A/N: So back by what I'm arrogantly calling 'popular demand', I decided to put a final cap to my 'How to Make a Bad Idea Worse' series. Most of the feedback wanted to know how Mrs. Weasley would react to their relationship, and while I do touch on it in this, I just wanted something light and fluffy. With all the angst I've written recently, I felt I needed to lighten things a bit.

I'm still working on an update of Playing the Players, as well as an RL/HG oneshot that has been playing through my head, but rest assured I'm continuing to write for this fandom, and will do so as long as humanly possible.

Check out the A/N in the Interviewing Casanova update or the A/N of What Harm Indeed for more information about my protracted absence. In the meantime, enjoy this bit of fluffiness!

How to Make a Bad Idea Worse: Galas, Gambling, and a Bearskin Rug

"Oh, you better be fucking joking."

Sirius arched an eyebrow at the language his girlfriend had used. Hermione was hardly prudish with her word choice, but she usually employed her expletives with poignant precision. The man could not, therefore, understand the point she was trying to make as she crossed her lovely arms and stared at him with ill-disguised frustration.

"What have I done now?" he asked innocently, blinking ingenuous eyes at the curly-haired fireball he loved.

She, it seemed, was having none of it.

"That rug. It's not staying."

With a frown, Sirius looked at his feet, trying to determine what, exactly, was the matter with the rug. The lovely young sales wizard who had sold him the thing had been effusive in his flattery of Sirius's taste, and Sirius always trusted someone who unquestioningly appreciated his sense of style.

"What's wrong with it?"

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, seeming to settle into something though Sirius had yet to decipher all the many delicious physical codes she had for her behaviour. Then she opened her eyes and gave him a sweet smile, stating to herself more than to him: "You've bought a bearskin rug."

"Yes. Don't you like it?"

"No. No, I don't."

"Why?"

"Because I'd really rather not have our library look like the set of a seventies porn film."

Sirius smirked. "Been looking through my old boxes in the attic, have we?"

In the years they had been together, it had become harder and harder to make Hermione blush. Sirius had taken some pride in that, of course. He liked his women made of stronger stuff than the average delicate flower. But as the soft pink started to creep up her elegant neck, Sirius admitted to himself there was definitely some pleasure in embarrassing his stout-hearted warrior woman.

"Yes, well…we'll talk about those later," she quipped, though her honeyed eyes were looking at him in the way that still made a thrill climb up his spine. "In the meantime, what's it going to take to get you to remove that thing from our house?"

Sirius couldn't help the surge of happiness he felt at her easy acquiescence to their co-existence and mutual ownership. Back during the melodrama of their initial courtship—and both thoroughly admitted to the truly cinematic nature of it—he would have never thought that, eight years later, he would be in the most satisfying relationship of his life with a woman who continued to excite, frustrate, thrill, and terrify him in equal measure. He could not have imagined his world without her.

The look on her face told him she was still expecting an answer out of him, however, so he smiled easily and said, "Hmm…I'll take it back if you finally agree to marry me," he replied.

She gave him a long-suffering look. "For Merlin's sake…really?"

He grinned broadly. "I'm persistent, me."

This had been an argument they had had for almost three years. He had asked her, multiple times, over the course of their relationship. She had always turned him down. Gently, of course, and with absolutely every intention of staying by his side for the rest of her natural life, but not as his wife.

It had been hard for him not to take it personally.

"Marriage for us is a bad idea, Sirius, and the fact that you've been asking over and over again has just compounded that. You can't even propose without us arguing about it."

"We're only arguing because you insist on saying 'no'."

"Oh, well, in that case," she said sarcastically.

"You've presented good arguments, darling, but at the end of the day, I just want you to be my wife. All that means is that I don't have to continue calling you my girlfriend. It's really just a title bump. Consider it a lateral move."

"Sirius, why is it so important to you that we make what we have official?" she asked, leaning against the door jamb with a resigned sigh.

"Isn't it enough that it gets Molly off our backs?" he joked, though they both knew he was really only partially exaggerating. The Weasley matriarch could win a world championship in nagging.

"As much as it would almost be worth it, no," she deadpanned.

"Hermione, my love, I am a man who likes a party. I'm also a towering Narcissist who likes to be the centre of attention. And in our relationship, we both know you're the one who's always going to be in the limelight because you, my darling, are extraordinary. So please…indulge me. Give me a wedding."

The quirk of her lip told him she was trying not to laugh, and then she smiled that beautiful, slightly-toothy grin he loved and walked toward him. "Alright."

He stared at her, daring not to breathe. "Alright?"

"Alright…I'll throw you a party that's all about you," the cheeky witch said, grinning broader as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

He huffed in frustration, though he then became momentarily distracted with how it caught one of her curls and danced briefly around her face. "I love you, you know. Mad about you for a very long time. And I'm sick of having to explain 'us' to people."

She quirked an eyebrow. "And why do people deserve an explanation?"

"Because you, sweetheart, insist upon socializing with them," he replied patiently, the old argument flowing smoothly. "If you'd like to trim a little Weasley off the social calendar, perhaps we'd have less people to explain ourselves to."

