Wow. It's been a while since I last posted a Harry Potter fic. I've missed it. I'm pretty excited to post this, I've worked on it for a while now. I'm also very excited that it is the first fic with the Mary MacDonald tag. :D

Dedication: to my friend Rita. She asked for a Sirius romance and I have provided.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or T. S. Eliot's "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock," from which the title comes.

I Have Measured Out My Life with Coffee Spoons

He doesn't notice her until their third year when she's no longer taller than him. Sure, he had talked to her before and borrowed her notes more than once, but he never really noticed her.

But then Mary MacDonald raises her hand faster than anyone else in Defense Against the Dark Arts and Remus complains about it until dinner time that night.

"It's not fair," Remus bemoans, picking at the mashed potatoes on his plate. "James has Transfiguration, Sirius has Charms, Peter has Herbology, and I'm supposed to have Defense Against the Dark Arts."

He shoves the potatoes in his mouth vindictively as he stares at the brown mass of curls just a few seats away.

"So what if she beat you, mate?" Sirius says just a tad too loud as always. His gray eyes scan the length of the table until he's sure that Mary's looking at him. "A little change is good every now and again."

James laughs and Peter looks nervous, but Sirius only cares to see what her reaction is going to be. He expects her to fling her hair over her shoulder or giggle like the little girl she was last year. But she glances at Remus with a shrug and a sigh without any giggle at all. He wonders if she will ignore him completely.

But instead her hazel eyes meet his dead on and she gives the tiniest nod, almost a nod of approval.

Well, now he really can't help but notice her.

He's talking, talking, talking. Filling the air with silly sounds and words that he secretly hopes impress her. The library is hardly the place for this sort of behavior, but he's never really cared before so why start now?

"Why are you talking to me?" she finally whispers covertly over the top of her level three charms text.

"I need a reason?"

She stares at him for a long moment and he thinks maybe she can see through him. Just as he's starting to feel a little unnerved, she loses some of the intensity in her eyes as she shrugs.

"Guess not."

He grins as wide as a kid in Honeydukes, which goes completely unnoticed by her as she stares at the nearly finished roll of parchment in front of her.

Without even looking up from her quill scribbling quickly across the yellowed scroll, she speaks in a matter-of-fact tone.

"If you look off my paper to cheat, I will kick you in the shins, so help me God."

He laughs so hard that Madam Pince threatens to kick him out.

Her parents have left her with a smile and kiss on the cheek as her dad stares bemusedly around the terminal. She and her mother share a look and roll their eyes. It's her fourth year at Hogwarts and he really should be used to the way Platform Nine and Three-Quarters looks.

But they've walked away and Mary's left with a trunk too heavy to carry on her own.

She's glancing around looking for Donna or Lily, but instead her eyes fall upon a small group of boys taller than she remembered them to be.

One of them looks up with a rakish grin that looks so at home on his face that she wonders if he's practiced it in the mirror or if it just comes natural to him.

"Hey there!" Sirius calls out, waving cheerfully. James, Remus, and little Peter (shame, that boy still has not grown over the summer) all turn around and greet her similarly, but none of them match his warmth.

"Sirius Black," she commands regally with her own grin set firmly in place. "Be a gentleman and help me with this trunk!"

He takes a moment to bow deeply and she laughs with a shake of her head because he's really just so ridiculous sometimes.

"As you wish, milady."

With a wink and a quick hug that she never really expected (She shouldn't be surprised. After all, they are fourteen now and isn't this supposed to be normal?), he grabs up her trunk with his long arms and disappears into the train.

And the only reason she's smiling is because now she doesn't have to carry the trunk. Not because he hugged her. No, not at all.

James doesn't understand and Sirius doesn't expect him to. He knows that James is too preoccupied with red hair and green eyes to see much else past that.

"She's a bit chubby."

"So? She's funny."

James gives a one-armed shrug and readjusts his glasses with a distinct look of disinterest and misunderstanding.

Sirius finds the whole thing amusing and spends the entire History of Magic class throwing wads of paper at her head.

And when she throws her book at him halfway through the lesson, he doesn't care much that James is rolling his eyes.

They've been friends for a while now, but he never realized just how quickly she moves until he has to practically chase her down the hallway as she walks to her next class.

"Lily won't give us the notes," he pleads, their shoes snapping sharp against the stone floor.

"Don't take it personal, she just doesn't want James to have the notes," she informs him as she turns the corner, bringing him further towards the heart of the castle.

"It's because he's a git, isn't it?"

"It's because he's a git who won't stop asking her out. Oh, you should hear the things she says in the dorm," she informs him with just a hint of exasperation.

"Oh," he starts, mimicking her tone, "I'd rather hear what you have to say about us men in the dorm."

He waggles his eyebrows but not before he notices that they've reached her destination.

"Bugger off, Black," is the last thing she utters before she practically slams the door behind her, shielding her from his view.

She'll deny it later when he teases her about it, but he definitely saw a hint of a smile on her face before she disappeared.

He stares at the shut door, grinning. So what if he didn't get the notes? He got something better instead.

He visits James over the summer, and as they lay in the grass under the summer sun, thinking of new pranks and jokes to pull when Hogwarts starts back up, Sirius wonders why his life can't be as perfect as James's.

The guest bed no longer feels foreign and he likes Mrs. Potter's cooking better than Kreacher's even though she sometimes burns the ends of his meat. She always beams when he compliments her and she says that he's going to be a heartbreaker. Mr. Potter lectures him and James about the merits of studying and working hard, but the minute his wife leaves the room, he winks at the boys and tells them some stories of his days at Hogwarts. It's clear where James gets his prankster streak.

There's not a second that goes by when he's not laughing or joking or smiling. He's no longer a guest, but a family member and it's the strangest sensation, but as James says, "it takes a while to get used to new things."

