A/N: I'm sorry if anybody has left me a message on here only to straight up not get a reply - the site used to email me whenever I got a PM, but has since stopped and I didn't realise, only to discover an inbox full of weeks/months-old messages. Sorry! I only usually log on when I'm adding a new chapter (and you guys know how that one goes), and otherwise rely on emails to let me know if anybody has gotten in touch, so I guess I'll need to start logging on and checking my inbox properly now. These are the real struggles in life, huh?

Song mentioned is "Bad Company" by Bad Company - highly recommend giving it a listen, if only because it's a top quality tune in general. Anyway, things finally heat up a bit here. Enjoy!

If she could say one good thing about the time she'd spent living with Debbie, it was that it taught Heather how to be rather good at avoiding people. It was a little more tricky with Sirius - his schedule wasn't as concrete as her adoptive mother's had been - so she found herself spending a lot of time curled up in bed. Which was fine. Sleep was the only desirable option in terms of how to spend her time, anyway. Sometimes she treated herself and crept out of her room at obscure times, like four AM, to grap a cup of coffee and a sandwich, but otherwise she moped. She was rather good at moping, too.

It was on the fourth or fifth day of avoidance that she woke up in the middle of the night to a rather severe looking owl pecking at her window. Mind immediately jumping to Harry, she leapt out of bed and let the bird in. It gave her a disdainful look as she struggled to untie the small envelope from its leg, and threw off the moment she turned to find some kind of treat to give it. Well, then.

Sitting back down, she opened the envelope and frowned when a small blue phial rolled out. The only thing the note read, in neat spidery handwriting, was "Drink all in one go. I will not help you again. - SS".

It didn't take a genius to figure it out. There was only one 'SS' that she knew of, and he just so happened to be the Potions Master at Hogwarts. It was too much of a coincidence to actually be a coincidence. No, the real dilemma she was faced with was whether she would drink it. Sirius certainly made no secret of his thoughts regarding Snape's allegiances, and she hardly had a great track record with him herself. If she told Sirius of this, the potion would be poured down the drain before she'd even finished her sentence, potentially followed by a snide remark over the fact that she'd even considered drinking it. But...while she very much understood the importance of her being careful, she genuinely didn't feel like she was in danger here.

Say the worst case scenario was true - that Snape was loyal to Voldemort and he'd just sent her poison, what could he possibly gain from it? Sirius would find her body before long, along with the note, put two and two together and tell the rest of the Order, Voldemort would lose any chance to torture her for information, or for the general fun of it, as well as any chance he might have had at using her as leverage against Harry. No, Voldemort didn't want her dead. Not yet, at least. So it stood to reason that even in the worst case scenario, Snape didn't want her offed either. So, she mused as she held the phial up to the light to inspect the contents, what was the worst that could happen? Maybe a week ago she'd have hesitated. She'd have definitely consulted Sirius at the very least. But now she hardly thought bringing this matter to him would be the key to a happy reunion, and...well, feelings of general hopelessness didn't exactly do wonders for risk assessment.

She uncorked the phial and drained it in one, almost gagging at the bitter taste.

The effects were more or less instantaneous, a warmth starting from the centre of her chest and working slowly outwards until it enveloped her whole body, like she'd just stepped out of a hot bath. Already it eased the ache in her limbs, and her head seemed to throb just a little less. Well, it certainly didn't feel like poison, at least. Then again, she wasn't exactly experienced in what poison felt like. Still, she showed none of the symptoms that alway seemed to feature in the movies - no clutching at her throat, struggling for breath, and no dramatic streams of blood pouring from her nose. While it probably wasn't the most reliable basis for comparison, it was all she had.

After a few minutes, it started to grow tedious waiting for something without knowing what that something was. Some time passed, and she watched the old clock atop Regulus' desk count down a minute, then another, never taking her eyes from the thin black hand as it revolved. Round and round it went - two, three, four times, and still no sign of deadly poison crashing through her system. In fact, the more she sat there, the more her mind cleared and her shivers dissipated. Could Sirius really have been so entirely wrong about Snape? Not only Sirius, but Harry too.

She turned the note over and over in her hands, brow furrowed. Could it be a ploy to earn her trust? Surely if that was the case, his note would've been a little kinder. Or maybe the intent was to baffle. If that was the case, he'd more than succeeded.

The sun was rising before she managed to drag the matter from her mind enough to fall back asleep.

Heather was avoiding him. It shouldn't have come as much of a surprise to Sirius. She was like a cat - avoiding conflict when possible, but scratching and biting when cornered...which was exactly why he didn't force the issue in the beginning. He didn't want to get scratched again. It wasn't like he hadn't been irked himself, either. She shared his talent in knowing exactly where to slip the knife in when pushed, it seemed. It was almost kind of attractive. So he chalked the first couple of days up to a cooling off period and let it be. It gave him a chance to brood over Firewhisky without feeling watched, anyway.

