FIC: 12 Days - Hermione/Sirius - (T)
Title: 12 Days
Author: scifichick774
Challenge: 2009 Christmas Challenge
Rating: T
Word Count: 9,443
Warnings: Fluff
Disclaimer: The characters you recognise and the world they live in belong to JKR, not to me. I'm making no money from writing them.
A/N: Many thanks to pokeystar for the super fast beta!
~*~*~
“Granger!”
Hermione winced. Her boss was an easy-going sort who was generally more focussed on his own projects than those of his underlings, so for him to send his Patronus, yelling like the department was on fire and she was the one who started it...
It couldn't mean anything good.
Bother.
She must have made a miscalculation somewhere in her latest experiment. She had checked her work a dozen times over, but that didn't mean she was infallible. The Arithmantic formula was long and complex, and just the slightest issue could easily be overlooked and still wreak a massive amount of havoc.
“Granger!”
That one was actually him, she thought, not the silvery, insubstantial form of his Patronus. Since the door to her office was closed and she could still hear him, she supposed she ought to see what the problem was before he made even more of a scene.
She left the room quickly, but her pace slowed to a near stop when she reached the atrium and spotted what had caused Chapman's ire. There, right in the middle of the lobby of the Department of Mysteries, was a small, potted tree.
Her brow furrowed. It was odd, to be sure, but she failed to see how she was responsible for its mysterious appearance, or why her boss looked positively enraged by the sight of it.
“Remind me, Miss Granger: What is the first rule of being an Unspeakable?”
“You can't tell anyone that you are one.”
“Correct. So why is there a bloody pear tree-with a gift tag addressed to you-sitting in my lobby?”
Uh...
She blinked, perplexed. “I haven't the slightest idea, sir. Everyone I know thinks I work in Magical Law Enforcement.”
He huffed, which turned his already pink cheeks several shades darker. “There was a bird in it,” he gritted out and then pointed to a high shelf on the far wall where the creature had settled. “You know how I feel about birds, Granger.”
Yes. The same way he felt about any living thing that wasn't human-disgusted.
She cocked her head to the side as she examined the bird's plumage from a safe distance. “It... it looks like a green partridge!” she gasped excitedly.
A magical cousin of the ordinary partridge, the green variety was prized for its feathers, which were used for high-end quills.
“Brilliant,” Chapman said dryly. “After you kill the damn thing, you can buy me new robes with your profit from the sale of its feathers.”
“I-”
He held out his right arm to show where the bird had displayed its mutual dislike of him by defecating on his sleeve. The bird's droppings were known for being dangerously acidic, and she could see that there was already a hole starting to form in the fabric.
Hermione gave him an apologetic grin-which would just have to do, since she wasn't going to say she was sorry for something that wasn't her fault-and then coaxed the bird to fly to her by cooing at it. She was sure Chapman would have preferred if she'd just stunned the partridge and summoned its unconscious body, but she hadn't wanted to risk harming such a magnificent specimen.
She stroked its wing. She couldn't imagine who would have sent it-or the tree-to her. Crookshanks might be getting on in years, but anyone who knew her well enough to have guessed that she didn't really work in Magical Law would know that her cat wouldn't stand for her having a bird around the house.
Unless it was special treat for him, that was.
She frowned. Poor bird, she thought. It might be more humane to just sell it to a quill maker like her boss suggested. From the little she knew about the small companies, they didn't kill their birds, they kept good care of them until they died natural deaths.
Of course, she didn't know that for sure. It could very well be one of those things authors of school-aged texts wrote to make the children reading their books feel better.
It wouldn't do to sell him before she found out the truth either way.
She could return it to whoever had given it to her, she supposed. Yes. That was a much better idea.
~*~*~
There was no name on the gift tag besides hers.
No. Of course not.
They probably didn't want to get in trouble for sending her a present at her secret workplace.
Ugh!