The school year starts with a bang. Literally. Mary is hurrying off to the first class of her sixth year with Lily and Donna, exchanging stories of the past summer when all of a sudden there is a loud noise and smoke starts to fill the hallway.

Really, the whole thing reeks of the Marauders. Mary and Donna exchange a glance and laugh as Lily shakes her head and says "Damn Potter." They pile into the Charms classroom with the rest of their class and everyone is quick to congratulate the boys for an excellent first-day back prank.

Sirius gives a laid-back flick of his long hair, smiling easily and superiorly. James tries to emulate the same sort of casual response, but he ends up looking a bit more awkward than usual. He runs a hand through his unruly hair, making it look "windswept" as he glances over in Lily's direction.

Mary can hear her scoff under her breath and her green eyes stare determinately ahead of her. With a significant glance over at Donna and Mary, she moves towards the other side of the room, as far away from the Marauders as humanly possible. Instead of following her, Mary wraps a hand around Lily's skinny elbow and tugs her in a different direction, forcing her to sit just a few rows over from the Marauders.

As she slides into her wooden seat, she can still feel Sirius's eyes on her. She knows that he wants her to congratulate him, to help feed that ego, but she has too much fun avoiding his bait. Donna regales her with a tale about her younger brother until finally she can't take it any longer and tosses her head back, her curls whipping around her face.

"Impressive prank as always, Mr. Black. Now stop staring at us. You're as bad as James."

She holds his gaze for a while longer, easily catching the glint in his slate gray eyes and the upturned curve of his lips. Then she spins back around in her seat to find a laughing Lily and a blushing Donna torn between reprimanding her and joining Lily.

Behind her, she can hear Sirius's deep chuckle and James's affronted sputters. There's a clap of someone's hand on a shoulder, but she refuses to turn around and give Sirius more reason to stare.

(A part of her hopes he stares anyway.)

But when Professor Flitwick enters and class begins, she can't help but to glance in his direction between writing notes.

He continues to smile and so she does, too.

Most people have gone to bed and it makes sense because the last time Sirius looked at his watch, it was after one in the morning. But he's still awake reading and re-reading the pompous, arrogant, condescending letter his shrew of a mother sent him earlier that day.

And he stands out of the chair so quickly that some people actually start and glance at him before returning to their homework or their quiet conversations. But no one seems to care enough to watch him walk to the fireplace.

But Mary's sitting in one of those overly stuffed armchairs that he normally loves, but today they just seem too cushy and annoying. So he ignores her and the offending chair as he throws the letter into the dimly lit fireplace.

Slowly, the letter curls at the ends, blackening until he can't see any creamy parchment left and certainly no more heartless ink. The flames are weak, but they are still strong enough to lick around the newly charred pieces until there is nothing left but ashes.

But he is still standing there, staring at the fire. God, he hates his mother so much.

"Letter from an ex?" Mary asks cautiously, so quietly. In all honesty, he had forgotten she existed.

"Letter from my parents."

He's not really sure why he's telling her this or why he's turning around to face her. But she's placed the book down that she was reading (some Muggle book, he vaguely remembers Lily talking about it with her friends) and she's looking at him as though she has all the time in the world.

"They can't be that bad," she tries to comfort him. Her legs shift in the chair until her feet fall onto the floor.

"They'd hate you, you know."

He's not sure why he told her that except that maybe he just wants her to hate them as much as he does. It's such a private thought that it almost scares him how intensely he feels.

It only takes one look at her suddenly shocked and stricken eyes to make him want to take it all back. But it's too late.

"Why?" She can't understand, but he can tell that she desperately wants to.

"Because you're a half-blood," he says it plainly and with regret because that's the only way he knows how to say it.

He wishes the answer weren't so idiotic, so cruel because she's worth more than that. She deserves something that's not so ugly and simple-minded.

Sirius is half-waiting for her to throw the book at him, to kick him in the shins like she so often promises to do. He's waiting for her to yell, to laugh, to scorn him, to shrug it off like it's no big deal. But she surprises him. Slowly but surely, he's starting to suspect that she will always be surprising him.

"Do you hate me, too?"

It's the only thing she asks and her voice is simply colored only with sincere curiosity.

No. The only obvious answer is an emphatic no because although he may be a Black, he is nothing like the rest of them with their archaic ideas and callous words. But she's his friend and therefore worth more than a one word answer so he stands in the silence stuck between her and the fireplace, struggling for the right words.

He finally finds the right ones to settle on.

"I can't hate anyone who makes me laugh."

It's the first Valentine's Day that he hasn't spent with his friends eating too many silly red candies and getting a stomach ache. Instead, he's sitting at Madame Puddifoot's with pretty Leila, a fifth year Hufflepuff.

Her voice is low as she asks him about Quidditch and plays with his hair. His scalp tingles pleasantly as she tugs gently on the tips, pale fingers lost in the darkness of his hair. She talks about anything that would be considered unimportant by a teacher, but that's usually the type of conversation he prefers.

Leila's sweet, pretty, nice, and she likes him.

But the whole time, he's painfully aware of Mary laughing with some stupid blonde boy just a few tables over.

She looks happy.

A few weeks later, he heads off to the Owlery with a letter in hand to his uncle. The early morning sun falls through the windows, the weak light spreading across the stone floor. Normally he'd sleep in on a Saturday and borrow Remus's owl, but Remus was sleeping off a transformation and the bitter sting of the cut on his arm wake him up early. He had rolled over onto it in his sleep and woke up with a searing pain and a slew of curses streaming from his mouth.

He opens the door to the Owlery and is immediately met with the sight of Mary selecting a small gray owl to send an equally small package. Turning his letter over and over in his hand, he sneaks up on Mary. He blows gently on the back of her neck, her skin exposed by the small ponytail holding up her sleep-mussed hair.