After a couple more days passed, though, with her carefully waiting for his bedroom door to close behind him before she tiptoed around the house to eat or bathe, he knew if he didn't man up and face the issue head on, Harry would be back before he spoke to Heather properly again. And maybe even then she'd remain in her bedroom. In any case, he also felt the need - as her assigned mentor - to make sure she was coping with the sickness she was currently dealing with, self-induced or not.

It was a simple enough plan, but he knew from his days as a Marauder that the simpler plans tended to work out better anyway. One morning he made an absolute racket returning to his room, sat down on his bed, and waited for the sound of her getting up. Even better was when he heard the door to the living room close and the piano being played - that would mask his approach perfectly. More apprehensive than he'd ever admit, he smoothed down his hair with his hands before sighing deeply and leaving his bedroom. By the time he descended the stairs it was plain-sailing - if she wanted to try to avoid him she'd have to go past him entirely, giving him a chance to clear the air. Luckily, it didn't come to that. The playing didn't cease at all, even when he eased the living room door open on its creaky hinges.

She looked better. Much better, in fact. Her hair was damp and brushed back from her face, which actually had a bit of colour to it for once as she nodded along to the moody chords she plucked out on the piano. It was a song he actually recognised from before, well, everything.

"I can hear them say, bad company...and I won't deny," she dragged out the final word, voice growing louder and more confident with every passing word "Bad, bad company - 'til the day I die…"

It wasn't the cheeriest of songs, but at least it wasn't an angry one about hating one's magical mentor…as popular a genre as that was. The black silk dressing gown she wore slid down one of her shoulders as the piano kicked up in intensity, revealing the lace strap of an emerald green bra. Sirius forced himself to look away, although it took great effort. Vaguely, he recalled James once joking that Lily should've been a Slytherin - "a redhead that pretty should always wear green". Now he was inclined to agree...which was poetic justice, really, considering he'd mercilessly teased James for the statement at the time, calling him a lovesick sap. Not that his best friend would be pleased to see the circumstances that finally proved Sirius wrong in the end, should he have lived to see them.

Part of him had hoped that voicing his thoughts to Remus would rid him of them entirely. Instead, the opposite seemed to have happened. He doubted he'd be able to rid his thoughts of her even with the strongest memory charm...nor would he want to.

The playing stopped the moment she noticed him standing in the doorway, and after another moment she quickly righted her dressing gown, the faintest pink blush dusting across her cheeks.

"If you need the room I can leave," she wiped some imaginary dust from the piano keys.

Need the room? He almost laughed. Like he was about to host a party or had a hot date.

"I think it's big enough to fit the two of us," he said, before adding in a bid to ease the tension "As long as I leave my giant superiority complex at the door."

A very small, very forced, smile pulled at her lips. She still couldn't quite look at him.

"How much do you hate me?" She asked.

"If I hated everybody I bickered with, I'd have ran out of friends in, oh, probably my second year at Hogwarts?" Sirius shrugged, moving past the piano to sit on the sofa "And, well...It's not like I confessed all of my more shameful moments to you the moment you arrived here, either."

With a small nod, Heather stood. He noted with some relief that she was fully clothed beneath the dressing gown, from the waist down at least, in black leggings and grey fluffy socks - the last thing he needed during all of this was to feel like some creepy old lech who was easily distracted by a centimetre of bare skin. She gently kicked the bench beneath the piano before moving to the opposite couch, sitting down with her legs tucked beneath her.

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely.

He had a feeling there'd be no return to normality unless the matter was directly addressed.

"I'm sorry too," she said softly, hugging her arms to herself "I was a right nasty bitch."

"It wasn't exactly unprovoked," he shrugged "I'd be more offended right now if you hadn't retaliated, I'd hate to be forced to question your backbone."

"Well," she sighed, making a visible effort to perk up "As happy as I am that we're friends again, how are we going to address the elephant in the room?"

Sirius returned her gaze blankly, although a vague sense of dread did begin to stir.

"One of us is going to have to change," she gestured to their respective dressing gowns "We can't both wear the same thing."

He pretended not to notice the way her gaze slowly trailed down the strip of his bare chest that was exposed before she carefully trained her eyes back on his face, the slightest hint of a blush brushing her cheeks...even if it was a triumph to know he wasn't alone in the turns his mind was taking as of late.

"I do believe that one was my mother's," he gestured to the one she wore "I'm surprised Kreacher didn't take it to use as a duvet."

"It is okay that I borrowed it?" She asked sheepishly, plucking at the fine black silk "I found it in the cupboard when I was looking for towels."

"It's yours," he waved a hand, stretching out across the sofa "Although I would've recommended boiling it first, just to get some of the 'pure evil' out."

