Before: 

October 31, 2003

Halloween parties at Grimmauld Place were legendary. What were once stuffy Pureblood parties filled with women in gaudy dresses and men in tuxedos had devolved into this. The throbbing baseline of music was so loud it shook the very walls their portraits once hung on. His friends were drinking, but not that shoddy excuse for booze that was served at his parents' parties. Oh no–Sirius Black had an entire bar filled with every alcohol imaginable, both Muggle and magical. And the costumes his friends wore… Well, Sirius knew his parents were rolling in their graves, and nothing pleased him more.

He slid down the bannister of the hallway as James and Lily appeared, Harry by their side with his wife, Ginny. Harry and Ginny had dressed up as Velma and Shaggy from some Muggle comic Harry loved called Scooby-Doo. Harry’s legs were on display out of a short skirt and Ginny wore an oversized t-shirt and jeans that looked three sizes too big. James and Lily, as usual, dressed up as Sonny and Cher. Lily’s long legs poked out of her blue mini-dress and Sirius nodded in approval.

“Good enough to eat, Lils.”

James winked at Sirius, “And I plan to, later.”

Harry shoved his dad and grabbed Ginny by the wrist, muttering something about how insufferable and embarrassing his parents were as they went off in search of their friends. Ron, he knew, was in the kitchen with Luna and Padma. Hermione hadn’t arrived yet.

Hermione.

For being twenty years older than the witch, Sirius should’ve known better. But he didn’t. Every time he thought of her, every time he was near her, he felt like a gods-damned fifth year again–forcing himself to count off the different uses for fluxweed or recite the stars near his to keep from growing hard. She had enraptured him, completely and irrevocably. It happened one night at the Lupin’s, when she started discussing legislation for werewolves and her plans for fighting for their rights. It was the way she had winked at him when she talked about going back to her parent’s home in Muggle England to see a band, like an invitation. An invocation. She was a goddess, and Sirius wanted to kneel before her in exultation. 

Sirius shook his head, clearing his mind of all the different ways he wanted to know and be known by the woman who had stolen his attention but returned none of his affections. A glance in the living room showed a throng of people setting up a table for beer-pong; Ron and Harry explaining the game to James and Lily as though they hadn’t been the beer-pong champions of Gryffindor during their time at Hogwarts. 

Making his way into the kitchen, Sirius stepped out onto the back patio of his townhome,  drew a cigarette between his lips, and looked up at the cold October evening sky. Almost nothing brought him as much happiness as sitting out on his porch with a bottle of Ogden’s, a pack of cigarettes, and watching the sky slowly change above him. There was something so ancient and constant about the way the earth refused to give way to any other force–to spin an extra degree faster, or tilt on its axis a bit further, thus altering life as they all knew it. 

He stayed on the patio long enough for James to peek his head through the door to check on him. 

“You alright, mate?” 

“Yeah, just admiring the view.” 

“Save it for a night when we’re not all getting piss drunk in your house, and come join us, yeah?” James grinned wickedly at him, and it reminded Sirius of all the times they’d gotten in trouble, both at school and at Charlus and Dorea’s house, when they’d sneak off and drink themselves into a bloody stupor. 

James and Sirius were two sides of the same coin, always talking the other into bad ideas, never talking the other out of any. 

So Sirius stomped the cigarette underneath his black leather boot and followed James back into the raucous party, only to find that in the few minutes he’d been outside, the number of party attendees had nearly tripled in size. In the kitchen, Sirius cracked a beer and followed the source of the most noise.

Let chaos reign. Let his cunt of a mother’s ghost see the sheer ecstasy that four walls could hold. Let her bear witness.

Cheers and hurrahs rang out from the living room, and when Sirius turned the corner, he nearly ran headfirst into the one person who all his bad ideas seemed to circulate around these days.

Her brown curly hair piled on her head with loose ringlets cascading down her shoulders. He almost dropped the beer in his hand when he drank in her outfit. A corseted wedding dress. A rosary. White gloves.

Immediately, Madonna’s Like A Virgin started playing in his mind, and Sirius had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from saying something smart, or something dirty. There he was, dressed as David Lee fucking Roth, and she was dressed up as Madonna, and he just wanted to take her upstairs and see if she writhed about on top of him the same way that could’ve-been-witch did on stage when she sang that song.