She turns around with surprise on her face, the owl in her hands giving a screech of protest at the sudden movement.

"Hey," she says with a smile, stroking the owl's soft head to sooth him.

"Hi."

She holds out the package and he ties it carefully onto the owl's outstretched leg. Walking over to the large window in the center of the wall, she releases the bird and watches as it flies off.

"Who's the package for?" he asks her from where he stands with a tawny owl in his grip. A few other people glance around at the sound of his voice, surprised to see Sirius awake that early on a Saturday. He ignores them and carefully hands the letter to the impatient owl.

"A friend back home," she responds over her shoulder, still leaning against the open window sill, one leg crossed over the other. They both watch as his borrowed owl disappears into the sky.

"Does she know about me?" he flirts, walking up behind her, feeling the wind through the high window.

"Are you assuming that I talk about you when you're not around?" she shoots back with laughter in her eyes. They look more green than brown in the early spring light.

"Not assuming, only hoping," he tells her with his best rockstar smile. The stone window sill is cold under his hands, but the fresh air is refreshing. It's the first day in weeks that doesn't smell like winter and snow.

Mary shakes her head, but does not respond and only continues to look out the window. He stays with her, allowing the silence to wash over them as they both stare out at the grounds so far below them. Off in the distance, he thinks he can see smoke rising from Hagrid's hut.

Sirius is about to point it out to her when she turns to face him with a curious expression on her face that confuses him.

"Where's Leila?"

"Where's that stupid blonde boy?" he retorts, answering her question with a question.

"He has a name, you know. Derek," she tells him in a way that makes him sure that she really doesn't care at all that he didn't know his name. "Anyway, he's not in the picture anymore."

"Neither is Leila," he informs her quietly, a surge of something exciting striking through his core. He subtly moves a few inches closer to her. At least, it was meant to be subtle, but she raises her arched eyebrows at his adjustment.

"Why not?"

"Well, there was another woman in my life," he answers slyly, completely ignoring the small, madly blushing Ravenclaw girl beside them sending off her owl.

"Who?" Mary asks with sarcastic interest, her lips twisting in a wry smile.

"You," he answers, his eyes trained on her smile, staring at the curve of her Cupid's bow.

"Oh, shut up," she rolls her eyes, smacking him lightly on the arm.

"No really, I mean it," he swears, grabbing her pale hand into his own. He squeezes her fingers

playfully, not willing to admit that there might be more truth to his words than he's letting on.

"I'm Siriusly yours."

"I'll bet you say that to all the girls," she says, seemingly incapable of wiping the smile from her face. She tries to pull her hand back from his grip, but he only holds tighter and pulls her closer to him.

"Well, to be fair," he informs her with a shrug in his voice, "I also say it to McGonagall when I'm trying to get out of detention."

She laughs, that full, unapologetic laughter that causes his smile to widen because her happiness is so infectious. Her eyes shut with mirth, he takes advantage of the situation like he is so prone to do and he releases his grasp, takes her face in his hands, and kisses her.

She tastes like water and the chilly air seems to encircle them as Sirius feels the floor fall out from under him. And then suddenly, it's over. She's pulling away from him and there's this immediate and almost painful feeling of loss as their lips lose contact.

There is silence and then…

"Not today, Sirius," she whispers, her voice heavy with an apology. She extends her hand as though she wants to touch his hand again. She seems to think better of it and folds her hands neatly behind her back, staring at him with "I'm sorry" screaming from her eyes.

Nodding numbly and unsure of what to do, Sirius watches her for a moment as she shifts weight from one foot to another. Loose curls have fallen from her ponytail and settle around her round cheeks haphazardly. His fingers itch to push them behind her ears, but he just keeps silent as she turns around to leave.

"You know," he calls out before she can slip through the door. "I've never worked this hard to get a girl to like me."

"I know." Simply said with a small smile, she exits and lets the heavy wooden door shut behind her.

He's not an idiot. He knows that things are going to be different now. But he sits at the window for an hour, watching other students drift in and out of the Owlery as though by not moving, he could pretend that nothing would change.

Shannon is a beautiful girl and she fits in his lap so very very well.

Her lips are casually against his neck under the springtime sun and he's resting an arm on her long legs, leaning into her kisses.

Well, Shannon only thinks he's leaning into the kisses. In reality, he's craning his neck to see if that's really Mary across the lake or not.

Even Sirius has resorted to actually studying in the library. He sits as quietly as he knows how with James on his right nervously pushing his glasses up his nose. Peter pours over his Potions notes, his watery eyes nearly bugging out of his face as he noiselessly mouths each instruction. Remus just looks too damn smug for finally getting all of them in the library to study for finals after weeks of pestering them. Sirius never expected sixth year finals to be harder than O.W.L.'s.

His notes are boring and disorganized and he's starting to wonder why his g's look like c's because that just doesn't make any sense to him at all. Suddenly, among the quiet sounds of breathing and page turning, he hears the clip-clap of sensible shoes against the floor.

He looks up, welcoming a distraction in any form it comes, and finds himself staring at a uniform-clad torso. His eyes travel up until he meets a steady hazel gaze that has been avoiding him for weeks.

Suddenly dry-mouthed, he darts a tongue out to wet his lips and waits for her to say something. He's consciously aware that his friends are staring at the pair, somewhat curious and desperate to take a break from studying.

"Do you really sleep around?" she asks in a level, no-nonsense voice, calling to mind the rumors that fly around the castle faster than a Quidditch player.

As always, he answers without thinking, saying the truth as it is the first and only thing that surfaces in his mind.

"No." He searches her pursed lips and carefully narrowed eyes to see any sign of disbelief. Her features remain unchanged and she still stands with her arms folded and her hip cocked to the side. "I kiss girls," he continues, ignoring James's snickering. "I might fool around a bit, but never more than they want to. And I never sleep around."