In truth, it was relatively unworn. From what he remembered, it was a Christmas gift from one of the many relatives his dear departed mother had found some reason or another to disapprove of. It had probably been thrown in the cupboard Heather found it in the very day it was unwrapped. But his little joke made her laugh, and the rest of the tension drained from her posture.

It was a relief. The last few days had been a sore reminder of how his imprisonment in this god forsaken house would have been had their worlds not dramatically collided...or if she'd have gone to Hogwarts all those years ago. Had Heather been a seasoned witch, she likely would've been off now on missions of great importance for the Order. Was it selfish of him to be a little relieved that that wasn't the case? Probably. But he was glad for her company here and now all the same, even if he didn't like how the rest of the repercussions of her decision seemed to have affected her.

"You look better," he said.

"I'm out of the woods," she nodded.

She wasn't sure she was entirely comfortable with the path they were shuffling down...nor with the fondness that seemed to shine in his eyes as he looked at her, but only because her overactive mind raced to read too much into it. It was the product of weeks of one another's company followed by near enough seven days of absolute solitude. Or that's what she told herself it was, at least.

"I expected it to last longer," he admitted, still scrutinising her for any signs of illness "The sickness."

He'd seen similar signs in ageing wizards before, usually those who were overfond of the drink. They'd grow shaky and ill when the war made the bars close and decent alcohol hard to come by. Most had been too ignorant concerning muggles to simply switch to their bars instead. Maybe if Heather had been more of a drinker he'd have seen the similarities - the possibility of drugs had never really occurred to him. Or maybe not. He had the self-awareness to know he was never very good at seeing what he didn't want to see. Moony was fond of pointing out that particular trait of his, too.

"It varies," her lips twisted uncomfortably "Depends on a bunch of factors - your health, how long you've been taking them, how much you've been taking, how much you've pissed off the gods recently."

"Spoken like an expert."

"I'm good at quitting, I've done it a bunch of times."

"Surely if you were good at quitting you'd have only done it once," he pointed out softly, trying to avoid sounding confrontational.

"Yeah, well, I'm good at starting again, too," she gave a humourless huff of laughter before sighing and looking him straight in the eye "Never again, though. I refuse to be even more of a liability than I already am. It was one thing when it was only me I was endangering - but now it's Harry, it's you, it's...everybody. I can't do that."

Sirius nodded slowly. It wasn't the logic he'd most hoped to hear from her, admittedly. There was no "I'm better than this, I can do more than that, I deserve better", but if her current way of thinking would help her get better, he wouldn't fight it.

"Glad to hear it," he nodded.

"So we're friends again?"

"We never stopped."

A very small, very soft smile tugged at her lips and she bowed her head in happiness.

"Are you absolutely sure this is safe?" She asked doubtfully, hovering in place once they reached the final set of stairs to the attic bedroom that had once belonged to Sirius' mother.

"No, this is a big part of my secret plan to sentence you to death by Hippogriff."

His response was so airy and casual it took her half a moment to register what he'd said, and his absolute lack of seriousness. Well - so she hoped, anyway.

"It has flair, I suppose. Better than a boring old stabbing."

"Oh no, I save stabbing for the ugly women," he replied with a teasing smile "You'll be fine, just do as I told you. He'll likely just be curious after hearing you around the house for so long...and probably happy to see a mug that isn't mine."

Casting a dubious look towards the door at the top of the stairs, Heather bolstered her courage as best she could. She loved animals, always had. If her financial and living situation had been a little less, well, grim, back in her old life, her place would've resembled a petting zoo. In fact, one of the great wonders of the Wizarding world (in her eyes, at least) was the wealth of new and wonderful creatures that lived in it. But there was also the small fact that a cat wasn't likely to open an artery if you accidentally pissed it off. Harry and Ron's vivid retelling of what Buckbeak had done to Draco Malfoy was still fresh in her mind. But Draco Malfoy was a knobhead. She could only hope Buckbeak would see that she was not.

"Trust me, you'll be fine," he said.

Taking her hand in his - the one devoid of dead ferrets, thankfully - he began to lead the way up the stairs. Sirius was like that, she'd come to realise. Touchy-feely. Not in a melodramatic, overly emotional sense, and not in a creepy, invasive, Darren-like way, either. An arm pat here, a hand squeeze there, an arm draped across her shoulders or a palm flat against the centre of her back as he handed her a mug of coffee. It took her longer than it should've to realise that it was probably a side-effect of having spent over a decade in solitary confinement in a living hell with no human contact. It didn't take a genius to figure out that such a thing would be a surefire way to make sure someone couldn't take something as simple as a hug for granted ever again.

She was certain he could feel the slight tremor in her hand as they ascended the stairs, he squeezed it reassuringly before gently opening the door.

