The Evolution of Sirius Black
“You look good Mr Lord of the Manor,” Hermione said with a sideways smile, her eyes gleaming in the fading light.
Sirius preened in an obvious way to make her laugh until she snorted, and the colour that stained her cheeks drew a throaty chuckle from him, one that gave away just how many years he had spent either smoking away his rage or fighting to breathe. She looked up at him then, concern evident in her expression but she didn’t speak, instead, her fingers came up to brush against his chest before they trailed back down, trailing over the crisp lines of his waistcoat.
The music started up again and Sirius pressed a hand to the small of her back, pushing her towards him as he guided them among the softly swaying bodies of their friends, pausing to smile at the congratulations and pats on the shoulder.
When they found enough space he began to slowly twist her before dropping his head amongst her curls. “It took me forever to get here,” he whispered, all trace of his earlier humour gone.
“Was it worth it?” Hermione asked, her arms coming around his waist tightly as if she knew he needed reminding that she was real.
Sirius nodded, pushing out a ragged breath past the lumps that had been forming all day. “Whatever the road, to get you at the end of it, to have you wholly,” he paused to brush a mad curl from the side of her face, his hand coming to rest along the line of her jaw.
“I would do it all again.”