Worse, once she'd realised what kind of sapling she had been gifted, she got a sinking feeling that she was in for another eleven days of presents from the anonymous sender.
A pear tree.
A partridge in a pear tree.
Very clever.
It might have even been romantic if her boss didn't hate birds and the animals didn't make up half the gifts in the song.
The fact that she didn't have a 'true love' to be sending them to her, as the Christmas carol implied, also made her wary.
The man who sent her the partridge in a pear tree obviously knew her-and her schedule-well enough to know that she didn't really work where the Ministry told everyone she did. The only conclusions that she could draw from this were that: A) her potential suitor was either in her department or B) he was a very accomplished stalker.
The first seemed unlikely. Most of the wizards in her department were married, and those who weren't knew better than to send her a gift at work.
The second, while more probable, disturbed her a bit, so she pushed the thought out of her mind for the time being.
She focussed on Crookshanks instead and a grin lifted the corners of her mouth. Her cat was, it seemed, significantly smarter than her boss was, because he was leaving the green partridge alone so he wouldn't get shit on.
Somehow she didn't think the hens, swans, or other birds would receive the same hospitable treatment.
~*~*~
The second day of Christmas brought another gift as she'd suspected, but thankfully, the two turtle doves were delivered to her office instead of the atrium.
And they were crystal rather than living.
Faerie-cut crystal with topaz eyes, as a matter of fact. The turtle doves were charmed to snuggle together, briefly pull apart, and then snuggle together again. From their size, she imagined they were intended as a mantle or table decoration.
Great Merlin.
Whoever her mysterious true love was, he had excellent taste. And a lot of money to support that taste.
That ruled out Ron.
Well, the fact that she was being given presents with thought behind them ruled out Ron, actually. He'd seldom given her anything other than candy, and on the rare occasions that he did, her gift usually ended up being whatever book happened to be on display at Flourish and Blotts.
She had hoped, after the war, that he would change. It was a foolish dream, and she knew that, but she thought if he'd only be able to finally admit his feelings for her, that they could have worked on their respective issues together. But she had initiated the only kiss they'd ever shared, and... It hadn't been great. Not even with an incredible amount of adrenaline behind it.
Neither of them had sought a relationship after that, and she wouldn't have even considered him as her secret gift-giver now, except for the pathetic fact that he was one of the last men to show any kind of romantic interest in her.
A knock came at her office door and she released the locking charm she'd set to let in whoever had come to see her.
She wished she hadn't.
Chapman might be easy-going on most days, but when he carried a grudge, it could last forever. “My wife says I owe you an apology,” he grumbled ungraciously. “So there you have it.”
Hermione snorted softly but nodded in acceptance of his mediocre attempt just the same.
“Is that your 'second day of Christmas' present, then?”
“Yes,” she answered, her eyes on the crystal figurines. “I came in this morning and they were sitting on my desk.”
“Hmm. You have good wards on your office; shouldn't have been easy for them to get in here.”
“I agree.”
“Same kind of gift tag attached?”
She picked up the tag and the loop of golden string that had been around one of the dove's chubby necks dangled from the card as she handed it over.
“No indication who it's from,” she said. “And I don't recognise the handwriting.”
“I just don't understand why they would choose to send the gifts here. Yes, yes,” he said flippantly before she could interrupt. “I get that it's romantic or whatever, but it seems like it would be a better idea to send them to your house.”
“I'm here more often than I'm home,” Hermione reminded him. If she actually worked in Magical Law Enforcement, that probably wouldn't be the case, but Unspeakables had rather complex schedules that demanded a significant amount of time. “I'll admit that it's a bit disconcerting to realise someone's been watching me long enough to know that, though.”
“That is... hmm. Someone in the department, then, you think?”
Chapman wasn't a supervisor because he was slow-witted.
“It crossed my mind,” she admitted. “But...”
“Yes. Not exactly picks of the litter, are they?” It wasn't a question. “Most of them are married, so you can probably rule those ones out-my wife, at least, would notice so many galleons missing from our vault.”