He finishes with an adamant tone, tossing his quill down onto the table with an air of dignity and folds his arms identical to hers. His own eyes narrow in challenge, silently daring her to respond.

"Interesting," she finally relents, her tone even and unrevealing. She straightens her posture and lowers her arms to rest on her hips.

"What? Did my answer surprise you?" he asks without a pause, entertained by her unexpected response.

"Nope," she shakes her head, letting the word pop on her lips.

"Interesting," he mocks amiably, bringing a hand up to stroke his scruffy chin with exaggerated thoughtfulness.

"How so?" The beginnings of a smile grace her face.

"Your answer just surprised me."

She pauses, her calculating eyes scanning his face and motives, wondering if he's telling the truth. Then she gives a little laugh with a roll of her eyes, and with a swish of her pleated skirt, she leaves the boys to their studying.

James nudges him under the table while Peter giggles and Remus gives a knowing look. He tells them all to sod off with a half-hearted glare. But in all honesty, he can't find it in himself to care what his friends are saying and thinking because he can only think of her deliberate laugh.

Because maybe maybe maybe, he still has a chance.

"If I'm not allowed to kiss you, I'm not going to kiss anyone else," he tells her, promises her. He sounds stubborn as a hippogriff, but he doesn't care.

"You can kiss whomever you want," she shoots back, her tone just as stubborn as his, if not more so. Her eyes peer beyond him, trying to find a way to get past him and through the shut door behind him.

The candlelight on the walls around them still burn with low intensity, their flames dying in the lateness of the hour. Sirius isn't really sure how the two of them ended up in the abandoned classroom, practically yelling at each other, but he's not questioning what he knows to be fate. It's the first time he's actually spoken to her since seventh year began and he's not about to lose this moment.

"What if I want to kiss you?" he asks her, pinning her to the spot with his steady gaze.

"You already kissed me," she reminds him as though he might have forgotten. She avoids answering his question and stands her ground steadily as he inches towards her.

"That was only once." He works hard to keep his breathing even, and their voices lower despite their best efforts.

"No," she refuses, her hands tight against his hips as she stares back at him, her nose scrunched as it always did when she fought.

"Why not?" Sirius hisses, completely at a loss as to why she doesn't want this as much as he does. He stares into her eyes, glassy from the candlelight, and tries to decipher that mixed up emotion he sees.

"Because you're just… you!" she practically explodes, her hands shooting up in the air in exasperation.

"I'm just me?" he repeats incredulously, annoyed that she can't give him a reason he can believe. "You know, for someone so eloquent with words, you are surely lacking now."

"Fine. You want to know what you are?" she snaps and holds up an accusatory finger. "You are an idiot. You are mindless and insane and much too brilliant for your own good. You think you can just waltz around and be damn close to perfect."

With each word she says, she takes a step close to him until she practically stands on his toes and he is forced to back up a few inches. He shakes his head, unwilling to go quietly against what he considers to be an unfair judgment.

"I never waltz," he swears. "I skip. I saunter. I admittedly have a swagger. I'd even tango." He gives a shake of his hips to accentuate his point, trying to draw a smile on her frustrated face. "But I never waltz."

"You make everyone think you're wonderful," she accuses, refusing to smile at his little dance.

"I am wonderful. I'm as wonderful as you."

"That's just a line," she scoffs, but he can see something in her face soften and he takes advantage of the moment to step closer to her.

"No. No, it's not," he says with as much sincerity as he knows how, refusing to blink as he watches her struggle under his gaze. He steps out on the proverbial limb and brushes back her bangs with the back of his hand, bringing it gently down her cheek as he moves closer to her.

"You want to know what else you are?" Her voice is low and she leans in just the slightest bit so that he can feel her sweet breath blow gently across his cheeks.

"Tell me," he breathes, placing his hands on her upper arms, desperate to keep her in her spot lest she run away and leave him in her dust for the umpteenth time. Her hands shake the tiniest amount as they rise up to rest on his now exposed forearms.

"You are standing too close."

With reckless abandon, they crash together, mouth to mouth, tongues sliding against each other as the candles flicker around them, casting light and shadows on their connected forms.

This time, no one runs away.

She doesn't avoid him, per se. She just maintains her distance until she's sure that he's not just making a fool of her. But he's her friend and it really has been so boring the past few months without his banter and conversation.

He gives her the distance she craves and needs before she can finally make her decision. She weighs her options meticulously and ignores Lily's dubious stares of "how could you even consider it?" She also ignores the desperately curious thoughts of "why would he pick me?" and decides to take things at face value for now because nothing positive comes from questioning a good thing. And finally when she thinks that she can't make any more mental pro/con lists, she runs a brush through her hair until she deems it good enough.

Then she takes her time walking down the dormitory steps with her notebook in hand, trying to keep herself from hurrying and seeming too excited. She steps off the last stair and glances around the mostly empty Common Room until she sees a gorgeous head of hair on the couch by the window.

With a deep breath and adrenaline pumping through her veins, she plops down beside him and observes how his face lights up as he looks at her. He puts down the Quidditch playbook he was reading to concentrate his gaze on her, but she's still flustered by how excited he is to see her. And then she realizes that all her lists and wondering and doubting herself was just a waste of time because those smiling eyes tell her everything she needs to know. That this isn't a trick and even if she's not on the same physical caliber as the other girls he dates, she's something special in his eyes. And that's enough for her.

She smiles back, feeling happiness, pride, and a touch of shyness swell within her as she hands him her notebook and leans back into the overstuffed cushion. His fingers brush over hers, electric to the touch and he eyes the notebook with amusement, raising a single dark eyebrow.

"Quiz me on Gregory the Smarmy. I'll consider this our first date," she tells him, blinking innocently with a wide, toothy smile.