"I don't understand why you don't just tell them that we're happy the way we are?"

"Because, peanut, our friends have the annoying habit of thinking they know better than us."

She opened her mouth to defend her friends but then paused, knowing he was right. It had been something she'd noticed the older they got. While Harry and Ginny, and Ron and Luna, and most of her childhood friends were all deliriously happily wed and starting families, Hermione and Sirius had focused on themselves. If their whirlwind of a beginning had taught them anything, it was that words left unsaid caused unnecessary problems. As both Hermione and Sirius were in turns pragmatic and forward-thinking, they mutually decided that if their relationship were to have any hope, they would have to be brutally honest with each other as often as possible.

It had been one hell of a first year.

Soon, though, they learned each other on a level Sirius had never experienced before with another human being. While they disagreed on more things than they agreed on, what they agreed on was important enough to humour or tolerate the disagreements. They developed their own language, both physical and verbal. They still, after several years, came together when they made love.

They breathed through each other.

"Sirius, you know how I feel about marriage," Hermione said, a tired tone to her sweet alto voice. "As much as I love you, and as much as I fully intend to spend the rest of my natural life with you, marriage to me is an arcane notion intended to subjugate one member of the relationship—usually the woman—to the whims and fancies of her husband. And while I recognize that I'm more than likely to enjoy the whims and fancies you would ask of me, I simply don't understand why you don't trust that I will comply with your fits of fantasy without a piece of paper."

"And I don't understand why you don't trust me to know better than to ask anything of you that I know you won't agree to."

She arched her eyebrow. "Except marriage, you mean?"

"Hermione Jean," he said, employing the middle name he knew she disliked. "I love you. I've loved you since the moment we were stupid enough to agree to a relationship." He smiled slightly as she huffed in quiet indignation at his word choice. "And I'm starting to develop a complex about why you won't agree to legally attach yourself to me."

"You're developing a complex?" she asked, sounding amused.

"Yes, well, even someone as perfect as me is allowed a moment or two of doubt, you know."

She rolled her eyes at that. "Sirius, did it ever occur to you that I've read through the legal codes of this country from beginning to end, and perhaps I'm not particularly thrilled with what I've read?"

"I would be surprised if you hadn't, darling."

"Then why—"

"Because there is nothing about us that is normal, love. We've always done things our own way. Why do you assume marriage would be any different? You worry that getting married will mean you belong to me. Have you ever stopped to consider why someone like me—someone who has spent the better part of his life avoiding any type of commitment whatsoever—isn't terrified by the prospect of belonging to you?"

She opened her mouth to respond, but closed it again, and he knew the thought hadn't actually occurred to her before that moment. She frowned slightly, her arms tightening around her neck in what he assumed was subconscious possessiveness.

He would be lying if he said the act didn't endear her more to him, as if that were possible.

Then she sighed, and pulled away. "Will you give me some time to think about it?"

Since this was more than he had ever gotten out of her before, he was eager to accept the indecision over her usual refusal. Smiling, he nodded graciously and said, "But of course, kitten."

Inhaling deeply and settling herself into the idea, she nevertheless pressed on with the initial point she had intended to make when she entered the library. "The girls are going to be here soon to get ready for the gala. When are you planning on heading over to Remus's?"

He looked at his watch. "Probably in the next half hour. Why won't you tell me what your costume is?"

She smirked. "Because I intend for you to be delightfully surprised when I return more than a little tipsy from what I'm sure is going to be a grand evening of fun with the girls."

He grinned. "That alone is worth the wait. I do so love it when you come home sloshed. You always like to have your wicked way with me, and who am I to refuse?"

She pursed her lips. "You also have to deal with the headache in the morning, which, if memory serves, you're less inclined to enjoying."

"I shall make it a particular priority to get you a Sober Up potion."

"I appreciate that."

He smiled down at her and kissed her sweetly on the forehead. "Alright, my little lush, get your gorgeous arse upstairs and I'll send the girls your way when they arrive."

Rolling her eyes, he distinctly heard her mutter something along the lines of 'pot calling the kettle Black' but nonetheless turned to exit. He swatted her bottom playfully, letting her know he had heard her and she sent him a wink over her shoulder, sashaying out of the room.

Sirius sighed. Yes. He was madly, truly, and very deeply in love with the little witch.

"Your man's in a good mood," Ginny said as she walked into the bedroom a few moments later to see her friend looking thoughtfully at the closet. Hermione turned, arching an eyebrow at the sheer tonnage of clothing her friend had in her arms.

"Planning on staying a bit?" she teased as Ginny dumped the clothes on the bed.

"I had to bring some for Luna. She doesn't fit into Ron's clothes."

Hermione frowned. "He and Harry are roughly the same size, though."

"Oh, I know. I brought some of Charlie's old things."

"I'm sure he'll be thrilled to know he has clothing appropriate for this particular venture."

"Which is why we won't be telling him."