"Buckbeak? I've brought someone to meet you."

At first she couldn't see beyond Sirius into the room, but when he moved aside all the breath left her body. The Wizard world had begun to seem like an oddly quirky thing to her. There was danger, yes, but after seeing the way they dressed, the novelty that all of their junk food and sweets seemed to have, as well as Fred and George's amazing inventions, there always seemed to be an odd sort of humour and whimsy to this universe she'd stepped into. Especially having seen the man she'd developed a crush on turn into a dog and chase pigeons. That had never quite featured in all of the years she'd spent imagining what the world she thought she'd locked out of might be like. It was a good thing, though, because it balanced out the horror. If it were all evil plots, murderous madmen, and wrongful imprisonment with no Fred and George apparating themselves right onto the kitchen table, or Tonks adopting the bill of a duck to quack at them over dinner with, the temptation to climb out of the living room window and run without looking back would be all too great.

It was funny how such a thought hadn't seriously crossed her mind since her first night here.

But Buckbeak wasn't whimsical, nor terrible. No, seeing him was like being transported into a world far less feasible than the Wizarding one...he was the stuff of Narnia - no, of Tolkien. It made her feel less that she'd strayed into a funny little community, and more like she'd woken up smack bang in the middle of Middle Earth.

The Hippogriff was lying down when the door opened, but upon laying eyes on her he rose, head tilted in curiosity. It took her a beat to even remember Sirius' instructions on meeting the creature. While before she'd been worried about accidentally blinking, now she wasn't sure she could if she tried. Keeping her eyes locked onto Buckbeak's golden ones, she took a few very numb steps forward only when Sirius gently pushed her to do so. Buckbeak clicked his beak softly in response, watching her closely. Breathing in slowly, Heather bowed.

For a moment, Buckbeak considered her, and that moment seemed to stretch into an eternity. Then extended a claw forward on the floor as he bowed back. Sirius clapped a couple of feet behind her.

"He'll let you touch him now."

True to Sirius' word, when Heather slowly reached up a hand and held it out towards Buckbeak, who sniffed it before nudging it with his beak and pushing his face forward, so her hand slid up towards his forehead.

"You are just magnificent, aren't you?" She murmured, eyes wide with awe as she petted him.

He made a soft noise in response as if understanding, accepting her pats as her hand moved across the side of his neck.

"He shouldn't be locked up in here," Sirius sighed, joining her and patting his shoulder with a sad smile "It seems we're all unhappy prisoners here."

"What is it they say? A problem shared is a problem halved?"

She wasn't used to being the sunny, optimistic one, but she'd make the effort if and when she could. It was true, though. Had she been left to her own devices in this house alone for three solid months, she'd have started climbing the walls by now. She didn't think she was flattering herself too much to think it was the same case for Sirius - he'd more or less said it himself.

"You really rode him?" She asked, smiling as Buckbeak nudged her shoulder with his beak.

"I did. Harry did too, before he took a chunk from the miniature Malfoy's arm."

"Good boy," she muttered to Buckbeak, patting his neck "I'd love a chance to fly. I trust more in Buckbeak's wings than I do in muggle airplanes."

She gave the Hippogriff one last pat before stepping back to allow Sirius room to feed him, but when Sirius took her place she noticed a small smile on his face.

"What is it?"

"That's the first time I've heard you speak of muggles as if you didn't consider yourself to be one."

Heather's mouth snapped shut. For a while, the only noise in the room was the crunching of the ferret corpses Buckbeak happily feasted upon. In truth, the word had slipped out. So far, she'd witnessed plenty of people in the Wizarding world reference muggles the same way she imagined snobs to talk about "commoners". The lives of the non-magical folk may have been lacking as far as witches and wizards were concerned and...yes, even in her own mind, whenever she thought back to her choice not to attend Hogwarts, but it was still a life worth living - even more-so to those who didn't actually know what they were missing, unlike her. It seemed ignorance truly was bliss.

"It's a tricky one," she admitted "Amongst muggles I'm a witch, and amongst...well, all of you, I'm a muggle. As good as, at least. Doomed to be an outsider wherever I go, it seems. How very 'struggling artist' of me."

Sirius snorted.

"You disagree?" She asked.

"That's like me saying among dogs I'm a man, and among men I'm a dog," he said.

"From what I hear you're a dog all the time," she teased.

He grinned and shot her a wink before continuing.

"We're all outsiders here," he shrugged "I'm an infamous mass murderer, Harry is the Boy Who Lived, you have your lack of magical schooling and...erm.."

He paused in his feeding of Buckbeak to tap the side of his head, as if to refer to her mental health problems. She couldn't not laugh at that, shaking her head fondly.