He nods and opens to the appropriate page, begins asking her questions in a low, deep voice. His free hand reaches around her knees to bring her feet into his lap, drawing lazy circles onto the smooth skin of her calf.

They sit there studying, both knowing that they are on the precipice of something wonderful.

The Common Room is dangerously quiet. The only thing to be heard are the nearly muted sounds of heartwrenching sobs from the second year boy's dorms and the tender sounds of uneasy comfort.

People drift up and down the stairs, each more and more unsure of what to say or do to console Andrew Henry. What do you say when you find out someone's mother was killed?

"They say it was a freak accident."

"That's only what the Daily Prophet says. My dad knows Andrew's parents."

"I heard it was that Voldemort."

"He's not really as dangerous as everyone says, is he?"

"Andrew's mom was killed because she was a Muggle-Born."

"That's sick."

"That's wrong."

"Everyone needs to shut up!" James yells across the room, his Head Boy badge gleaming in the bright light from the fireplace. He stands from the couch and his booming voice across the crowded room makes him seem taller than he really is.

Sirius does nothing except turn in his armchair to stare defiantly at the other Gryffindors who stare back at James in fear and worry. James stands unblinking until every eye turns away, shamed and subdued. Hordes of people leave the dense silence and some of the tension fades away.

James falls back into the couch, his face buried in his hands, his elbows resting on his knees. Remus rests a heavy hand on James's unmoving shoulder.

And just like that, with a hand on the shoulder and a significant glance between three friends, Sirius knows that things have changed. He just grew up and there's no turning back. Simultaneously, they want to do something. To fix something.

Even James looks up and there's a darkness in his face and a brightness in his eyes, and in that instant, Sirius realizes that there is more to magic than pranking and getting good grades.

It's life and death, just a swoop of the wand and someone can die for the stupidest cause. And in a flash of light, a little boy doesn't have a mother and another life has been taken. Sirius wants to be on the side of magic that prevents this, that stops this.

Suddenly magic means protecting and saving because he never wants to hear anyone he loves cry quite like Andrew.

Seventh year is a blur of kisses and happy arguments colored dark by the newspaper articles they read together in the quiet of night when everyone else has fallen asleep.

Sometimes it's just them and sometimes the other Mauraders join them, whispering conspiratorially about how there are too many gaping holes in the Daily Prophet to be reliable. James starts to talk about the "underground" and it's a word you have to say quietly because it sounds too unnatural otherwise. They talk until the clocks ring twice, the nights seeming darker and darker as the months progress.

But the days are filled with the usual jokes and laughter that have sustained them all for the past few years. Even Lily laughs along now and it's not as uncommon to see her red head bobbing alongside tousled black hair in the densely crowded hallways. If it weren't for the dark cloud that seems to expand larger each day above the Wizarding World, Mary can't imagine a better school year.

Tests pass quickly and graduation seems to take place the day after Christmas. She stands in the Great Hall, looking out over the proud faces of her teachers until she finds the crying face of her mother and the beaming face of her father. Professor Dumbledore hands her a certificate fabricated out of gold sparks from the end of his wand and the twinkle in his eye as he tells her she will do great things is worth every strained moment spent studying.

Her entire class, even the serious-minded Ravenclaws and sullen-faced Slytherins, toss their wizarding hats in the air as they are finally finished the Hogwarts chapter of their lives. Sirius runs up behind her, catching her off guard as always and spins her around, kissing her neck and tickling her sensitive skin with his day old scruff.

She blushes madly, glancing at her parents and waiting for her father to reproach him, but they just smile at her approvingly because they like Sirius. After all, who doesn't?

For a moment, they just stand under the sunlit ceiling of the Great Hall, listening to the cheerful chatter of their classmates. They watch her parents lean into each other, smiling with the love that appears after years of being together.

"Let's be like that one day," she whispers to him.

His breath is warm on her ear as he answers back, "Okay."

Pardon the expression, but she is as serious as he is about fighting the man everyone refers to as Voldemort and he himself refers to as Lord. He's not a Lord, he's evil incarnate. It terrifies her and she cries at night when she thinks no one else is around because what if Voldemort finds her Muggle father?

Sirius sees her crying one night when he Apparates into her apartment and immediately wraps his arms around her. He eyes the newspaper on her coffee table, the horrific headline with a slow moving picture of the newly named "Dark Mark."

"Don't worry," he mummers over and over, his mouth hot on her hair as he rocks her back and forth. "I won't let Voldemort get you."

And then she ices over with fear. She never thought before that Voldemort would come after her and her so-called mudblood. She sobs against his shoulder, hating herself for being naïve.

The night passes gradually and the tears finally slow down, but he never lets her go.

Threads of rain decorate the night sky through their tiny bedroom window. Moonlight and streetlight blend to paint her half-revealed form in silver and gold. The sheets lay loose around their bodies, tangled up in their legs as they rest against each other, breathing heavily and freely.

Mary rotates her head and stares up and over at him through her eyelashes. She can see the faraway look in his expression and brings a single hand up to brush away his long bangs from his shadowed eyes.

"You have secrets, dear boy," she says quietly, breaking through the melody of raindrops and silence.

"Everyone has secrets," he answers poetically with that small smile she loves to see.

"You never tell me yours," she prods, trying to learn all of his dimensions.

"You don't tell me yours, either," he returns, shifting in the warm sheets to lie on his side and face her. He runs a hand through her curls, twirling the ends of her long hair.

"I'll tell you one now." She waits until he's staring into her eyes, gray against hazel, and lowers her voice to a stage whisper. "I hate the way my belly button looks."

She squirms a little on the mattress, an impromptu dance that causes him to chuckle throatily. The hand in her hair drifts down her nose, taps her lips, then trails down to her soft stomach where he circles her belly button with the pad of his finger. He shifts in the bed to press his lips to it before resting his head on her bare stomach and stares at her through the valley between her breasts.