“Well, hello there, Material Girl,” he teased.

Her brown eyes drank him in like he was an oasis in a desert. Fuck. He reached out and tucked a stray curl behind her ear.

“Hi,” her voice was quiet in the midst of the crowded party. He leaned in closer, his arm resting on the crown moulding of the door frame.

“You look, um–” he tried to think of a word that relayed how she looked while also being respectful.

“Um is exactly the look I was going for,” she said with a wink and turned, heading in the direction of the food tables shoved up against one of the walls in the large dining room.

Sirius tipped the bottle of beer to his lips and downed it in a few quick swallows. Shortly after, he found James, Harry, and Ron looking for a fourth for another game of beer-pong. Lily and Marlene had just lost to Ron and Harry, and James needed someone to assist him in showing his son he could still hang tough.

The night devolved from there–shots taken, bottles broken, clothing discarded. A game of Exploding Snaps was taking place in the corner, and the burnt remains of a pillow were scattered in the corner. It was a mess.

Sirius loved it.

A shout from the living room had Sirius making his way towards the chaos to investigate the source. He was already unsteady, tripping over his feet as he walked the familiar halls. He heard someone teasing Harry about shaving his legs in order to pull off a skirt that short. As far as Sirius was concerned, Harry pulled off his costume quite well. 

When he got to the living room to see what all the buzz was about, he saw his cousin behind a makeshift bar, pouring tequila shots for everyone in the room.

“Now, now, now. It’s a traditioooon,” Tonks’s speech slurred a bit as she tried to garner everyone’s attention, “that we take a shot of tequila at midnight on All Hallow’s Eve.”

He chuckled to himself, knowing full well there was no such tradition, but sauntered up to the bar. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of white tulle come stand beside him. She didn’t even lick a line of salt, or suck the lime sitting on the rim of the glass. She just… shot straight tequila.

If Sirius hadn’t been in love before, he was now.

“Hermione,” he whispered, his voice gravelly in his throat, “has anyone ever taught you how to take a proper tequila shot?”

She leaned in close, like she was letting him in on a little secret. “Well, Sirius, I’m fairly certain I just took a tequila shot… so I’m not sure what you’re on about.”

“Oh, love,” he trailed his fingers down the bare skin of her arm and watched as goosebumps erupted under his touch. “Let me teach you how it’s done. Can I uh… borrow you?”

Please say yes, please say yes, he silently begged her in his mind. He watched as she drew a lip between her teeth and nodded her head once.

“Good. Tilt your head back for me, love.”

Sirius reached behind where Hermione leaned against the bar, grabbing a salt shaker before coming around to face her. Her pupils were starting to dilate and darken. Oh, kitten, he thought, it’s about to get so much worse for you.

Sirius wrapped one arm around the small of her back and pushed himself against her, trapping her between the bar and himself. His other hand held the salt shaker. He watched as she dipped her head back, giving him access to her throat. He could see her pulse throbbing in her neck. Before he could change his mind, he leaned forward and licked a stripe up her throat. Then he took the salt shaker and shook salt on the wet expanse of her flesh.

“Don’t move.”

He grabbed the lime off the rim of the cup and leaned forward once more. “Open your mouth, Hermione.” He took the cut citrus and wedged it between her lips. “Hold it there for me, love.”

At that moment, Sirius didn’t care about anything else. He didn’t care that the room was full of his friends, her friends, and people who would judge him for what he was about to do.

Let chaos reign.

He looked at her one more time—chest heaving in that white lace corset, flushed skin, lime between her puckered lips. Sirius reached for the shot of tequila and licked that same stripe he’d placed on her skin just moments ago, taking the line of salt with him before tipping the shot glass back. In another breath, he pulled Hermione’s head close to his and sucked the lime from between her teeth, the citrus cutting the smoky harshness of the tequila.

When he pushed himself back and Hermione dropped her head to look at him, he saw the smile on her face. The smile that nearly buckled his knees.

The smile that changed the course of his life.

Hermione pushed forward, closing the gap between them. Her breasts heaved against his chest, and for the world, Sirius couldn’t be moved. Wouldn’t be moved. Wanted to stay there forever if it damned him to hell.

Let chaos reign.