Hermione chuckled slightly, turning back to the closet. After many years with the Holyhead Harpies, Ginny had retired from Quidditch in order to start a family with Harry. Though happy with the decision, Ginny was hardly one to rest on her laurels, and had spent the better part of the past few years contributing her name and her not-insufficient wealth to good causes. While indeed laudable, Hermione found that her friend had a penchant for dragging her friends into such causes with her, which resulted in a social calendar consisting of a multitude of boring luncheons, a-thousand-galleon-a-plate dinners, and more galas than Hermione had ever intended to go to.

Sirius had jokingly called them the 'ladies who lunch' which, while annoying, had an irritating ring of truth which battled with Hermione's well-honed feminist streak. Ginny, however, was a force she would rather not come up against, even on her best day. So the imperious redhead continued to drag Hermione—and often Tonks and Luna—to event after event while her trio of female friends followed with only the most minimal of complaints.

That night, however, was something Hermione was actually looking forward to. She and Ginny had helped set up the charity to help stop bullying and promote tolerance, especially amidst LGBT youth. They called it Dumbledore's Army in recognition of their mentor, and over the years they had sponsored 'proms'—a concept Ginny had learned about during her many tours in America—all around the world to give at-risk teens a safe place to socialize and enjoy their budding relationships.

For their newest fundraiser, the committee had decided to hold a fancy-dress ball. Instead of the stuffy masquerades, however, to throw in a bit of whimsy they had decided on a 'gender-bender', where everyone had to come dressed as someone of the opposite gender. There would be prizes, amazing food donated by the Hogwarts kitchens, and music by some of the best new up-and-coming talent in the country. All-in-all, Hermione was certain the night would be a raging success.

"Wotcher, ladies," Tonks said as she filed into the room, Luna in tow. "Blimey, 'Mione, Sirius is positively gleeful. What sexual deviancy have you promised him for tonight?"

Hermione grinned in spite of herself. "You do realize that's your cousin, right?"

Tonks shuddered. "Fair point. Be spare with the details."

"He just knows I'm going to come back a little drunk."

"Ah. Drunk sex. Say no more," Tonks said sagely, hopping on the bed and looking down at the pile of clothes. "Whose wardrobe am I sitting on?"

Hermione had to smile at the easy relationship she and her girlfriends still enjoyed in spite of the march of time. While Ginny, Tonks, and Luna were busy balancing their families and their respective work lives, they still managed to prioritize their relationship with Hermione, which the witch appreciated. She had heard stories of friendships dissolving in the wake of marriages and families, but she supposed their tumultuous childhoods had bonded them far more than the average friendships.

She also suspected they kept her around to live vicariously through her, as she seemed to be the only one who still had sex with any regularity.

"I have to say, Luna, I'm grateful you agreed to go as Peter," Ginny was saying as they all started to disrobe. "I loved the idea of going as the Marauders, but I was a little worried that no one would agree to take on that particular role."

"I'm happy to help. I'm considering it a very interesting case study in social psychology. I'll be greatly displeased if someone doesn't throw a rotting vegetable at me this evening," Luna replied, protuberant blue eyes surveying the pile of clothes with interest.

"Yeah, we're definitely not telling Charlie about this," Ginny murmured to Hermione.

They chatted some more about life as they donned their costumes. Once Luna had agreed to be the much-hated Peter Pettigrew, the other three Marauder assignments had been fairly easy. Tonks, insisting that no one could play Remus quite the way she could, was dressed in a somewhat rumpled outfit of corduroy trousers and a blue button-down shirt covered by an argyle jumper vest, all a size too large. Ginny, insisting on dressing as James, had cheated a bit by wearing Harry's old Gryffindor seeker uniform, but Hermione had to admit that with a pair of dark-rimmed glasses and a glamour of terminally-unmanageable black hair, she fit the part beautifully.

Hermione, of course, had been left dressing as Sirius. Considering she had easy access to the wardrobe of the man in question, she didn't argue.

"Remus wanted a photo of us, since he can't be there tonight," Tonks said as she put the final touches to her now-sandy-brown hair. "Should we wait until we're at the event, or take one now?"

"Let's wait," Hermione said as she slid into a pair of leather trousers she secretly loved watching her boyfriend shimmy in and out of. "There's no one to take the photo here."

"Sirius is still here," Luna said, brushing a moth ball from the ratty, black pinstripe suit she wore as she put the finishing touches to her hair with an unflattering mousy-brown mullet.

"He doesn't know about this," Hermione said with a sly smile, pulling her now-black hair back into a simple ponytail. "I want to surprise him when I get home."

Tonks looked at her friend and gave a low whistle. "I'm sure he'll be very flattered."

Hermione grinned, looking at herself in the mirror. Aside from the leather trousers, she had chosen a pair of black buckled motorcycle boots and a long-sleeved black button-down shirt covered by a deep red, crushed velvet waistcoat, complete with pocket watch. She had rolled the sleeves up to her elbows, glamouring hints of black ink up and down her forearms, and even she had to admit she was living up to her boyfriend's title of best-looking of the Marauder quartet.

Turning to her friends, she gave her best impression of Sirius's playful, come-hither smirk and twirled her wand in her fingers. "Shall we, ladies?"