"That's not a real secret," he chides, tapping his fingers along both sides of her rib cage. "That's just something you've never told anyone before."

"That's what a secret is," she protests, twisting out of his grasp, laughing breathily as he continues to tickle her.

"No," he shakes his head. He drifts his fingernails up her sides and her skin erupts in goosebumps. She opens her mouth to admonish him playfully, but he silences her with a deep kiss. He lifts his head up scarcely an inch over hers and his long hair falls down around them like a dark curtain before he speaks again. "A secret is something that eats away at you, that carves out your body piece by piece until all you are left with is your soul and your secret."

"My, you are prolific tonight," she whispers, raising her head from the pillow just a slight amount to press her lips to his.

"You bring out the best in me." He breaks the kiss to speak, but does not pull away entirely so that the thin skin of his lips brush over hers like velvet.

"Will you tell me what carves you out?" she asks, feeling childish as he leans over her, his body propped up by the two lean arms on either side of her body.

"No," he mummers after a pause, lowering himself to lie on her body gently. He completely covers her, leaving her unexposed to the elements. His head rests in the crook of her neck and she can feel his lips graze her skin as he says, "I'm sorry."

"Would it carve me from the inside out?" she whispers into his ear, her fingers coming up to thread through his silky hair.

"Yes," he swears, nodding against her neck.

She wants to tell him that she's brave and capable of anything that he carries within him, but the sincerity of his voice scares her. She's never felt so fragile and so well-protected as she does at this single moment in time, staring at the ceiling of their bedroom with his body pressing her to the mattress.

"You always were so over-protective."

"Like I said, you bring out the best in me." He pulls away from her momentarily to grin wolfishly, his eyes swimming with love, playfulness, and residual apology.

She returns his smile and hopes he can read the understanding in her kiss. They reacquaint themselves with their bodies until they lose all sense of time, place, and universe.

They are all drifting away from her and she feels them falling from her grasp. She hasn't seen Donna since graduation because of one thing or another until all ties have been broken. Even Lily remains distant with big sad eyes that make Mary want to throw something. Remus, always the quiet one, becomes more and more silent as she seems him less and less frequently. James doesn't tease her the way he used to, and Peter can't be found anywhere it seems.

The papers clutter the apartment a little more each day, and she and Sirius spend hours scouring over it to decipher the hidden meanings and open spaces left behind by each reporter. Rumors spread like disease, people too scared to even say the monster's name.

Mary wants to call them all fools, but she's just as horrified to speak his name that she would be a heretic to say anything at all.

Sirius cuts out articles and saves them into neat folders, more organized in this endeavor than he ever was with any of his classes back in Hogwarts. Their kisses are sweeter and longer as though savoring each one and they are both too scared to say things will work out lest they jinx everything and lose it all in a heartbeat.

They fall asleep in each other's arms, spent from frustrations and their attempts to laugh about the old jokes that used to make them riot in their seats.

He writes love letters on her naked back as she lies on her pillow, moments away from falling asleep. Her breath deepens and slows until he's sure she's asleep and sometimes she hears him walk away as though in a dream.

The creak of the bedroom door rouses her enough to be aware of his absence, her skin burning where he does not touch her. She wants to know what he's doing or thinking and wonders if it has to do with You-Know-Who.

Her tired mind races with possibilities and what-ifs until she's scared herself into remaining perfectly still and her eyes are squeezed tight.

She can't ask him to talk about things too difficult to think about.

A shining light in their lives comes on a hot July night as little Harry Potter cries for the first time. Sirius and Mary rush to the hospital to find Lily with sweat in her hair and a smile on her face.

James can do nothing but grin stupidly and repeat, "my boy, my boy" over and over again. The cooing baby passes through everyone's arms as they greet him with sunny smiles. Remus comments that it's a shame Peter couldn't make it, so Mary offers to hold the baby a second time.

"Since, you know, Peter isn't here to do it."

Everyone laughs and even Harry seems to smile, even though he doesn't have any idea what they are saying.

"My dear, you are certainly an improvement over Peter," Sirius half-teases, pressing a kiss to her temple as she holds the baby close to her heart.

Little Harry Potter clenches and unclenches his tiny fist and yawns widely before turning his head towards her chest and falling asleep instantly. It breaks her heart in a lovely manner and she finds it in herself to hand the baby back to his mother.

Lily moves over the smallest amount so that James can join her on the bed and the two new parents smile over their precious baby.

"You'll be the godfather, eh, Padfoot?" James says, using the old nickname. He glances up briefly and the two best friends share a swift grin.

"I am your humble servant, Prongs, old boy."

Remus looks at Sirius and Mary significantly and they both pick up on the cue that perhaps it's time to go and let James, Lily, and Harry spend a few moments alone.

Hugs and kisses are shared all around ("Kiss me, Moony!" "No." "You kissed Mary!" "Do I really need to explain this one to you, Sirius?") and somehow Mary finds herself in a strange sandwich between James and Lily. They all stifle their laughter because they don't want to wake up Harry.

Waving good-bye to the new family, Remus, Sirius, and Mary leave. Remus waves cheerfully before disappearing into a fireplace and flooing back to his own shabby apartment. Mary waits until the flames lose their green sheen and moves towards them, expecting to travel back to their apartment.

Sirius stops her and motions that they walk outside to the Apparating spot a few feet away from the hospital since it's such a nice summer night. They walk hand-in-hand in relative silence, still smiling from the happy moment spent with their friends before Sirius opens his mouth jokingly.

"James will have him on a broomstick before he even knows how to walk."

Mary laughs richly, the first real laugh in what feels like forever. The sound surprises and thrills Sirius so that he twirls her around and kisses her as though they are sixteen again.

"God, I love you," he tells her, his mouth still against hers with his breath hot on her lips. It's not the first time he says it, but it's different somehow, as though it sits in his mouth differently. It's special and it's hers to remember for the rest of her life.