“Let’s do that again, Black,” she pulled back and hopped up on the bar, a wicked smirk on her face.

Sirius winked at her and turned away for just a moment. He raised his wand to turn every light on in the house and cast a Sonorous charm to amplify his voice.

“Everyone out, now. ”

James gave him a confused stare. Typically, everyone fell asleep in various states of dishevelment. “Pads, you can’t be serious.”

“I most certainly am. I am Sirius Orion Black, and each of you will kindly get the fuck out of my house in the next five minutes, or I’ll change the wards to throw you out,” he turned to Hermione then, “except you, love. You stay right there.”

Summoning an entire cabinet’s worth of sobriety potions, he called for everyone to take one before attempting to Apparate, or he guided them to the dining room Floo.

James gave him a knowing look before Lily grabbed his wrist and stomped off towards the fireplace.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, Pads.”

“That’s an incredibly short list, Prongs,” he quipped back.

Four minutes and forty-eight seconds later, the only two people left in his townhouse were himself and Hermione. Sirius poured them each a shot and raised his glass to clink against hers, but when she didn’t raise hers to her lips, he gave pause.

“What’s wrong, love?”

“I want to do it how you just did.”

Oh, do you, now?

Sirius handed the salt shaker to the beautiful witch before him and tilted his head back, exposing his throat to her in the same manner she had done. But she didn’t lick a stripe up his neck. Instead, Hermione Granger licked his shoulder–that little crevice in between his throat and his collarbone–and poured the salt there. The feel of her tongue on his skin set him on fire. Sirius wanted to burn. Wanted to surrender to the licking flames that spread throughout his blood.

He wanted everything from her.

Reaching for the lime, Sirius anticipated her next move and opened his mouth for her. She repeated his earlier words back to him. “Hold that there for me, love.”

Her mouth was back on him; slowly, her tongue gathered up the salt there, sending shivers down his entire body.

He might’ve moaned. Sirius wasn’t entirely sure, but he watched her pour the burning liquid down her throat before crashing her lips to his, sucking the juice from the lime. He turned from her, spit the lime on the floor, and drew her mouth back to his.

“Tell me not to, Hermione, and I won’t.”

“I won’t be doing that, Sirius.”

“This is your one shot to walk away. If you want to take it, take it. Otherwise…” 

His lips brushed against hers with every word he whispered, and part of him knew it would be better for her to leave now. Leave before he ever had the chance to let himself be devastated by her fully. Before he knew the freckles that flecked her skin, or the birthmark on her right shoulder, or the way she cried when she read Jane Austen, but only in the fall, because Jane Austen was only fall reading material. He should stop before he knew what she looked like with a swollen belly. 

If he knew all of that, he would never recover. 

She shook her head and wrapped her arms around Sirius’s neck, pulling him between her open legs from where she sat on the bar. Her hands wove into his hair, nails scraping against his scalp. The lace of her corset against his bare chest. It was all too much.

Let chaos reign.

Sirius closed his eyes and dragged her bottom lip between his own, running his tongue over the seam of her mouth, begging for entrance. When she parted her lips for him, Sirius darted his tongue against hers, seeking the wet warmth of her. It was heavenly. He lifted her off the bar, her legs wrapped around his waist, and Apparated them up to the third floor of the townhouse–to his bedroom.

“Hermione, love. Tell me to stop at any point, and I will.”

It would kill him to do it, but he would. He would do anything for her, including breaking his own heart.

She looked back at him–her eyes full of fire. “Sirius, stop telling me not to want you. I’ve wanted this… wanted you… for far longer than I care to admit.”

“Say that again, love.”

“I want you, Sirius.”

He growled, low and menacing. He didn’t mean to; it was a primal, carnal response to the desires she brought to the surface. Sirius knew this wouldn’t be sweet. It wouldn’t be gentle or loving. 

No. 

This night would be raw. Harsh. Passionate. 

It would be nails down his back and fingers in her hair. It would be smeared makeup and tears down her face and sore throats from screaming each other’s name. It would be ripped clothes, soaked sheets, and aching muscles.

It would be exactly what Sirius wanted, and what he hoped she wanted too. 

~

It was the way Hermione wrapped her legs around his waist, the way she nipped his earlobe–the way her breasts pressed against his bare chest. 