She nodded.
“Some of them are otherwise inclined,” Chapman continued. “And the ones that are left are a bit off in the head.”
That pretty much summed it up, she thought. She did have a few friends in the Department of Mysteries, but in general, everyone was so driven by their need to research, to explain, that they let normal social behaviour and interaction fall by the wayside.
“Well,” her boss said. There was a note of finality to that one word and Hermione was thankful for it. “If you ever figure out who he is, let me know. I'll bill him for my robes.”
~*~*~
She didn't work on the weekends-not usually, anyway-and her stalker apparently knew it, because the gifts of three French hens and four calling birds were delivered to her home.
They were there when she woke up in the mornings, and though she was a light sleeper, she never heard any noises in her house during the night or early hours that shouldn't have been there.
Hermione sighed. Sneakiness aside, she had to applaud her mystery man's taste. The hens were beautiful. Unfortunately, there was no practical way she could keep them-not with the way Crookshanks lowered himself into a predatory stoop when he caught sight of them through the magical container she'd erected.
Perhaps the Weasleys would like them.
They had considerably more land-and they already had a couple of chickens, so it wouldn't be a big adjustment.
She would have to ask if they would be interested in taking them off her hands when they returned from visiting Charlie in Romania.
The calling birds, on the other hand, she was keeping. Crookshanks had shown very little interest in them and, like the green partridge, they were a magical breed-and offshoot of the phoenix, if legend was to be believed. Although their tears couldn't heal, their songs could soothe even the most aggravated of people.
Since she returned home from work totally stressed more often than not, the calling birds would come in handy.
She just wished she knew who to thank.
~*~*~
Sweet Nimue.
Whoever her mysterious suitor was, he was taking the “12 Days of Christmas” song entirely too seriously.
Five gold rings.
Not just golden, but gold-and magnificently wrought gold at that.
There were no gems on any of them, but they all shone as if there were. And she was more impressed by the fact that they were each engraved with a different set of runes, anyway. Protection and adoration were the repeating themes, with the runes for fertility added to a couple of them-which made her blush so deeply that she was glad no one was around to witness it.
Hermione sighed. If only she could figure out...
She frowned when she caught the gift tag out of the corner of her eye and thought she saw something out of place. The ring she'd been admiring was set down on her desk and she picked up the card to examine it.
There!
It wasn't as strong as a watermark on Muggle paper, but it was similar; something that could only be seen under just the right angle of light.
Just there, in the lower right hand corner, was the letter “I” when she tipped the card to mimic the same way she'd caught the difference in her peripheral vision.
Had the same mark been on all of the cards? Had she somehow missed it before now?
She had saved all of them in some futile hope that she had missed something, and that they would eventually provide a clue to her secret admirer, but they were at home.
And she had a long day of work ahead of her.
Bother.
~*~*~
Her heart was beating fast in anticipation by the time she got home. She couldn't wait to see if the letter on the card had been unique, or if it was a hint, or...
“Sirius!” The quick pulse under her skin froze for a moment and then stuttered as it started up again. “What are you doing here?”
He lifted an eyebrow; it felt like a scolding gesture, though she couldn't imagine why. “It's Monday.”
Oh.
Right.
Damn.
She and Sirius spent every Monday evening together-had ever since he'd returned from the other side of the Veil.
Her first really big assignment at the Department of Mysteries had been to research the Veil Sirius Black had been cast into. Everyone was surprised-including her-when she found a way to release the people that had fallen through the diabolical drapery. They hadn't died, as widely thought, but had been held in a dimensional bubble that kept alive, though in such a slow-moving stream that they may as well have been in stasis.
More surprisingly-to her, at least-Sirius had insisted on getting to know her after his release, convinced that he owed it to her to try to get along. And they did, most of the time.
The rest of the time, she was either furious with him or drooling over him-something that made her furious with herself.