"So wait," Ginny said as they headed down the stairs once Tonks had verified Sirius had left for the evening. "If he doesn't know about the costume, why was he in such a good mood tonight?"

"Aside from the promise of drunken intercourse," Luna added.

"Well…" Hermione paused on the third-floor landing. "He…um…proposed again tonight…"

All three went very still.

"…and I didn't say 'no'."

Ginny's eyes lit up, but before she could give what Hermione assumed would be an ear-piercing shriek of delight, she put her hand up. "I didn't say 'yes', though, either."

Tonks arched an eyebrow. "I was unaware the question had a multiple choice answer."

"I told him I'd think about it."

"Well…it's an improvement over your normal answer," Luna reasoned.

"True. I worry that it made him…hopeful."

"And why shouldn't he be? He's been asking you forever. Any normal bloke would've stopped trying at this point," Tonks said.

"I know. But he…he said something that made me think."

Ginny squealed. "Oooh! You're gonna get married and have babies and we'll all be mummies together and…"

"Oh dear Lord, Gin, stop," Hermione groaned, continuing down the stairs. "You'll turn a 'maybe' into a 'no'."

"I don't see what the problem is, 'Mione," Tonks said. "After all, you've been together for almost a decade and it's not like you're unhappy about it."

"But we argue constantly. I mean, they're usually petty arguments, and they don't last long, but it's a bad idea to start a marriage on that type of dynamic. Plus, there's something mildly terrifying about going into such a legally-binding situation with anyone. I mean…according to Ministry law—"

"Oh, don't start that nonsense again," Ginny interrupted. "You know as well as I do that if you went to Kingsley with a list of changes to the current laws, not only would he let you change them but I doubt he'd even bother to read it. So don't you dare continue to hide behind that argument."

"Fine. Beyond that, what if it turns out that we make each other miserable? I mean, right now everything's fine but you know us. We're both stubborn and independent and…what if we come across an argument we can't shag our way out of?"

"Isn't that the risk you run when you get married?" Luna asked.

"Yes, but…I don't really like going into serious things without…without an exit strategy," Hermione said, self-consciously rubbing the silver-white scar that sat on her forearm. It had been years since the scar had been carved into her skin, but the terrifying memories of it remained. That whole seventh year had been a 'fly-by-the-seat of their pants' year and it had served as a hard-won reminder that having contingency plans was the safest course for any decision.

Tonks put a reassuring hand on Hermione's shoulder. "I know he's related to Bellatrix, Hermione, but you have to know he would never, ever hurt you the way she did," she said softly, as if reading the younger witch's thoughts.

"And if he ever did, there would be an army of people at your back to slowly dismember him limb-from-limb, starting with his favourite appendage." Ginny added stoutly.

Hermione smiled at that, leading them into the library to take the floo. "I love him to pieces, but I'm just not sure he understands what he's asking. I mean, when we first got together, he had five different girlfriends. Who's to say he won't want that again, someday?"

Tonks rolled her eyes. "After eight years, you cannot still be insecure with how much he loves you and only you."

"Can't I?"

"No, 'Mione, you really can't," Luna said softly. "You two are made for each other. Like peanut butter and anchovies." All three looked at her with puzzled expressions, and she cast an ingenuous look at them. "What?"

"Regardless, Hermione, you may as well get used to the fact that you're not going to lose him and…what on earth is that?" Ginny asked, interrupting her train of thought as all four of them looked at the rug.

"Ah. Yes. That would be the most recent questionable purchase Sirius has made," Hermione replied dryly, side-stepping the bearskin rug to grab the floo powder pot from beside the fireplace.

"He bought that? As in, spent money on it?" Tonks asked.

"I'm afraid so. And you wonder why I'm hesitant to marry the man."

Ginny gave her a look the comment deserved. "If your worst complaint about your gorgeous, intelligent, charming, and devoted boyfriend is that he has a slightly misguided taste in household furnishings, Hermione Granger, I might suggest that your standards are just a little too high."

"And ghastly though it is, I do have to say there is something uniquely Sirius to it," Tonks added.

"I like the rug," Luna said as she prodded the head with a careful toe, then jumped back as if the thing would come to life and bite her.

Hermione grabbed a handful of powder before passing the pot to her friends. "Let's just enjoy this evening. We can discuss my love life later."

"Fine," Ginny said. "But it will be revisited."

"I look forward to it."

"I think I'll call him Cornelius," Luna said, eyes still looking thoughtfully at the rug.

"Of course you will," Hermione mumbled as Ginny stepped into the fireplace and gave a loud, 'Hogwarts Great Hall!'

"Just think about it, 'Mione. I mean, really think about it," was the last thing Tonks said before she, too, followed Ginny through the floo.

"Bye, Cornelius!" was the last thing Luna said before she disappeared amidst a whirl of green flames.

Hermione looked down at the rug. "Cornelius. Lord help me."