Fuck, it was the way she looked in a gods-damned wedding dress. 

Sirius wanted to secret her away–keep her for himself and learn each and every sinful way he could make her whimper his name. 

He made quick work of the skirts, pulling them down her slender hips to reveal a garter belt and stockings.

Fuck, this witch would be his downfall. 

He sank to his knees in front of her, admiring the delicate lace decorating her legs. Sliding his hands around the back of her thighs, Sirius snapped the garter belt against the tender flesh, and she dug her fingers into his hair, pulling his head back to look up at her. The grin on her face was titillating. 

Hermione raised one heeled foot to his bare chest, and Sirius pressed a kiss to the inside of her ankle before unfastening the strap of her shoe and dropping it to the floor beside his bed. She stood before him now–corset, garter belt, stockings, gloves, and all that jewellery around her throat. Sirius wanted to rip it off and replace it with some jewellery of his own–his ringed hand around her throat, his tattooed fingers in her hair. She would look so beautiful with his come painted on her face, his fingers wiping away her tears.

Sirius shrugged out of his leather vest and stood, wrapping his arms around her waist to half-lift and half-throw her onto the bed behind them. The little giggle she let loose made his cock twitch in the already too-tight leather pants as he pressed himself down over her. Dragging his nose up the column of her throat, he hovered above her lips for just a moment, savouring the moment before. Once they crossed this line, there was no coming back. He would be ruined–he knew that. 

But would she? 

Would she think about him and regret their night together? Would she tell her friends that she’d made a mistake? Or would this be something more?

He felt her wrap her legs around his waist, pinning him to her body, and he pressed a tentative kiss to her supple lips, her chest heaving underneath him in anxious breaths. 

“I know you can do better than that, Black,” she whispered against his mouth.

“Impatient, are we?” He nipped at her lower lip, a whimper escaping her throat as he reached for one of her hands and dragged it up above her head. 

“Tell me, witch,” he teased as he peppered kisses along her jaw, down her neck and across the cut of the corset across her chest. “This costume of yours… is it symbolic of your… virtue? Or have you already taken someone to your bed?” 

She sat up, pushing him off of her. Her curls sparked at the ends in a way he’d never seen before. 

“Are you seriously asking me if I’m a virgin, right now, Sirius? When you’re minutes away from fucking me?” 

“I’m just trying to be respectful, love,” he said, raising his hands in defence. 

“Do us both a favour and cut it out,” Hermione whispered as she leaned forward, capturing his lips between her own and pulling him back down on top of her. 

She ran her fingers up the expanse of his back, trailing over old scars. For a moment, he was sixteen again and lying on a rug two floors down while his deranged cousin flung the Cruciatus at him, trying to convince him to fall in line. He was twenty, and on the receiving end of a Sectumsempra from his nemesis during school–Severus Snape. He was twenty-two and falling off his broom after being knocked unconscious. 

The scars that decorated his body were hard-fought and hard-won. He wasn’t ashamed of a single one–no, he was proud that he was battle worn, and had come out on the other side of it, if for no other reason than to have this moment with Hermione–to feel her fingers trace against the reminders of his past. 

All he wanted now was this moment with her, and if he was being selfish–perhaps the future, as well. 

He leaned into her, cupping her chin and tilting it slightly upwards to give him better access to her mouth. He slotted his lips over hers, drawing a moan from deep inside the witch. He gently pushed her back down–the only softness he intended to show her tonight. 

Sirius pulled himself away from his witch for a moment and looked down at her– beautiful curls fanned out around her head and a devious smile on her face. She was perfect. Her chest heaved with languid breaths as she looked up at him.

Reaching behind where he sat nestled between her legs, Sirius took one of her ankles in his hands and started pressing firm fingers into the soft, supple flesh of her calves. 

“Love, I don’t care how many men you’ve taken to bed. But tonight–” his hands reached the bend of her knee, and he leaned down to press an exploratory kiss to the delicate skin behind it. “Tonight, Hermione, you’re all mine.” 

He looked up to see her nod and something ignited in him. 

“Say it, love,” his mouth hovered over the metal teeth of the stocking clip. “Say you’re mine.”

He unclasped the metal clip that held her stockings up on her right leg and then did the same on her left.