He was gorgeous and clever, even when he was arguing with her, but despite his attempts to get along with her, he still saw her as Harry's best friend and little more.
And there was no point in wanting something she couldn't have.
“You forgot,” he said.
“No, I... It just slipped my mind.” She winced. “Temporarily.”
“Hard day at work?” he asked sympathetically.
She could hear Kreacher rooting around in her kitchen and although she didn't approve of house-elf treatment in general, she and this particular elf had come to terms some time ago. Besides, she thought, she had been planning on ordering take-away. It would be nice to have something that wasn't from a restaurant once that week.
“That, too,” she replied and took a seat on the chair across from where he was sprawled on the couch.
“Too?”
Her knee bobbed up and down a few times before she finally gave in and leaned forward. “Can you keep a secret?” His dry look made her giggle. “Right. Sorry. It's... For the past five days, someone's been sending me gifts. More specifically, presents that go along with the Twelve Days of Christmas.”
“The song?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm. Well, that explains all the birds, I suppose. I'd wondered, you know-what with Crookshanks still roaming about.”
She smiled. She doubted that any of her other friends would have even thought about her cat, but since Sirius had a bit of a friendship with him, too, he knew better than to disregard him.
“So,” he said, seeming genuinely interested, “Who is this bloke? Have I met him?”
“Therein lies the rub,” she admitted. “I have no idea who he is.”
“What?”
“He hasn't signed any of the cards. I just discovered a clue while at work today-if it even is a clue. It may very well not be.”
Sirius grinned indulgently at her and she couldn't help but think how nice this was. Harry would have lectured her about not taking gifts from strangers, Ron wouldn't have listened beyond finding out that her story wasn't Quidditch related, and Ginny would have been upset that she hadn't told her about everything immediately after she received the first present.
It was nice to have someone to talk to who actually listened to what she had to say.
“All right,” he said, and leaned forward, matching her posture. “I think you need to tell me the entire story from the beginning. Over dinner, though, okay? Because I'm starving.”
~*~*~
“Here's a 'B',” Sirius said and handed her one of the gift tags. “So what does that give us so far?”
Us.
Hermione grinned. It was very sweet that he had included himself in her endeavour to find out who was sending her the gifts-especially when she knew he had better things to do with his time.
“I just found a 'U'. I think that's all of them so far. So... 'B', 'U', 'O', 'R', and 'I'.”
“Huh. Spelling out his name, you think?”
“Assuming his name has twelve letters.”
“Maybe he's including his last name, too.”
“Maybe,” she said, a little disheartened. She was no closer to figuring out who her 'true love' was now than she had been before.
~*~*~
And to think: she used to enjoy word jumbles.
They weren't nearly as much fun when she didn't have all the letters to work with, though.
“Okay, that's it. You're going on holiday early.”
Hermione looked up from her parchment and quickly tried to shuffle it under some other papers that actually had to do with work.
Just in case Chapman decided to get nosy.
He'd already uncharmed the lock on her door to barge in without knocking. Who knew what else the man was capable of?
“Pardon, sir?”
“Six geese a laying, Granger. Laying gold eggs, to be precise. Right outside your office in the hallway. People keep trying to take them, but since the geese don't recognize them as their proper owners, they've been snapping people's fingers off with their beaks. I've had to send three agents to St. Mungo's already.”
“Oh.”
“Oh, she says. Oh.” Chapman huffed. Loudly. “I can't have you here if your boyfriend's gifts are going to cause this much of a disruption.”
“But-”
“Save it. I know it's not your fault, so I'm telling you to do the only thing you can do before dancing ladies and a bunch of drummers come through here. Go home.”
“But-”
“And that's an order.”
~*~*~
“I think we may have been on the wrong track before. Maybe it's not his name.”
“No?” She looked over to where Sirius had been working on letter combinations on a piece of parchment.
And then she rolled her eyes.