Normally, a children's birthday party was the absolute last place Sirius ever enjoyed being. That evening, however, as Teddy chased his squirming younger twin brothers through the sea of what he affectionately called 'teacup humans', Sirius couldn't help the goofy grin on his face. She hadn't said 'no'. While she hadn't said 'yes', he was more than happy to take the win, and had had a spring in his step from the moment she had left the library to the moment he had arrived at Remus and Tonks' cozy country cottage.

Remus had greeted him looking somewhat frazzled, his tired grey eyes showing just how much strain having a household of rambunctious children put on the werewolf's normally-serene constitution. Sirius, however, was unfazed by the level of noise and even helped contribute to it as he shifted into his Snuffles form and chased Remus's five-year-old sons—aptly named Romulus and Remus—around the cottage before shifting back and joining the elder Remus, Harry, and Ron in the kitchen.

"Quite the turnout, Moony," he said cheerily, vaulting onto the counter and ignoring the scathing look his best friend shot him as he almost slid into the tray of cupcakes next to him.

"You're remarkably chipper. Did you start drinking before you left the house?" Harry asked, his own glass of firewhisky half-drunk in his hand.

"No no, my son, I assure you I'm quite sober," Sirius replied. "I just happen to be in incredibly good spirits."

"Bully for you," Ron grumbled from the kitchen table, cradling his sleeping nine-month-old daughter. A recent first-time father, Ron hadn't gotten used to the sleepless nights, and seemed to resent anyone who wasn't as perpetually exhausted as he was.

"I have to admit, Pads, if you're going to be insufferably cheerful, I may have to kill you," Remus said, his eyes drifting occasionally to the door. While he was confident Teddy, now all of thirteen, was perfectly capable of entertaining a brood of younger children, he still kept all of his senses trained for sounds of mischief. His five-year-olds seemed to be growing more and more like the Weasley twins every day, a fact which the original pair of mischief makers took advantage of as often as possible. Sirius and Hermione were secretly surprised Remus hadn't become fully grey-haired yet because of it.

"What's got you in such a good humour?" Harry asked.

"I proposed to Hermione again tonight," he said, smiling.

Remus arched an eyebrow. "And her subsequent abject refusal has somehow made you happy?"

"I believe," Harry said, cautiously eyeing his godfather. "That his happiness may stem from the fact that she didn't say 'no' this time?"

"Right you are, Mr. Potter," Sirius replied with a grin.

"Dear Lord, she said 'yes'?" Ron asked, barely able to keep the disbelief from his voice.

"Er…not quite."

"Um…is there another answer we're not aware of?" Harry asked.

"She said she'd think about it, which for me, is almost as good as a 'yes'."

"It is better than her normal answer," Remus said. "Though God knows why she's taking her sweet time about it. I always thought she wanted to get married and start a family."

"Yes, I admit it's been tough not to take it personally," Sirius confessed.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Of course. Because the idea of being inextricably linked to a reformed playboy for the rest of Hermione's natural life is the best idea anyone's ever dreamed up in the history of ever," he said sarcastically.

Sirius cocked his head to the side. "Why Ron, I do believe that's the nicest aspersion you've ever cast upon my unimpeachable character," he snarked.

Harry chuckled. "Don't mind him. Rosie kept him up half the night. That's something you can look forward to, Sirius, if Hermione ever breaks down and says 'yes'."

Back when he was younger and enjoying his carousing, the very idea of children would have had Sirius in hives. Now, however, the mere thought of Hermione swollen with their child had him longing for that very future. He had grown to envy his friends, with their brood of snotty youngsters, and wanted more than anything to start a family of his own. The only person he could see himself having said children with, however, was the woman who seemed hell-bent on delaying the inevitable.

"I don't think I'd mind," he finally said aloud as he looked lovingly at a peacefully-slumbering Rose, tucked protectively in her father's arms. "When I have children, I'm going to spoil them rotten."

"Let's not put the cart before the horse, Padfoot. She hasn't said 'yes' yet," Remus warned.

Sirius frowned. "You make it sound like you don't think she will."

"Well…since you've spent the better part of three years asking her, I think it's safe to say she has some hesitations," his friend reasoned.

"Cheers, Moony."

"That's not to say we're not rooting for you, Sirius," Harry assured him. "We've wanted you two married since you told Molly, if only to save us from hearing her constant needling."

"I made that very argument," Sirius assured.

"You'd think that alone would be enough," Ron muttered.

Sirius cringed slightly at the memory of the day he and Hermione had bit the bullet and told the Weasley matriarch about their relationship. It had been several months in, and they were starting to get exhausted by the constant sneaking around, as Hermione was still living in the Burrow at the time. The fact that Molly was incessantly trying to pair Hermione with the very sweet but secretly gay Charlie Weasley, however, also didn't help matters. Eventually, though, their friends threatened mutiny if they didn't come clean, as the plots to keep Molly in the dark were becoming far too convoluted for anyone to keep straight.

Neither Sirius nor Hermione had been looking forward to the moment, and the elder woman did not disappoint in her reaction.

She had fainted.