“Sirius,” she mewled underneath him. He could tell her arousal had increased tenfold. His own was becoming quite painful in the confining leather trousers. 

He growled low in his chest as he lowered his head to her centre. “Say it, Hermione. Please say it.”

She shifted her hips as Sirius pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh. He could see the evidence of her arousal written all over her white thong.

“I’m yours, Sirius," she whispered.  

The scent of her arousal unlocked something in him. He reached up, lifting her hips from the bed just long enough to tear the knickers from her body before dropping his mouth to her dripping cunt–his own personal oasis. 

Hermione’s thighs bracketed his head and Sirius felt her tense as his tongue flicked against her clit. He licked along her seam, collecting the slick arousal pooling there. 

Fuck, she really would be his ruination. 

The taste of her pooling on his tongue–the little whimpers falling from her lips–the way her fingers tugged on his hair while he devoured her sweet cunt. 

It was too much. The pressure mounting in his body was enough to make him want to scream. 

He groaned against her centre and slid a finger into her core. Hermione nearly arched off the bed at that. 

“You like that, baby?” He asked, curling the digit as he thrust it up and inside her–trying to draw her to the edge of her orgasm. 

“Fuck, Sirius. Yes. That feels…” her voice trailed off as he felt her walls tighten. 

“Tell me, Hermione. Tell me how it feels.”

He worked another finger into her cunt, her body on the precipice of combustion. She hummed in pleasure, but was unable to form words.

“You feel so good, Hermione. You feel like… fuck, you feel like heaven.” He looked up to see her biting down on her lip. 

He needed to taste her release on his tongue. He used his free hand to lift her hips slightly, placing a pillow underneath her to change the angle–his fingers never leaving her centre. He dropped his head once more, flicking his tongue over that sensitive bundle of nerves, and she shattered. She came apart underneath him like a firework–explosive and beautiful and violent.

Sirius let her catch her breath as he made his way up her body–pressing kisses against clusters of freckles until he reached her mouth. The witches he’d been with never liked to kiss him after he did… that. But Hermione shocked him by quickly spinning to straddle his lap and pressing a bruising kiss to his lips. 

The taste of her all around him. The feel of her on top of him. The swell of her breasts against his chest. 

He needed to fuck her. Now. 

They must have been thinking the same thing, because her hands dropped to his trousers and began unlacing the strings that he’d charmed to stay tied in case James or anyone else tried to play a clever trick on him. He reached down and wandlessly untied the leather laces there–suddenly feeling much less constrained as Hermione’s hands pulled the leather down his legs.

He hadn’t bothered to wear anything under the trousers, so when she slid them down his legs, his cock is finally freed. Hermione was still hovering above him–his hard length resting against his abdomen, and he wanted to lift her up and sink her down onto him. 

With a snap of his fingers and a muttered incantation, the corset that drew tight around Hermione’s body fell loose, and he ripped it away from her, her supple breasts now in perfect position for him to sink his teeth into. Leaning forward, Sirius did just that–taking one pebbled pink nipple between his lips, sucking and pulling the bud between his teeth while working the other with his nimble fingers. The witch on his lap began to writhe against him, moaning when his teeth closed over her nipple with a bit of a bite. 

“Fuck, Sirius. I need to feel you.” 

He felt her hand drop once more between them as she began to touch herself. He drew back, wanting to watch her for just a moment. 

It was entrancing–the way she moved, far better than anything he could’ve imagined the Material Girl capable of doing. His cock was throbbing with need, and he could feel the pre-cum leaking out of the tip. 

He brushed her hand to the side and reached down, stroking himself to the sight of her on his lap before notching himself at her entrance. 

“Ready, love?”

Hermione didn’t answer with her words; she answered with her body by lowering herself down in one fluid motion that stole the breath from Sirius’s body.

The way her body gripped him… fuck. His hands shot to her hips, gripping hard enough to bruise. When their eyes met, he could see something flash across her face–something he felt in his soul. 

A recognition. A remembering. Almost like they’d done this a thousand times before in a thousand lifetimes. 

Her hand came to rest on his chest, using him as leverage as she lifted her hips and slammed back down. His eyes stayed locked on hers, but he could see, out of the periphery of his eye, the way her tits bounced on each thrust of her body. 