He'd formed “OIL RUB” out of the letters she'd received thus far.
“Ah. So you think he's just making lewd suggestions.”
“Why not? It's not like you know who he is, so naturally he has no fear that you'll give him a stern talking to.”
“Who says I would?” she responded flirtatiously.
Good gods, she'd had too much wine.
Plus, she wasn't used to seeing Sirius more than once a week and it was clearly messing with her will-power. She would have to send him home soon or she might actually try something.
“I'll have you know that I'm an excellent masseuse.”
He gaped at her for a long second, but eventually the fog must have cleared from his brain, because he cleared his throat and smirked at her.
“Is that a fact?”
Her cheeks heated in embarrassment at his suggestive tone. Oh, yes. She had definitely had too much to drink.
~*~*~
She had been wrong about Harry's reaction. He hadn't immediately launched into a lecture about taking gifts from strangers.
Instead, he goggled at the bird sanctuary her house had become, listened to Sirius explain the situation, and then launched into a lecture about taking gifts from strangers.
“Well, it's not as if I've had any say in the matter,” she argued. “The presents don't come by owl, so I can't exactly return them to the sender, can I? And I've been good, Harry. I've checked all of them for curses and the like.”
“Still,” Harry groused.
Sirius rolled his eyes and Hermione was inclined to agree with the sentiment. Harry's debating skills left much to be desired.
“Oh, leave off,” Sirius said and gave his godson a firm pat on the back-too firm, as Harry stumbled forward a step before he caught himself. “The new fountain outside really spruces up the place, and the swans are lovely. Besides, the Twelve Days of Christmas was originally a courting ritual back in the day. Hermione might end marrying this secret admirer of hers when it's all said and done.”
“You didn't tell me that!” Hermione exclaimed.
“That you'd end up marrying him?”
“That it was a courting ritual! Why didn't you tell me that when I first told you what was happening?”
“Figured you already knew,” he said with a lazy shrug. “You're pretty well read, you know.”
Oh. Well, that made sense.
“I still don't like it,” Harry said. “This bloke could be anyone, Hermione. What if it's one of the Death Eaters who escaped prosecution? Did you ever think of that? They'd know all the old Pureblood courting rituals, I bet, and there are a fair few who still have the funds to pull it off. Like... oh! What if it's Rabastan Lestrange? He's loaded even after lying and bribing his way out of a prison sentence. And I've never liked the way he looks at you.”
She turned to Sirius, expecting to share another eye roll, but she was startled to see that he wasn't amused by Harry's paranoia like she was. Rather, he looked positively murderous.
“Really?” he drawled dangerously. “How does he look at her, Harry?”
“It's not Rabastan Lestrange,” she huffed.
“Like he wants to fuck her on the spot,” Harry answered Sirius bluntly.
“Language,” Hermione scolded.
Harry snorted. “He's looked at her like that ever since the fight at the Department of Mysteries,” he continued and then finally turned his attention back to her. “And how do you know it's not him?”
“Because I think Sirius's theory about the letters on the gift tags is correct and Rabastan Lestrange doesn't have an 'O' or a 'U' in his name.”
“But-”
“Besides,” she interrupted, “I don't think he would send me five gold rings with runes for protection, adoration, and fertility engraved on them.”
She held up her left hand to display the ring she'd selected to wear. The only finger it fit on was traditionally used to signal marriage or engagement, but she didn't think it mattered since there wasn't exactly a line of wizards waiting to date her who it might scare off.
“That's... yeah, okay. That's a good point.”
“Thank you,” she replied blandly. She glanced at Sirius, but his expression hadn't changed, despite her excellent reasoning.
Damn.
He'd been surprisingly protective ever since his return from the Veil. She hoped that Harry's inane blathering about Rabastan Lestrange didn't cause him to do anything rash.
~*~*~
Oh. Dear. Gods.
She was beginning to think Chapman may have had a point when he sent her home early for the holidays.