And despite the heat of the night, Mary leans into his body as he wraps an arm around her shoulders.

For a moment, the world is beautiful and everything is at peace.

Mary has eavesdropped and wheedled enough information from Lily to know about the secret underground resistance Sirius has joined.

Late at night, she pretends to sleep in the bedroom until he leaves the room. She hears him pace in the living room, muttering to himself about plans and secrets. She quietly moves herself to the door, practically pressing her ear to the wood to hear what he has to say. The tears roll down her round cheeks silently as she wonders why he doesn't let her join.

Stupid desire to protect, she assumes, wiping the tears clean from her face. She hears the broken curses from his mouth and compares them to the horror stories they hear on the street about deaths and tortures.

Mary holds the pieces of information together in her mind, matching up the frayed ends and trying to form a whole picture.

She feels as though she is losing him to the underground resistance.

Sirius knows that Mary figured out about the Order weeks ago and he's not at all surprised when a simple argument between them escalates into a blow out. She admits to knowing about the Order and throws herself at him, jabbing him with her finger like she did so many years ago in an abandoned classroom.

Holding a hand softly to her mouth to keep her from interrupting him, Sirius sits her down on the couch and tells her as much about the Order as he feels comfortable saying. The silence after his speech lasts a lifetime and he feels as though she's suddenly cold to his touch. Her hazel eyes are hard above the edge of his hand.

A surge of hatred towards Voldemort and his disgusting followers courses violently through his body so that he literally shakes on the couch. She's mad at him and he's too pissed at the world to see that she's right.

"I hate you for not telling me," she finally says with weak venom, pushing his hand away half-heartedly.

"No, you don't." He knows she's only saying it out of fear and worry, but the words hurt all the same.

"I want to. I should," she answers in a quieter voice, her hand still tight around his as though clutching at a lifeline.

Her eyes are bright with an idea and he can practically see the gears turning in that curly head of hers as she finally meets his gaze after an eternity of silence.

"Don't join," he pleads, cutting her off before she even has a chance to say anything at all.

He can tell that she wants to protest and fight him, but then he grips her chin and forces her to look him in the eye.

"Don't join," he repeats.

She opens her mouth for a flicker of an instant before slowly shutting it and he can see her physically let her defenses down. Mary melts into a tired and worn down soldier, and somehow he finds a way to hold her close to his heart.

They lay as one on the couch, the radio still playing in the background where they never shut it off in the midst of their fight.

A few pop songs play and eventually the anger fades away from them so that they can absent-mindedly joke about the saccharine lyrics and the singer's crooning voice.

One particularly God awful song ends and commercial jingles drift through the air, advertising products they neither want nor need.

They don't move from their spot on the couch despite the lateness of the hour and finally Mary mouths against the thin cotton of his shirt.

"We were so happy."

"We can still be happy," he promises, tightening his arms around her until he can feel her heart beat through his bones.

"No," she sighs. He can feel her smile sadly against his chest. "You won't be happy until you save the world."

There are lights from the reporters and a million questions being shot at him. Sirius's vision is purple and blurred from all the bright lights flashing around him and he growls as the heavily guarded Ministry officers brutally transfer him towards Azkaban.

The searing pain erupts in his stomach and chest as the Dementors' magic infest his soul. The image of James and Lily's destroyed house falls forefront in his mind, the utter loss he feels burn through his insides until he feels gutted and hanged. It's hard to walk and harder even to breath.

His skin feels as though it's being ripped from his skeleton as the officers jerk their wands and thrash his body around with the magical binding around his appendages. Leers and hated words shower around him, reflecting from his crooked body as another jerk of the wands tosses him viciously to the ground.

Something snaps, probably a rib, and Sirius groans in pain as a new image of Wormtail's betrayal swims to the surface. He vomits onto the ground from the pain and from the hateful knowledge that it was his fault and his best friend lies dead because of him.

The officer on the left sees his weakness and leeches off of it, transferring it to his own bravery. A strong hand reaches towards the ground and lifts him from his long, dirty hair. Sirius winces as he feels several strands lose contact with his scalp, vomit dripping down his scraggly chin. He's forcibly turned to face the crowd and the officer screams something about vanquishing You-Know-Who's biggest follower.

The crowd cheers and howls against the November wind and he looks out with blurry, squinted eyes.

Within moments, he sees Remus staring with horror and revulsion before the line of vision is cut off by a witch screeching with sick pleasure. He's thrust forward once more by the officer and he lets out a grunt of pain. When he reopens his eyes, his gaze immediately falls on Mary.

Sirius's mouth falls open and the hazy chill of the Dementors knocks the breath out of him. He never wanted her to see him like this and feels almost grateful to be hidden from her view as the officers haul him towards the prison.

I never wanted this, he thinks frantically as though his swimming thoughts might somehow find their way back to her. I wanted a home. I wanted James and Lily to visit us on the weekends, stay for the night. I wanted Remus to get an apartment nearby. I wanted Peter to grow a spine and become something so much more impressive than any of us ever imagined for him. I wanted Harry to idolize me. I wanted all of that.

The Dementors' effects work in triplefold as he walks closer and closer to the center of Azkaban. The dark walls seem to press against him, squeezing the last breaths and bits of life out of him until he loses even the hope to die.

I wanted too much. I wanted you.

He is thrown into his jail cell, falling heavily onto the floor. Another rib cracks, but the physical pain can barely intensify, and he is left to stare at the ceiling and feel himself fade away, piece by piece. He can see her face with perfect clarity. Her hair limp and haggard around her drawn face, those piercing eyes haunted in her skull with raised eyebrows and lips pressed thin.

He tries to bring to mind the image of her at age seventeen when he first loved her with rosy cheeks and plumb lips, but everything beautiful escapes him in this hellhole.