With a low growl in his chest, Sirius rolled forward, turning Hermione on her back as he leaned down over her, pressing a hard kiss against her lips. Dragging his mouth down her throat, he sucked a mark against her pulse point while he slowly drew in and out of her. One hand snaked its way down her body, reaching for her hand and pulling it above the curls on her head. He did the same with the other hand until both hands were held between one of his. 

A devious grin spread across his face as he looked down at her–her skin flushed and sweat-soaked. 

“Gods, Hermione, look at you,” he drove into her with a pounding thrust. “You’re taking me so fucking well, pet.”

He felt her silken walls tighten at the praise, so he continued. 

“Such a good girl, Hermione. Your cunt feels so fucking good.” 

Sirius increased his speed as he pounded into her. 

“Eyes on me, love. Let me feel you.” Sirius could feel she was close–so close to her release. “Your cunt is mine, Hermione. Come for me.”

“Sirius, yes. Oh my…”

He felt her clamp down on his cock, her release soaking the sheets underneath them. 

“That’s it, pet.” 

Taking a deep breath, Sirius allowed her a moment to recover. He was ready for his own release, but he wanted so much more with her. The young witch looked up at him and wriggled her hand free from his wrist, reaching up to cup his chin. 

“I know you’ve got more in you than that, Black,” she said with a teasing grin on her face. 

“Oh, Hermione, for such a smart girl, you’ve got a very smart mouth.”

“Maybe you should fuck it out of me.” 

Let chaos reign.

Sirius had never been bested by anyone–let alone someone nearly twenty years younger. But she had now left him speechless and on his knees as she dropped to hers in front of him. 

He dropped into a crouching position in front of her and grabbed her jaw. 

“Show me that pretty tongue, Hermione,” he angled her mouth exactly where he wanted it to be. “That’s it. I’m going to fuck your throat raw, so that the next time you cry my name as I drive into your cunt, you feel it.” 

He reached out and slid a finger through the slick of her arousal before wiping it on his thigh. 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, pet? Like to feel me so deep in your throat you can hardly breathe. Now show me what a good girl you can be for me.”

Looking down on others had never been something Sirius had done. But looking down on Hermione as she parted her perfect pink lips for him before taking his swollen cock between them… it was something he could get used to. 

Fuck, she felt divine. 

“That’s it, love.” 

He wasn’t even halfway in her mouth, and she was struggling to take him. He wanted to watch as he disappeared down her throat. Sirius gripped her hair in one hand and began to work himself in further. The little gagging sounds she made as he pressed in made him want to explode then and there. But he waited–wanting to finish in her tight cunt. 

With her hands on his hips, Hermione’s fingernails dug into the flesh there. They were both dripping with sweat, and when he looked down again, he could see a line of spit dripped from her chin down onto her tits. 

“Take a deep breath, pet. I’m going to fuck your face now. Tap my hip three times if it’s too much.”

With his hands on either side of her head, Hermione opened her mouth further, letting Sirius’s cock work down her throat and fuck her face. The sounds that filled the room were depraved. They were divine. 

Tears spilt down her cheeks and drool fell from her lips, but all the while, Hermione's hands stayed still on his hips. He withdrew and wrapped a hand around his cock, squeezing as he did. He was close. He was so close. And if she kept looking up at him with that mascara-strewn face and hungry lips, he would paint her face white. 

He leaned down and kissed her deeply, his hunger for her growing as she moaned into his mouth. 

“On the bed, pet. On your hands and knees.”

“Sirius…I…”

“Yes, love?”

He looked at her, swollen lips and tear-streaked face, and thought he’d never seen anyone so beautiful before. 

She reached out and traced a finger down his chest. 

“Nothing… I just…you, um. You’re incredible.”

“Hands and knees, Hermione. Now.”

He gave her a playful shove forward onto the bed as she fell onto her forearms, wiggling her perfectly pert arse. He spit on his fingers and slid them against her slick folds, already melting into the welcome heat of her. 

Lining himself up, he reached forward and grabbed a fistful of her hair, causing her to arch her back. The curves of her body were something he could dream about for the rest of his life. 

He slammed into her with abandon and Hermione reached one hand back to fold over where his hand rested on her hip. She wanted to feel close–even as she savoured the roughness of it all. 

