even Harry doesn't know about this."

She nodded.

Ron took a deep breath, and exhaled, "It's Neville."

"Seriously?" Hermione was gobsmacked, "Well, now that I think about it, he always did seem a bit queer. I'm glad you two have found each other."

She kissed his cheek sweetly, and for a second they were eleven again, and he had just saved her life from a mountain troll. In those secret smiles shared between two souls, she knew that she and Ron could do this. To protect him, and herself, she thought, she could do anything.

"So Hermione, you said you weren't in love with me anymore. Is there someone else?"

She froze, and he narrowed his gaze at her as though he were daring her to lie to him. The silent war lasted only a few seconds before her shoulders slumped and she finally admitted,

"I slept with Sirius last night."

Ron was silent for a heart beat, before making a small smile at her, "Yeah," he said, "I could see that happening."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously," Ron confirmed, "That man has a torch for you like no one else. Trust me, maybe straight men don't notice, but I've stared at him enough to know just how much he watches you. You could do worse, Mione. He's very good looking."

She chuckled, "That can't happen, not for a while at least. I need to be on my own for a while I think. I need to know he loves me."

Ron rolled his eyes, "Mione you're marrying me today, you're sending the worst signals to the man. Just tell him what we're doing, he will understand."

Hermione bowed her head, "I don't think so."

Ron snorted, "Bullshit. Hermione, I spent my entire adulthood trying to make up for all the ways I put you down as a stupid teenage boy, but you still don't see yourself clearly. I wish I could be who we both needed me to be. You are perfect, always were. Sirius knows that. He knows how self sacrificing you are. He loves you."

"Shut up," Hermione said, standing up and pulling him up and into her embrace once more. "Come marry me, you slag."

Ron laughed, "Look at the pot calling the cauldron black."

The wedding coordinator Sirius had hired really outdid herself, Sirius mused, as he sat in one of the pews on the family side of the aisle. It was a perfect autumn sunset, not very cool, but the sweltering heat of the summer had definitely passed. The rows of chairs were alternating Gryffindor Red and Gold, paying homage to the couple's outstanding sense of courage. Little fairy lights twinkled above the guests, changing colors and occasionally flying to talk to their nearest friends - fairies were gossipers in that way. The gazebo under which the couple was to meet was breathtaking. A golden archway stood fifteen feet high with red and white orchids coming up and around the arch, little lights illuminating the petals. Red and white sheer material fell around the outer edges of the gazebo, and a small string quartet stood to the back, playing a serene lullaby. The effect was beautiful.

Sirius felt someone sit next to him, and knew it was Remus.

"Are you okay?" His friend asked, "I haven't seen you all day."

"I've just been tired," Sirius said sulkily.

"Yeah, I bet," Remus responded, "Considering the faint smell coming from the Library, I'd say you were up pretty late."

Sirius sent him a warning glare, "Don't," he said quietly, "It was inevitable, and I don't need your judgement."

Remus looked at him understandingly, "I just don't want to see you hurt, Padfoot," he whispered softly.

Sirius' glare faltered, and he sighed wearily. "She loves me, or could love me. But she's bound by duty, by loyalty. I understand that more than anything, so I let her go, Remus. I already fucked up. She already feels guilty. I can't do anything more to hurt her… them," he corrected himself.

Remus was silent, and Sirius waited for the response he knew was coming.

"Maybe," he said slowly, "maybe you should be selfish for once, Padfoot. That's all I'm saying. People will hurt, regardless. But everyone hurts when there is dishonesty and lies involved. None of you deserve that." Tonks approached their section then, and Remus patted his friend on the knee gently, before greeting his wife with a chaste kiss and serene smile.

Sirius wanted that.

Ron and Harry came to stand at the forefront of the gazebo. Harry ruffled his hair, clearly embarrassed at being under everyone's stare again. Just like his father, Sirius smiled half-heartedly. James was never embarrassed at being the center of attention, no. But he did have an annoying habit of messing his hair up when girls, especially Lily, were looking.

Wagner's Lohengrin started, and Sirius stood with the rest of the audience to get a view of the bride. Sirius' felt his heart drop.

She was breathtaking. She was everything he had ever dreamed of, and he wished more than ever that he was the one she was walking towards. He could see a future that may have been for them. A new house, with little curly-headed children with gray eyes running around. Making love to her every day after making her angry. Growing older with her, surrounded by children's children until he took his last breath with her holding his hand.

She walked calmly towards Ron, smiling at everyone who caught her gaze as she did. When she caught his, her smile faltered a bit, and her eyes tightened. Sirius gave her a wistful smile and a small nod. As she took her place beside Ron, both of their mothers could be heard sniffling in the distance.

A short man stepped up to the podium to clear his throat,"Today," he began," we have come together to witness the joining of these two lives. For them, out of the routine of ordinary life, the extraordinary has happened. They met each other, fell in love and are finalizing it with their wedding. A good marriage doesn't just come into being, it takes work. It is falling in love with your partner over and over again. It is trial and tribulation. It is sacrifice. It is never being too old to hold hands. It's remembering to say I love you every day and it is not just marrying the right person... it's being the right partner."

The officiate was the same wispy haired man that had been the spokesman at Dumbledore's funeral all those years ago. He spoke of love, and harmony. Kinship, faith, togetherness, hope, sickness, friendship and prosperity. He spoke of two people who had the world at their feet and how loved they were by society. He spoke of the great achievements they'd accomplished, together and seperate. He spoke of love in its simplicity, and that it was to never be denied. Sirius started breathing faster.

"I can't do this, Moony," he whispered, his palms sweaty.

Remus looked at him painfully, and clenched his friend's hand, whether for comfort or restraint, Sirius wasn't quite sure.

The wispy wizard continued, "A successful marriages requires two people giving and receiving love the way the other needs -"

"Sirius," Remus said in a low voice, "I need you to stay calm."

Everything the officiate was saying was surging through him, creating divots and wrong turns into the path he had set on creating without her. His magic sparked inside of him, and he could feel it reaching out towards her, hungry to feel her again. How could he live without her? How could this be wrong? How could he spend the rest of his life never touching her? He couldn't. The minute she kissed him, Sirius should have known he was lost, that it would never be enough. He should've asked her to pick him, to choose to wake up to him making love to her every morning.

It should be me, he thought desperately.

" - and should anyone find a reason as to why these two should not be wed," the wispy wizard was saying, "speak now, or forever hold your peace."

Sirius stood up.