"...Moony has his furry little problem, Tonks is a Metamorphmagus, Hermione is a Muggleborn...The Weasleys are all considered blood traitors by the psychotic inbreeding enthusiasts who follow Voldemort...and then of course there's Snivellus."

"Snape?" She echoed doubtfully.

"The ugliest bastard on the face of the planet. Can't be an easy burden to bear, that. I have quite the opposite problem and that's enough trouble as it is."

Heather chuckled, unable to fight the fond smile that took over her face. Her laugh wasn't without remorse - she would never forget what Snape had done for her, even if he did his best to balance it out by being as unpleasant as possible, but Sirius just had a way of making her grin like an idiot.

But there was something she noticed, too. Every time Sirius referenced his good looks - matter-of-factly or jokingly, it didn't matter - he had a certain kind of "tell". The first time she'd seen it she thought it a coincidence, that she was just playing armchair psychologist and reading into body language a tad too much. The second time she became suspicious. And now? Now it made her a little sad. Each and every time the topic was broached, he'd either tug at one of the handful of strands of grey hair his prison sentence seemed to have left him with, unconsciously rub what she now knew were prisoner tattoos, or even lift a fingertip to trace the frown lines between his brows.

It made her sad to see, but she didn't comment on it. She had the distinct impression that if she did she'd only embarrass him - he'd probably wave it off with a joke and she'd wish she never opened her mouth in the first place. And what could she say? It was her genuine opinion that none of those factors detracted from his looks in the slightest. Then again, she'd always been more of a Nikki Sixx girl than a Vince Neil one. None of this, however, meant it would be a comfort to Sirius. "Hey, I know every day you have to look at visible souvenirs from the decade you spent wrongfully imprisoned, but I still think you're hot," were hardly wise words of comfort. If he were to ever bring it up to her directly, she'd be more than happy to push past her own bashfulness to tell him her thoughts on the matter, but otherwise it seemed best for everybody involved that she played dumb.

"You understand what I'm saying, though?" He glanced back at her.

"We're all outsiders here," she echoed his own words, paused thoughtfully, and then continued "Which means none of us are."

He smiled warmly "Exactly."

They had the Disarming Charm down by the time supper arrived. It was no small relief to Heather to see just how much of a difference learning spells when she was healthy made. During the time she'd spent sweating out the withdrawals, she'd secretly worried that she was just incapable - that learning magic was like learning to speak, and if the window of opportunity was missed she'd be able to piece the odd word together every now and then, but nothing more...which was nowhere near good enough in the middle of a damn war. It'd be like rocking up to the trenches in World War I armed with only a butter knife. It may have been early days still, but she was glad that wasn't shaping up to be the case all the same.

The good cheer was infectious, too. Whether it was because they were finally pursuing a real, worthwhile goal, or because that goal was finally starting to look doable, Sirius was probably the happiest she'd seen him since Harry left for Hogwarts. Sure, they got pretty giggly on the nights they'd taken to sharing a bottle of Firewhisky, but this was different - this was real, sober, bright-eyed enthusiasm, and it was heartwarming to see.

"I'm dying to just start rattling through as many spells as we can get through," he admitted over dinner that night "But - and it pains me to say this, truly - I did stop and wonder how Remus would go about this. He's a born teacher, that one. He would say that it's better to have a handful of spells that you absolutely can't get wrong, than fifty that you've only half mastered. So we'll make sure you can't possibly get the spell wrong before we focus on getting a new one right."

"The Disarming Charm for the rest of the week, then?"

She tucked into her soup while they talked, fully thrilled to be in a position where she could enjoy food once again. Next time she saw Severus Snape she was going to give him a big wet kiss for the good he'd done her. Okay, maybe she wouldn't go that far. He'd probably be more grateful if she were to keep herself out of his sight for the rest of their respective lives. That much, she could definitely do.

"I wouldn't go that far - maybe just tomorrow."

Heather repressed a snort of laughter, but he caught it with a laugh of his own.

"I said I wanted to take inspiration from Moony, not steal his identity. If anything, I think he'd be impressed by my restraint."

"Once he got past the utter horror over your teaching me magic."

"Well what fun is following all of the rules?" He smirked.

"Spoken like a true bad influence," she lifted her glass in a toast to him, and he clinked his own against it.

She was certain she wasn't imagining the way his eyes remained locked on hers for a prolonged moment afterwards.

'Why am I doing this?'

It was a question that Heather steadfastly ignored the next morning as she got ready for the day ahead. It started with just a touch of concealer below her eyes. Sobriety very rarely went hand-in-hand with a full night's sleep for her. After all, lying there in silence with no distractions was practically a gold-plated invitation for her mind to run riot, listing any potential worst case scenario that might befall her from the near to distant future. So, this left her battling dark circles, which pretty much necessitated covering up said dark circles. They had quite enough on their plates without Sirius worrying about her sleep schedule on top of everything else. It wasn't vanity, it was just making life simpler.