Eight maids a milking.
Milking giant cows.
In her very small back yard.
Except they weren't maids doing the milking, they were house-elves dressed in maid attire. Obviously her suitor had misinterpreted that line in the song.
“You is needing a bigger house, Miss Hermione,” one of the elves told her plainly and then set down a bucket of milk at her feet.
She frowned. “Actually, this one was just the right size until recently.”
“But now you is having animals,” the elf said. “And soon you will be having childrens, too.”
Uh... what?
The creature motioned pointedly to the ring she still wore on her left hand. The ring she liked best had runes for protection, adoration, and fertility on it, but... That didn't mean anything. Not when she wasn't doing anything that could get her pregnant.
“You is needing a bigger house.”
Hermione's lips quirked into an affectionate grin. Bossy beast, she thought. But at least her mystery man knew her well enough to choose a bunch of elves who could think for themselves. That was something.
“I'll take that under advisement. Thank you for... doing this.” Even if she had no idea what she was supposed to do with so much milk. “You're all welcome to go home now.”
The house-elf gave her the oddest look and she suddenly felt her stomach drop out.
“No,” she said weakly.
No!
“Goes inside, Miss. We will makes you a nice, big breakfast. You needs to put on more fats for the babies.”
~*~*~
“So?”
“So? So? He gave me house-elves, Sirius! House-elves!”
“Right. We covered that. I meant, did you ask any of them who sent them to you?”
Her mouth opened and closed-a couple of times, to her great mortification-but no words came out.
“How did I not think of that?”
“Did he send another card?” he asked. It looked like he was trying to keep a straight face, which she appreciated, but the corners of his mouth twitched with mirth just the same.
“Er... yes. The letter was a 'C',” she grumbled and then folded her arms across her chest.
“Don't pout, princess,” he said-without even looking at her. He jotted a “C” down on his list and furrowed his brow in thought as he tried to make the letters they'd collected resemble anything that might give them a clue to her secret gift giver's identity.
“I have every right to pout,” she said sulkily and then sat down beside him.
Just in case he was able to discern a name from the jumble of letters that she hadn't been able to.
That was the only reason.
Really.
“Did you ask the elves if he paid them?”
The question took her aback and she gaped at him again. She wanted to respond with, “Of course he didn't!” But she didn't actually know that for a fact, did she?
Bugger.
If her stalker was as smart as he'd led her to believe, then she supposed it might be possible that he was keeping the house-elves on salary-if for no other reason than to appease her.
“Uh...” She cleared her throat. “No. I didn't. You really think...?”
He glanced over at her and arched an eyebrow. Probably because of her hopeful tone, since she so rarely gave into girly whims.
Arse.
“No way to know unless you ask,” he said.
“Right. Well. That's... I'll...”
“Rob Calium, maybe?”
“Pardon?”
He motioned to the parchment. “I didn't think any of the wizarding Caliums still lived in Britain, though. And come to think of it, I don't think they spelled it that way. Two 'L's maybe?” He frowned. “There's no 'M', though, so either way, we're missing some letters,. And I'm probably wrong, as it is.”
“No! You're probably right! There are still four days left for those letters to show up, after all.” Her excitement hit a very sudden and unwelcome wall. “Except... I don't know anyone by that name. And the person who has been sending me things is obviously well acquainted with me and my schedule.”
His eyes twinkled and his mouth curled up into a partial grin. “I'd say that's a reasonable assumption. I imagine he's also fairly well connected. It's not every bloke who knows where you really work-let alone who'd be able to deliver you gifts there without being caught.”
Hermione bit her tongue before she did something stupid like accuse him of telling her secret admirer-or anyone else-the truth about her career. Out of all her friends, he was the only one who knew that she worked for the Department of Mysteries, and only then because it would have been difficult for her to claim otherwise when he'd seen her upon his emergence from the Veil.