When she had come to, she had rounded on Sirius, using the type of language he had rarely heard anyone use outside of the dockside, and had pleaded with Hermione to 'give Charlie another chance'. The man in question, who had been home at the time, had taken pity on the pair and had chosen that very moment to come out to his mother and announce he was engaged to be wed to a strapping young Romanian dragon tamer with whom he had been in a relationship for over five years.

That had significantly shifted the conversation.

The subsequent months had been tense ones, as Molly had dragged any and every available man she could think of into Hermione's path in the hopes of steering her away from Sirius. After a disastrous set up with one of the many Weasley cousins—nicknamed 'Kissing Cousin Kenny' by the twins—Hermione had put her foot down. She had announced to the older woman that Molly had better get on board with the relationship if she ever intended to have a continued association with either of them. To emphasize her point, she had moved out of the Burrow and into Grimmauld Place with Sirius.

Reluctantly—and bowing before what Sirius was certain was rather forceful pressure from the rest of her family—Molly had acquiesced. From then on, her tune had changed from barely tolerating the pair to hassling them at every available moment about taking their relationship to the next level. If it weren't so infuriating, Sirius would have marvelled at the woman's chameleon-like ability to find something to disapprove of in any given situation.

"So what did you tell her that made her change her mind?" Remus asked.

"Her main argument has always been the Draconian nature of the Ministry marriage laws, and I told her that while it was a very good argument, she should consider why, with my history, I wasn't terrified about the idea of belonging to her as much as she'd belong to me."

Harry arched an eyebrow. "That's a pretty good argument."

Sirius smiled proudly. "She seemed to think so too."

"I…er…don't suppose you could hold off on your engagement?" Ron asked. "Only, I have fifty galleons on the fact that she won't say 'yes' for another year or so."

Sirius frowned. "You bet on us?"

"Uh…yeah," Harry said, having the good grace to look shame-faced. "The twins set up a pool after she rejected you the third time."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Of course they bloody did."

"If it makes you feel any better, Ron's was the latest date anyone bet. I lost about eighteen months ago."

"Yeah, I lost too. I thought she'd at least accept you on the fifth go 'round," Remus said.

"Your confidence is encouraging," Sirius commented sarcastically. "Who's currently winning?"

"Well, if you two get engaged in the next month, you'll be within Bill's bet," Harry replied.

"After that, I think it's George's," Remus added.

"Or maybe Fred's."

"One of the twins."

Sirius shook his head. "I'll never hear the end of it if it's one of them."

"Frankly, I'm just happy there's some light at the end of the tunnel. I was starting to worry that it would never happen," Harry said. "And I very much want to two of you to be happy."

"Just because we aren't married doesn't mean we aren't happy," Sirius argued.

"I know, but her constant refusal can't be good for your ego, Sirius."

"Oh, I think his ego is sufficiently healthy," Remus joked. "If she finally gives in to him, he'll be insufferable for weeks."

"Cheers again, Moony."

"Daddy!" a small voice shouted, and the werewolf jumped, sprinting out of the room. Sirius, Harry, and Ron all cringed as something crashed loudly, followed by Remus's words of 'trouble' and 'your mother'.

Then Rose blinked big blue eyes up at her father before squawking loudly and spitting up all over Ron's shirt.

"You're sure you want this to be your future?" Harry teased his godfather as the redhead's face turned the colour of his hair and he stalked with his crying daughter toward the bathroom. "There are some who would argue that the idea of you procreating is just making a bad idea worse."

Sirius sighed. "More than anything."

Harry smiled slightly and patted Sirius's shoulder. "Then for your sake, Sirius, I honestly hope she says 'yes'," he said before walking out of the kitchen to help with the palaver in the living room.

Hermione stumbled slightly as she apparated to the front door of Grimmauld Place, grateful that she wasn't in heels as she hiccupped. The gala had been a rousing success, with her costume garnering many a compliment and more than a few flirtatious glances. They had all enjoyed the event immensely, eating, drinking, and dancing themselves silly as the alcohol lowered inhibitions and loosened many purse strings. Much to Luna's dismay, the evening had been blissfully free of projectile vegetation, and by the end of the night, the charity had raised a significant enough amount of money to hail the event a very good idea indeed.

"Sirius!" Hermione sang, the name slightly slurred as she glanced in the mirror to make sure she didn't look a sight. She smirked slightly at the reflection, silently praising herself for snagging the devilishly handsome man on whom she had based her costume. His dedication to her and steadfast loyalty did great things to her ego, and the more she thought about it, the more she realized how truly flattering his persistent proposals really were.

"In the library, love," came the amused reply.

Skipping up the stairs, she found her boyfriend reading quietly in the library, a glass of firewhisky next to him as he flipped through the pages of his book. She leaned against the doorframe in a pose she had seen him don many a time, brimming with haughty confidence as she crossed her arms and watched him. She had always loved the way he moved, filled with an aristocratic arrogance that she thought was sexy as sin. She hoped she projected even an ounce of that innate characteristic.

Attuned to her, he looked up and his eyebrows shot up into his hairline at the sight of her. Eyes raking over her body, a supercilious smirk appeared on his full lips and he put his book to the side before readjusting himself on the sofa, crossing his legs and saying, "Well, what have we here?"