The mascara came next. It only made sense - it balanced out the concealer, and it was only a little. It wasn't like she was doing some big elaborate eye-shadow look. Plenty of women wore more than this to sit at home alone. It was self-care, if anything. Entirely for herself. Chapstick followed - coconut flavoured - which was, again, hardly something outrageous. It wasn't even tinted.

No, it was only when she found herself standing before the mirror, using her fingers to tame and fluff up her hair rather than just throwing it into the usual ponytail, that she internally groaned at her own actions. What was she doing?

"Fuck me, I'm ridiculous," she muttered, shaking her head.

What was next, a cocktail dress? A ballgown? Or maybe some lacy lingerie, just to really make it obvious. She had to admit, the final option was tempting just as a prank to see his reaction. Thankfully for all involved, she wasn't quite as committed to practical jokes as a certain pair of Weasley twins.

In the end, she padded down the stairs in a plain black t-shirt dress, thick black leggings and warm fuzzy socks that she wore more often than not around here. Not quite pyjamas, but hardly a wannabe temptress get-up. All the way to the living room she was torn between scolding herself for making any kind of effort, and convincing herself that it was fine and he wouldn't notice at all. When she finally opened the door and stepped into the room, though, she almost laughed. Maybe she was just seeing what she wanted to see, but she'd be damned if it didn't look like Sirius had spent his morning much in the same way that she'd spent her own. Rather than his usual dressing gown atop worn pyjamas, he was dressed more or less like he had back when she'd only known him as Padfoot - black jeans, and a faded old Led Zeppelin t-shirt, albeit with slippers rather than boots and no leather jacket in sight. It even looked like he'd brushed his hair.

Upon her entrance he stopped twirling his wand idly between his fingers and gave her one of his usual bright and charming smiles - the kind that always had her returning it before she even realised. Her first clue that this spell was unlike the others so far came in the form of the wall of cushions stacked in a bit of a ramshackle wall along the wall with the window. It was like a partial DIY attempt at a padded cell.

"Ready for the Stunning Spell?" He asked.

"As I'll ever be," she said, dodging a sofa as the furniture whooshed out of the way with a flick of his wand.

"Honestly, once you have this down I'll be content to jump between practising this and disarming 'til the cows come home, they're the two that'll best arm you for the immediate future."

Heather repressed a smile. He said that, but she had a very strong feeling that once she was reasonably able to perform the two spells, his excitement to teach her more would get away from him and he'd be flicking to the next page of one of the many dusty old tomes they'd been referring to. Not that she begrudged him his enthusiasm, or his excitement for that matter. It made the learning all the more fun. It'd be much worse to be stuck with a mentor who hated every second it took to teach her - had she been stuck here with Snape, she'd have thrown herself before Buckbeak and begged him to peck her to death long before now.

"I did have a thought just now," he took a half step back around the same time he would usually hand her his wand "It...would be best if you would allow me to stun you - just once and no more if it's too unnerving."

She eyed the wand, her awareness of the damage it could do entirely renewed. Powerlessness was not something she did well. It had been enough of an adjustment getting used to the Wizarding world, where she was about as lethal as a baby, but this would be far more literal. A reminder of the theory that her final night in the club had introduced to her - that if a wizard or witch wished her harm, there was currently precious little she'd be able to do other than hope that one of her friends might help. What kind of hope was that? To have her life pinned on a friend's willingness to leap in front of a bullet for her, all because she was incapable of jumping out of the way herself?

All of this was also exactly why she had to do it. Uncomfortable as it made her, the situation could only be made worse by her shying away from it all. If a little discomfort now could save lives in the long run, she wouldn't just be stupid to avoid it, she'd be dead weight.

"How would it help?" She asked, mostly just to buy time to ready herself for it.

"This way you'll have seen it performed first. But there is merit to show you, well, on you - otherwise I'd have just called Kreacher in. If the first time you experience being stupified is in the middle of a fight, it might take you longer to recover and get moving again once it either wears off, or one of us performs the counter-curse. Not by a lot, perhaps, but it could cost precious seconds."

She nodded as he spoke, moving with great reluctance to stand in front of the makeshift crash-mat.

"Don't look so glum, I'm not going to Cruciatus you," he teased, squeezing her arm before taking a few steps back and facing her, wand raised.

"You never know with your sense of humour," she replied dryly.

"I'll take that as a compliment," he grinned "Ready?"

"Ready."

She was almost impressed by her ability to sound like she actually meant it. The whole thing was unpleasant from start to finish. Even just standing there and waiting for the spell to be fired at her felt wrong - like it went against every survival instinct she had, regardless of whether the danger was real or not. Standing in front of a loaded gun would still be a little nerve-wracking if it was only loaded with blanks. But she quieted her nerves and insisted to herself that she should view it as some kind of odd Wizarding trust exercise.