But he wouldn't have told anyone and, despite the irrational accusations that were begging to be let loose, she knew it.
The wizarding oath he took to secure his secrecy wouldn't kill him if he decided to go blabbing, but it would mute his magic to the point where he might as well be a squib.
Sirius would never risk such a thing.
His life, yes. His magic, no.
“Agreed,” she said after her moment of thought turned into an awkward lapse in the conversation. “So. Perhaps we're going about this the wrong way. Maybe we should compile a list of names that fit those criteria instead.”
He grimaced. “That will take some time.”
Oh. Right.
Goddess!
She was an idiot. Of course he'd rather be doing something other than helping her piece together clues for a mystery that didn't even have anything to do with him.
“Probably,” she said guiltily. “But you don't have to stay if you don't want to. Really. I've monopolized so much more of your time than I usually do, and I would never-”
Sirius rolled his eyes. “It's fine, Hermione. I was just going to say I need sustenance if we're going to keep playing the guessing game today.”
As if on cue, her stomach rumbled hungrily-which seemed to amuse him to no end.
Prat.
“So who would you like to prepare lunch for us? My elf or yours?”
Had she thought he was a prat? She meant git.
Along with a couple of derogatory modifiers to boot.
“I have a better idea. Let's eat out.”
It wasn't a better idea-at least not better for her, as he was likely to choose some Muggle establishment that specialized in high fat, high calorie meals-but a walk in the fresh air would help clear her mind.
And since she was on the verge of taking his teasing seriously instead of like the joke it was, she could use all the help she could get.
~*~*~
Nine ladies dancing.
Nine porcelain ballerinas, rather, all set in gorgeously carved jewellery boxes that she would never use.
But, she supposed she could re-gift them-if her friends ever started to have daughters instead of just sons.
At the rate things were going, she certainly wasn't going to have any of her own daughters to give them to.
~*~*~
“Three more days. How do you think your mystery bloke is going to pull off the 'lords a leaping' bit?”
Sometimes she really disliked Harry. He could at least pretend he thought she was capable of taking care of herself.
Ginny swatted the back of his head. “Be nice. It's romantic.”
“If you say so. But I think it's creepy,” he countered. “It's like he's stalking her.”
Sirius scowled at him. Hermione almost missed the look because she was busy glaring at him, too, but she was nearly positive she caught the dangerous expression flit across Sirius's face before he schooled it into an impassive one.
“Come to the kitchen with me for a second, Harry.”
She blinked in surprise. Sirius had been amazingly supportive throughout the entire ordeal, but she didn't think that would extend to truly warning his beloved godson to back off. He'd already told him once, yes, but he had seemed so light-hearted about it that she hadn't given that warning a second thought.
Apparently neither had Harry.
“Why?”
“Because the girls want to gossip and gush and you're being an overprotective buzz kill,” Sirius said plainly.
Harry blushed scarlet, but Sirius swung his arm around his shoulders in an amiable way, and guided him out of the room without pausing to address his embarrassment.
Or possibly indignation, Hermione thought. It was sometimes difficult to tell with Harry.
Ginny cackled merrily. “Merlin, I wish I could get away with talking to him like that.”
Hermione managed not to roll her eyes, but it was a near thing. Her ginger-haired friend wasn't exactly known for her subtlety or tact, and she'd heard her say much balder things to Harry than what Sirius just had.
“So?” Ginny started, her tone tinged with a relentlessness that Hermione had come to recognize only too well. “Who do you think it is?”
She sighed. “I honestly have no idea. No one has asked me out in ages, and I haven't noticed anyone following me around.”
“Invisibility charm?”
“Possibly, when I'm not at work. But the Ministry has wards up to prevent things like that. Ever since what happened during the war, you know?”
The other witch nodded thoughtfully. And then, after a long moment, a calculated gleam entered her eyes. “What about Sirius?”
“He doesn't have any ideas either. He's been trying to help, though-which is more than I can say for Harry. Honestly. You'd think he was my brother with the way he acts. And an older brother at that!”