They stayed like that for untold minutes–his thrusts becoming erratic as they both reached for that nirvana that could only be found inside another person. When Sirius came, he saw stars. He erupted with such force, he wondered if he might die. She screamed his name so loud he wondered if the Muggle-repelling charms were strong enough to withhold her. 

Wrapping his arms around her, they fell into one another and collapsed into a deep sleep. 

Now

October 30, 2004

The townhouse is decorated with floating ghouls, pumpkins, and candles that cannot cause their fire to be spread elsewhere–Hermione is very adamant about that bit, even though Sirius thinks it would be funny if a small fire caught in his family home. It isn’t like they wouldn’t be able to put it out, he tells her; they are wizards, for Merlin’s sake. 

This year, he’s dressed as the Mad Hatter from one of the books Hermione’s added to the shelves, and she’s dressed as Alice, clad in a wonderfully tight little blue and white dress with socks that go up to her knees and white Mary-Jane’s. She looks so fucking cute he almost reaches out to pull him into her before realising her dress is unbuttoned in the front and their daughter is latched to her breast. 

Merlin, even watching his witch breastfeed their little witch does something to him. The way she looks down at Adelaide with such adoration… He had never known this kind of love before. This kind of all-consuming, gut-wrenching, destructive love. It makes him sick–the feelings of love, protection, affection, and pride that flow through his veins when he looks at them. He thinks of his own parents and wonders how anyone could have anything but love for their children. Sirius briefly wonders how much longer he has to wait until he can see Hermione’s belly swell with another one of his pups. 

“She’s hungry,” he says, as if it isn’t the most obvious thing in the world. 

“She’s off- schedule, and she’s making me off-schedule,” his witch quips back. The tone of her voice is sweet, though the look she throws at him is far from it; Hermione has been trying for the last few weeks to get Della on a more regular feeding and sleeping schedule, and because of it, Hermione herself is exhausted. When Sirius suggested they cancel the Halloween party, she almost threw him out of his own home. 

“And do what, Black? Wallow here in our postpartum by ourselves? No, no, I think not. Everyone will be here. And Luna already said she will watch Della so I can get well and knackered, thank you. I haven’t been able to drink for almost a bloody year, between being pregnant and breastfeeding.” She crossed the room and drew her wand to his chin. “I need this, love. We are not cancelling the party.”

And so that had been that. 

It might not be as up to snuff as previous Halloween parties had been, but Sirius can hardly contain himself as he watches a three-month-old Della stretch her arms out towards her mum as she finishes feeding–a happy, milk-drunk smile on her face. The bunny ears of her costume keep flopping over into her face until Sirius charms them to stay perfectly folded up and out of the way. She’s fascinated by them and wants to pull them down. Instead, Hermione distracts their daughter by giving her a charmed rattle to play with–it makes a noise that Della can hear, but nothing that Hermione and Sirius can hear. His witch is both brilliant and beautiful. 

The party is set to start in just over an hour, and Hermione has a list of fifteen more things she just has to get done. 

“If you would just let me borrow Kreacher from Harry…” he tries to reason with her, but they’ve had this exact argument no less than a dozen times, and every time, Sirius ends up going outside to smoke because he and Hermione end up screaming at each other about wizarding traditions versus creature rights. 

Sirius knows that the elf should have rights. But something deeply rotten in him prevents him from giving up this one stance; it’s why he turned over ownership of the wretched thing to Harry and Ginny as a wedding gift. One too many bad memories with the elf in the house he is now raising his daughter in prevent him from being able to keep Kreacher close, but one too many good memories of Kreacher protecting him and his brother from Walburga prevent him from completely cutting ties. And while Sirius hasn’t missed the miserable old bastard, it's moments like these that Sirius thinks having a house-elf would be helpful.

Instead of devolving into their usual argument, Hermione hands Sirius their babbling daughter and plants a sultry kiss on his lips before heading into the kitchen. She uses a basic kitchen spell to charm the knife on the counter to slice limes into wedges. When he quirks an eyebrow in her direction, she shrugs her shoulder and responds, “For tradition, like your cousin said last year.” 

She then fills a basin with water for the older kids, and the drunk adults, to bob for apples. It took much convincing from her to talk Sirius out of adding some skeletons into the basin to act as inferi. 