I still want too much. But now I know I'll never have it.

He looks nothing like his father except for the sharp curve of his cheekbones. The curls in his hair and the green in his eyes come straight from her.

It's a comfort that people can look at her baby without any seeing Sirius because then no one will figure out her only secret. She wants to name him Polaris, North Star, but she's afraid someone will see the connection between her baby and the Black family tradition.

Instead, she names him Alan and only calls him Polaris in her mind.

She's harried and worked to the bone, much skinnier than she ever was when she was younger because there's no time to eat when you're working two jobs and raising a rascal. She sews the tears in his clothes and puts colorful patches on his beat up jeans for the first few years of his life until he tells her that he's too old for Snitch print patches. They sing silly songs as he reads his comics and she makes dinner. She worries about his size because he's so tiny and looks so much younger than his age.

And when he asks who his father was, she can only think to say "He was twenty-one and beautiful."

So she doesn't say anything at all.

Remus mutters an address into his ear and he heads there before going into hiding up North.

There is snow on the ground and it freezes his paws as the beginnings of twilight transform the world around him. Golden lights shine through the frosted windows in her small neighborhood, each house glowing like a candle.

He sits across the street, content to just stare at the house and maybe catch a glimpse of her. Through the lit window, he can see a dark form moving around in what appears to be the kitchen. Even from just the curve of the figure's nose, he knows it's Mary and begins to move forward for a better look.

Suddenly the front door opens and a young boy steps down the one, two, three concrete steps onto the front yard. For ten minutes, he busies himself with the task of making a small, fat snowman in the fresh snow on the ground.

Sirius is floored by this sight, scanning his eyes over the child. He's young. Maybe nine or ten, judging by his height. Too young, then, to be his. A twist in his heart scares him and he wonders if he wants his assumption to be different.

He stares harder at the boy and sees Mary in nearly every inch of his face, in the way that he moves his body and forms his physical mannerisms. Sirius would bet one hundred galleons that his eyes were hazel under the unruly curls that appear beneath the red woolen hat.

Without warning, the kid looks up and spots Sirius across the street. A bright smile spreads across his face and painfully brings to Sirius's mind too many memories of a laughing Mary.

"Hey there, Boy!" the kid says in a friendly voice Sirius knows he learned from his mother. Throwing caution to the wind, he trots over and lets a gloved hand reach out and scratch between his ears.

"Alan!" comes a cry from the doorway. The boy turns around and Sirius looks up to see Mary standing in the doorway.

It's as though the world stops spinning and he learns to breathe again. He drinks in her image, adores the small wrinkles around her eyes, and worries about the thinness of her appearance. Her face is the same, but older and sadder, and he just wants to curl up with her in their old apartment and wipe away the tired look in her eyes.

"You don't know that dog," she warns her son in that reprimanding voice that immediately reminds Sirius of times spent in Hogwarts trying to distract her from studying.

"Aw, Mum, he's not dangerous," the boy pleads, trying to dissuade his mother from being too mad at him.

"You don't know that," she chides with a glance at Sirius that stops his heart. "Come on in for dinner."

"Alright," Alan relents, his eyes downcast. "Bye, Dog," he says, waving a gloved hand at Sirius before heading inside to the warmth of his house and the promise of a good meal.

Sirius is so strongly tempted to transform right then and there, to prove to her that he's still alive because in this moment, he wants nothing more to kiss her until she forgets everything else in the world except his existence.

But with more strength than he knew he had, he quells his desire and instead allows himself to be shooed away. Besides, if even Remus, his best friend, had not believed that he had been innocent, who was to say that Mary wouldn't scream with terror at the sight of him?

Not willing or wanting to see her horror, he walks away with his tail too tired to wag. She had moved on, anyway. Had fallen in love with someone else. Had had a child with someone else. She was better off without him.

He continues to walk away until he hears the door shut faintly behind him. He glances over his furry shoulder and carefully makes his way back to her house. Walking in a circle around her home, he leaves deliberate footprints on the ground even though she never knew about his dog form.

She'll never understand, but Sirius hopes she'll see and maybe feel comforted. If nothing else, it comforts him and allows him a moment to imagine he can still protect her.

Sirius is dead.

The Ministry is practically destroyed, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has returned. And Sirius is dead.

Her cold fingers numbly hold the Daily Prophet, her eyes staring so intensely at the words that the edges of her vision turn black and electric white. With something sick and metallic churning in her stomach, she puckers her lips wordlessly, trying to form his name.

The charcoal ink displays such foreign words and she can only comprehend pieces of it until she's read through the article countless times. She does not know the details, but she knows that he is dead and that he was always innocent, a careless mistake on the Ministry's part.

Alan asks her what's wrong, his eyes narrowed with concern. She waves a shaky hand and tells him the world is changing. Plain as day, he can see the fear and sadness in her eyes, but he smiles all the same because he knows it will make her feel better.

She pretends to see Sirius in his smile and walks up the narrow steps to her room where she falls upon the unmade bed without any grace or preamble. An indeterminate amount of time passes as she sobs and wonders if this is how little Andrew Henry felt a thousand years ago when everything changed to the indefinable.

She cries because she should have known all along.

But he's finally cleared. It's not a vindication, but a freedom. It's what he would have wanted. She keeps that thought in the forefront of her mind and in the center of her heart.

Grabbing a tissue from the cluttered end table beside her bed, she dries her eyes and sits amongst the messy sheets, listening as the English rain falls outside the window. The raindrops smack against the glass, desperate to enter.

Hands slick with tears fold up the newspaper and tuck it away in the small closet with other trinkets and knickknacks she had saved over the years. She whispers her first pray in years to keep Harry Potter safe and to make sure Sirius finds James in Heaven.

And then she goes on with life because there is nothing more she can do.

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