Either she hid her apprehension well (she'd certainly had enough practise), or Sirius was kind enough not to comment on it. Standing in front of the pile of sofa cushions, pillows, and anything else that was vaguely padding-like that they'd piled up against the wall, she squared her shoulders and gave him the go ahead in the form of a small nod.

"Stupefy!"

The spell hit her square in the chest and knocked her backwards, much harder than she expected, into the pile. Despite their best efforts, there must've been a few gaps in their barricade, for she felt the corner of the window sill bash into the back of her head with a sickening thud. She tried to reach up to feel it out of instinct, but of course she couldn't - and that was worse than the impact. What she'd expected was for it to feel like sleep paralysis, like an invisible force was holding her still no matter how hard she fought to move her limbs. Instead there was almost nothing to struggle against, like the signal to move was leaving her brain but getting lost before it got to her limbs. Still, it left her feeling helpless, and helpless wasn't something Heather did well. That particular sensation was even more unpleasant than the throbbing in the back of her head. Her heart, at least, had no trouble moving - it pounded hard against her rib-cage no matter how much she mentally insisted to herself that she was perfectly safe.

"Shit," Sirius cursed "Rennervate."

The ability to move returned to her instantaneously.

"Maybe we should've tested it on Kreacher instead," he joked.

Well, at least she chose to view it as a joke. Coming to kneel at her side, Sirius leant over her to inspect the back of her head, fingers weaving through her locks to check for any sign of injury.

"Well, the good news is that if it broke the skin, it'll blend in with your hair rather well."

"Just another reason blondes are overrated," she joked, holding still as he inspected.

In truth, the gesture was oddly calming - it made her feel like an overgrown cat, and dampened some of her previous unease surprisingly quickly. She did her best not to begin purring. That would've been embarrassing. With a chuckle he let go, and when she looked up again she found herself nose-to-nose with him. She wasn't sure when exactly they both stopped laughing and instead started staring at one another, just that when her eyes locked onto his slate grey ones, she couldn't quite bring herself to look away.

The tip of his nose brushed her own, but he didn't abruptly pull back like she feared he would. His eyes flickered down to her lips, and she tilted her chin upwards only slightly, testing the waters more subconsciously than anything else. And then Sirius closed the gap. Knock to the head entirely forgotten, she couldn't help but lean into his touch as the hand that wasn't holding his weight snaked up the side of her face from her neck, before weaving his fingertips into her hair, thumb gently running back and forth over her cheekbone. Now she was purring.

Growing bolder as they both quickly became more confident that neither party was about to shove the other away in horror any time soon, they began to kiss in earnest. Gone was the tentativeness, replaced by mutual desire. It was as if they couldn't possibly get close enough to each other, and not for lack of trying, with Heather's hands trailing up his chest, shoulders, and finally coming up to tangle themselves in his hair to pull him closer.

The position was awkward, with her lying awkwardly slumped on the pile of cushions that had failed so miserably in breaking her fall and Sirius leaning over her, but she worried in the back of her head that she might break the spell (for lack of a better phrase) if she stopped to better situate herself. Tentatively sliding one hand back, she used it to push herself up, causing them to part. Sirius helped her to her feet and she waited for the excuses to start - the apologies, the 'we can't's that she so entirely expected and dreaded. Instead, he kissed her again. Up 'til then she'd always internally rolled her eyes at people who described kissing somebody they liked as feeling fireworks. The so-called "fireworks", she'd long since decided, were nothing more than a combination of complementary personalities and anticipation. And maybe she was right; maybe it was just the weeks of tension and isolation-fuelled closeness finally culminating into something, or even her finally letting go of that voice that insisted her walls had to be kept fifteen feet high at all times. Well, illusion or not, now Heather wasn't rolling her eyes - and not just because they were closed. All coherent thought faded away, leaving only his lips against her own, and his tight grip on her.

Until he pulled away.

"Heather," he said softly.

"Hmm?"

"We can't."

Aaaand the ability to string together coherent thoughts returned. Unfortunately. Her heart sank to nestle itself into the pit of her stomach. Her eyes opened and she stared at the faded black cotton of his t-shirt before bringing her arms down to her side.

"We can't," he echoed again, but weaker this time.

"...I see."

She went to take a step away, but he renewed his hold on her, no less affectionate for the words that had just left his lips. His grip wasn't so tight that she couldn't get away if she'd truly tried, but if she was being honest with herself, she really wasn't trying very hard.

"I want to, you must believe that - I can't even remember the last time I wanted a specific woman so much, but you're Harry's sister. You're-."

"If the next words out of your mouth are 'James daughter', I swear to god, Sirius-."

"Well you are! If he could see us now, he'd have my bloody hide!"