"Just admiring the view…kitten," she said, lowering the tone of her voice and shooting him what she hoped was a sexy smirk of her own.

He batted his eyelashes at her. "Why, Mr. Black, have you come here to seduce me?"

She pushed off the doorframe and sauntered over to him, twirling her wand in her hand the way he was want to do. "I don't know, sweetheart. Are you willing to be seduced?"

"By you? Always. Are those my trousers?"

"Yes."

"They look better on you."

"Hmm…I know," she said before leaning down, her face mere centimetres from his. "But they look better off."

He groaned, tugging her onto his lap. "Of that I have no doubt."

He kissed her deeply, passionately, and she responded with a fiery passion of her own. Her costume had emboldened her, and as she ran her hands through his silky raven hair, she took a moment to wonder why she had been so hesitant about having this man—this sexy, sexy man—bonded to her for the rest of her life. In the heat of their kiss, all of her arguments seemed superficial compared to the benefits of knowing that he was hers, and she, his.

"So this is why you didn't want to tell me about your costume," he murmured as she kissed down his neck, his voice cracking slightly as she nipped at his Adam's apple. "I must say, it's a perverse little fantasy, shagging myself."

She sat back and arched an eyebrow. "Would you like me to stop?"

He growled, pulling her closer. "Hush, you minx, and ravish me."

She kissed him again, letting her fingers dance in the hair at the back of his neck before skittering around his shoulders and unbuttoning his shirt. She ran her hands over the warm muscle underneath, palms sliding over his nipples and wrenching another growl from his lips. She moved to his ear, nipping the lobe before pulling back and standing in front of him, grinning at the frustrated look he shot her at her movement.

"Tell me you want me," she said, leaning over and placing her hands on his knees. "Tell me you want to slam your big, throbbing cock inside me."

He swallowed hard. "Christ, Hermione…" he breathed.

"Because I want you," she continued, sinking to her knees. "I want to make you come so hard, you won't be able to remember your own name."

She ran her hands up his thighs, running her fingers over the bulge that sat straining against the denim of his jeans. He groaned, letting his head tip back as she unbuckled his belt, unzipping him and releasing him from his boxer briefs before lowering her mouth onto him, sucking hard at the tip of his cock. His hand shot to her hair, fisting it as she slid lower, taking him as far as she was able, her hand working the part of him she was unable to take.

She knew how to please him. Eight years and she knew almost all of his signals. She knew how fast to go to make him crazy, or how slow to tease him within an inch of his sanity. That night, she just wanted to take. Take as much as she could and turn his brain into nothing but mindless pleasure the way he did for her every time they made love.

"God, kitten…stop before I explode…" he moaned, trying desperately to pull her away but she didn't relent, instead sucking harder and running her tongue up to lick the sensitive underside of his head. He gasped, crying out her name as he came hard, fingers biting into her scalp as she swallowed the musky, salty taste of him.

She watched him as he regained his breath, sitting back on her heels and smirking. Through hooded eyes, he looked at her, arms limp at his side as he tried to summon the energy to move. She waited, biting her lip coquettishly and licking her lips for good measure. Eight years, and she knew most of the buttons to push to get him going almost immediately.

That night, it seemed, was no exception.

"You'll be the death of me, woman," he growled before pouncing upon her, kissing her deeply as he pushed her to the ground, body hovering over her and telling her without words just how much he enjoyed her ministrations. She let herself lay back, only partially aware of the softness beneath her.

"I've never undressed a man before," he commented as he struggled with the buttons of his waistcoat, trying to get it off of her as quickly as possible.

She chuckled. "First time for everything."

"Only with you, love," he said, finally getting the garment unfastened and almost yanking it from her body before starting on the shirt. "Though, I might suggest we add this to the rotation of costumes you have. You make quite the prettiest Marauder I've ever seen."

"And here I thought you only had eyes for Remus," she teased.

"Yes, well, despite my best efforts, he's spoken for," he replied. "Speaking of, do you think you could change your hair back? It's slightly off-putting, as you look a little like Andromeda."

Quirking an eyebrow at the mention of Sirius's stunning cousin, Hermione nonetheless lowered the glamours to return her hair to its natural honey brown curls. He smiled, pulling the elastic out and fluffing the locks with his fingers. "Much better."

He made quick work of her shirt and bra, and she cried out as he took a nipple into his mouth, palming the other breast with a free hand while the other slid down her stomach, circling her bellybutton. She gripped his hair, throwing her head back as jolts of pleasure shot down to her core. His touch always set her on fire, but that night there was an added electricity. The haze of alcohol made her more sensitive to his caresses, and before his fingers even hit the buttons of her trousers, she was panting for him.

"On you, these should be illegal," he murmured as he ran his hands down her hips and legs to the edge of the pair of motorcycle boots. "Though, I'd love to get you up on my motorcycle once again. I know how much you liked the first time." He winked at her as he pulled the boots from her feet.

She grinned. "You don't need to take me up on the motorcycle to get me to come for you, Sirius. We both know you're equally capable of causing that reaction."