Bouncing Della on one hip, Sirius does a final walk-through of the townhouse, watching as his daughter delights in the colours and magic surrounding her. He can’t wait until she’s old enough to really enjoy the holiday–when they can dress up together. Maybe he and Hermione can even take her trick-or-treating in a Muggle neighbourhood. Sirius wants to give Della everything he never had–love, affection, support, adoration, and a voice cheering her along as she grows, learns, and makes mistakes. 

He can’t imagine she will ever make a mistake, but if she does, he will be there to catch her. He will always be there to catch her. 

The crackling of the Floo pulls his attention away as Luna and Theo step through together dressed as… well, Sirius isn’t quite sure what they’re dressed up as. They’re both wearing an ungodly amount of denim, and Nott looks as though he’s spelled his hair to curl within an inch of its life, even though a denim cowboy hat sits atop his head. 

Luna bounces over to him and plants a kiss on his cheek before sweeping Della into her arms. Luna’s own belly swells with her and Theo’s second child–their oldest son, Finley, clinging to his father’s legs behind him. They apparently got the memo to dress their child as an animal. Finley is dressed as a unicorn.

Hermione steps into the room with a Muggle camera in hand–one of Sirius’s favourite contraptions–the kind that spits out automatic pictures and offers to take one of the Nott family. Luna hands Della back to her father as the three stand next to a dancing skeleton Sirius has affectionately named Roger. He’s also charmed the thing to tell appropriate jokes, at least until eight, when the children are all required to be upstairs with Luna.

Next, Ginny and Harry step through with their four-year-old twins, Lorelai and Gabriel, and James and Lily. The entire Potter family is dressed as the Partridge Family, including Kreacher, who has apparently been freed and wears clothes, thanks to the Potter’s children. 

Remus and Tonks show up with eleven-year-old Teddy in tow, and Tonks shoots them both a grateful and apologetic look as Teddy’s hair quickly changes from green to black. His friends are dressed in pirate regalia, and their son is wearing head-to-toe black. 

“Oi, Ted, are you supposed to be the stain on my family name?” He says with a laugh, but Teddy just ignores the comment and heads towards the table lined with biscuits and pies. 

With all the guests filing in, Sirius casts a Muffliato over his daughter to keep her from getting overwhelmed with the noise. He looks at Hermione, who he catches a glimpse of as she sneaks into the kitchen alongside Ginny and Tonks. 

He follows closely behind, casting a quick Notice-Me-Not charm over himself as he steps through the door. The witches before him each lick the back of their hands and pour salt on the stripe of wet skin, and Sirius feels his heart beat faster in his chest. This is how it all began, he thinks. 

He breaks the spell. 

“Look, Della, Mummy will teach you how to do tequila shots when you’re older.” The baby coos as she looks up at him with her dark grey eyes and light brown hair. “Mummy loves tequila shots.”

Ginny and Tonks pay him no mind, but Hermione sucks the juice from her lime and throws the wedge at him. He turns to avoid the citrus hitting their daughter. 

“You would assault our daughter with citrus, love?”

“Black, if you don’t take that baby upstairs, so help me Circe…”

“What? Daddy just wants a picture with his witches. It’s Della’s first Halloween, and while you might want to get knackered, I, for one, want to remember this momentous occasion.”

He can almost feel the tension melt away, and it's like he poured half the bottle of tequila right down his throat for the look she gave him. 

“Out. Both of you out,” she says to the two witches in the room with them. 

He smiles, remembering that he gave a very similar command to all of his guests last year so he could take Hermione upstairs. 

“And what else does Daddy want?” 

Her caramel eyes are molten as she slinks up to him, nearly knocking the hat off his head as she winds a stray curl around her fingers. The smile on her face is wanton, and if it weren’t for the baby in his arms, he would bend her over the counter and fuck her within an inch of her life. 

He lifts one hand to cup her chin, trailing his thumb across her lower lip.

“Daddy wants a picture. And if you’re a good girl, maybe later you’ll get a reminder of last year’s Halloween.” 

Leaning down, he presses a soft kiss to her lips, and he can taste the smokiness of the tequila, the citrus. He can taste her . 

“Come on, pet. Let’s go get a picture; it is baby’s first Halloween, after all.”