"But he can't. He can't, and I'm not," she shook her head, stepping away from him "It's very convenient, isn't it? When it comes to...to homing me and raising me and giving a damn about me...loving me, I'm not his daughter - but when his best friend needs a good excuse to reject me? Suddenly I'm Heather Potter again. If you think you're being kind, you're not. I'd rather you just told me you don't feel whatever this is and be done with it."

Bill Weasley had scarcely known her two minutes before giving her that much, at least - even though the situation wasn't quite the same.

"It's not an excuse," he insisted, one hand coming up to rake through his already dishevelled hair "Heather, it isn't-."

He reached toward her but she stepped away again, crossing her arms to disguise how her hands shook. She felt ridiculous. The last thing she'd thought before making a move was that she didn't want to be lying in bed that night regretting not doing so, but she'd never stopped to consider that doing so wasn't guaranteed to make regret an impossibility.

"I know you, Sirius," she said softly "We're in this house together twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. I'm well on the way to having spent more collective hours with you than I ever even spent with Scott at this rate. If you want something, you go for it. That's you."

It was one of the things she admired most about him, but she was hardly going to say that now. She'd embarrassed herself quite enough today already, and it wasn't even lunchtime. If she'd been thinking at all, she'd have saved her attempt at jumping his bones for the evening - at least then it would've been socially acceptable to start drowning her sorrows, and she could've made an excuse to go to bed.

"So," her jaw was beginning to ache with the effort of keeping her voice from trembling "If you don't want...this-"

She couldn't say 'me'. It felt too real. Too vulnerable.

"-if you view me as...as a niece or a goddaughter, or if I'm just not your type, I'd really rather you just said it instead of falling back on who my brother is, or who my 'parents' were."

"I could never view you as a niece," he gave an exasperated laugh "Or a goddaughter. Life would be a hell of a lot less complicated if I could. But I don't. Nor do I want to."

"So what, then?"

He said nothing. In fact, he couldn't even look at her. Heather stood there in place waiting for a response for what felt like hours, and only once she'd counted to ten in her head for the umpteenth time and still had nothing did she slump where she stood. A lump was forming in her throat, which certainly didn't help her feel any less ridiculous. It wasn't just the rejection. The rejection stung, she could hardly deny it, but it was the embarrassment, the frustration, and the certainty that there was still something he refused to tell her.

Biting her lip, which was still a little swollen, she knew there was no way she'd be able to calm herself down at all in his presence. She counted to ten in her head one more time again, and then forced her legs to move so she could walk numbly from the room.

The kitchen was closest, but before the door to the kitchen closed behind her she heard the distinct noise of a glass smashing coming from the living room. Flinching, she took a deep breath and forced herself to sit at the kitchen table. She wouldn't run off to her bedroom like an upset teenager. She wouldn't do it. What was she, a stroppy teenager? No, having their every argument be a solitary confinement sentence was out of the question. When the she heard the door to the living room open she waited in tense silence for the sound of Sirius' footsteps retreating up the stairs, but instead probably wound up looking like a deer in headlights when the kitchen door opened and he walked in.

Beneath the table, her knuckles turned white in her lap as she waited for the new round of arguing. But Sirius didn't shout, nor did he even look particularly annoyed. In fact, he could barely meet her eye as he took the place opposite her and gave a worn sigh.

"There's something you need to know," he seemed to be putting a great deal of effort into keeping his voice calm and level "I should've told you before now - I've been trying to find a way to tell you, trying to find a right time, but...well...oh, that doesn't matter. James did want you. When they first found out Lily was pregnant, he had every intention of raising you - you would be raised by his parents, your grandparents, during term time, and with him for the rest of the time."

It took a moment for his words to truly register, and then another for her to piece together the meanings behind them from both what he said, and what he did not say.

"Lily didn't, then?" She asked quietly.

Sirius made a face, shifting where he sat before clasping his hands in front of him on the table just to cease any fidgeting.

"Lily...was complicated. To this day I'm still not sure she even knew what she wanted. It changed by the day - by the hour some days. She was incredibly torn."

"So, what? She convinced him to give me up?"

"No," Sirius shook his head.

It was clear that he wasn't finished - his mouth opened, then closed again. Then he grimaced, sighed, shook his head and finally forced himself to look her in the eye, guilt and worry painted across his features in equal measures.

"I did."

A/N: I won't lie, this chapter absolutely fought against being written. I hope it doesn't show, though!

A reviewer raised a very interesting idea of being curious to see how things might've worked out for Heather had she accepted her place at Hogwarts - I'd be happy to write a collection of one-shots or something similar of how I imagine the story could have gone if she had - just a "best bits" sort of thing e.g. Her meeting Harry for the first time, her meeting Sirius for the first time and so on. Let me know if that's something you guys would want to read!