"Hmm…but the visual of you coming apart in my arms with an engine between your delicious thighs is such an enticing one," he teased, pulling off her socks before moving up to catch her lips again. "Though, admittedly, I much prefer it when I'm the one between your thighs."

"Me too," she replied. "So get to it."

He gave a deep chuckle and nipped his way down her body, leaving small red marks with his tongue and teeth. Pulling the leather down, he looked up at her quickly when he realized she wasn't wearing underwear.

She smirked. "Didn't want panty lines."

"Oh, I am never washing these ever again," he growled before dipping his head between her legs and running his tongue up the soft skin of her inner thigh, relishing the way she quivered in anticipation.

A sweep of his tongue had her back arching, and before long his soft nibbles and lingering laps at the sensitive bundle of nerves were sending her into a familiar nirvana only he was capable of taking her to. Her fingers ran through his hair as he took her clit between his lips, sucking hard and throwing her over the edge as she came, his name a holy chant on her lips.

He sat back, removing the last of his clothing before stretching out beside her. He let his fingers play on her stomach, caressing the soft skin as he watched her come down from her high. She smiled at him, her body pliant and satiated but her eyes still burning with a hunger for him that would never go away. He loved that about her—adored her insatiable desire for him. She never tired of him, never pushed him away, and he in turn would never cease in his obsession of her; his addiction to her. She was his equal, if not his better, in every way.

"I must say, having these tattoos made me think about getting one myself," she said, as she lifted her arms to examine the ink on her forearms. "Maybe a small tattoo of Snuffles."

He grinned. "And where would you put him? Over your heart?"

"Or on my arse," she joked. "To remind myself just how much of a pain you can sometimes be."

He huffed, kissing her soundly. "Cheeky little witch."

She curled into him, and he lifted her leg around his hip, opening her up to him. As he slid inside her hot, tight sheath, they both exhaled. Even though they had made love thousands of times, they were both taken by the shock of electricity that tore through them every time they became one. She kissed him deeply, pistoning her hips forward to encourage him.

He didn't need to be told twice.

Gripping her bottom, he thrust hard, enjoying the mewling cries of his lover as she tilted her head back, rolling with him as she felt every ridge, every pulse, through her body. She had learned to let herself go completely with him, and he with her. She had never felt so complete with another human being before, and knew in her heart that no other person would ever make her feel like she had found the other half of her heart.

"God, witch, I love you," he groaned, burying his head in her neck as he thrust, feeling his self-control perilously freefalling as he lost himself in her body. She fit into him perfectly, as if her body were made to be one with his. It was one of the first things he noticed when they had first made love—a feverish shag against the dark brick of a Muggle pub in Brighton—but it was the thing that definitively solidified his desire to spend the rest of his life with her.

"Sirius…" she moaned, back arching as she came apart, pleasure speeding through her body and sending wave upon wave of molten heat through her nerve endings. His shout of ecstasy told her he had followed her into his pleasure, and she relished the jerk of his hips as he fell into his own orgasm, hands clutching at her hair and tugging as he gave a satisfied groan into her shoulder.

They lay there for a few moments in silence, enjoying the shivers of pleasure-filled aftershocks that rippled through them. Then he bundled her into his arms and held her, fingers running through her dishevelled curls as her fingers traced the outlines of his tattoos over his chest. It was comfortable, and intimate, and everything he had once feared but now absolutely adored.

"You know, I think I might get used to Cornelius," she finally said.

He frowned. "Cornelius? Who the hell is Cornelius?"

She giggled. "The rug. Luna named him."

He rolled his eyes. "Of course she bloody did."

"You probably won't be able to return him anyway, now that we've properly christened him."

"Yeah, there may be some questionable stains that we'd be hard-pressed to answer for."

She sighed. "I suppose you can keep him, then."

He chuckled. "And keep the look of the seventies porn set?"

She grinned up at him. "I suppose we made good use of it."

"Hmm…and hopefully will again. Many, many, many times."

"Yes," she said thoughtfully. "Though…perhaps next time…it might be under different circumstances."

"Oh?" he asked, looking down at her. "You don't plan on seducing me as a prettier version of myself again?"

"Perhaps in a different venue," she said with a smile. "But…I meant…perhaps we can make love on this rug again…as husband and wife."

He paused in his movements, going very still, not daring to breathe as he looked into her beautiful hazel eyes. "You mean…" He trailed off, waiting.

She smiled. "If you'll have me, Sirius Black."

In the subsequent years, when Hermione told their children of how their relationship had developed, there would be many details she would gloss over. The look in his eyes when she finally, finally said 'yes', however, was not a detail she excluded. The look he gave her was that of pure love, of pure gratitude, and of pure, unadulterated devotion. It was a look, she told her children, that she hoped they would all find one day.

And while there were many bad ideas that had become worse—such as a truly horrible purchase of a drum set for their eldest son or their daughter's ill-advised perm or an ill-fated, food-poisoning-filled mini-break in Cornwall—none of them, as it turned out, would be their marriage.

That, it seemed, turned out to be the best idea of them all.

Hope you enjoyed it!