“Uh... yeah. But I meant: What about Sirius? Do you think he might be your secret admirer?”
Hermione gawked at her like she'd sprouted a third arm. That settled it, she thought. Ginny had finally lost her mind.
She'd wondered if that might be the case a few times in the past, as many of the redhead's actions and statements could be construed as off. But this time, there was really no mistaking the question she'd asked for anything other than the mark of insanity that it was.
Pity. The wizarding world seemed to lose so many talented witches that way.
Sirius and Harry emerged from the other room before her mind could come up with a rational response to Ginny's irrational question. Hermione was not at all surprised to see that they both held bottles of elf-made alcohol in their hands.
Whatever he'd had to drink hadn't helped Harry calm down any, as the nervous tension he carried was still abundantly evident, but he didn't exactly seem angry either. Instead, his eyes were glazed over and his jaw looked liable to unhinge at any second.
Dumbstruck.
Gob smacked.
Floored.
Whatever Sirius had said to him had the brilliant effect of leaving him speechless.
Hermione smiled brightly. Sirius might not be the wizard who was trying to court her with expensive gifts like Ginny thought, but he had managed to shut Harry up-and that was the best present she could have ever hoped for.
~*~*~
Curse Ginny and her crazy ideas!
She hadn't been able to look at Sirius the same way since her friend had mentioned her ridiculous theory. If she were only seeing him once a week like she had been before he'd involved himself in her problems then it wouldn't be an issue, but as it was, with her being home from work and all, she saw him quite a lot more than that.
Point in case, he'd spent the night at her house last night, claiming that he wanted to be there in the morning-to play lookout, he said-for when her gift showed up.
It wasn't just that, though. He seemed to be spending the majority of his time with her. And while that did wonders for a friendship that had been stilted at best, it now put all the wrong thoughts in her head.
Ginny's thoughts.
In her head.
It didn't get much more wrong than that.
Especially when those thoughts had her casting suspicious looks in his direction. Up until the delivery of ten frogs wearing powdered wigs showed up the previous day, she had honestly not believed that Sirius was the one behind her sudden flurry of gifts. But charming the wigs to stay on the amphibians so that they eerily resembled members of the House of Lords in the Muggle world was precisely the kind of thing that would appeal to his sense of humour, so she was thrown for a loop.
Sirius made a sound-a pleased grunt, if she were to judge without seeing the expression on his face-and she looked up from the parchments she'd been pretending to read.
She hadn't set out to be deceptive, but work didn't hold much interest for her that morning-not when she was on forced leave-and if she didn't have something more than her breakfast to train her eyes on, then her covert glances would turn into long, uncomfortable stares, and she suspected that neither of them would appreciate that.
“What?”
“Nothing.” He folded his copy of the Daily Prophet and tossed it aside. “So what are you planning to do today? Last minute shopping?”
“I finished my Christmas shopping a month ago, Sirius.” She was sure that he was already aware of that fact and his smirk only confirmed it. “What about you?”
“Not quite done yet. Only a couple of things left, though.” He grinned mischievously. “You think your eleven pipers piping will show up in Diagon Alley if I make you go shopping with me?”
“Make me? None of the gifts have been malicious, so there's no reason to think that's going to change. I don't need to be coddled or looked after. Don't tell me Harry's visit yesterday turned you into a caveman who thinks otherwise.”
Like Harry does went unsaid.
“If I'd turned into a caveman, I think you'd know it,” he responded with humour, not at all bothered by the way she overreacted.
“Because you'd have developed a pronounced forehead?”
“No, because I'd have thrown you over my shoulder and taken you to the bedroom by now.”
She choked on the sip of tea she just took. Since that was probably the exact reaction he had hoped for, she refused to oblige him further by scowling at him.
Rather, she dabbed her mouth with her napkin and tried to act perfectly unaffected.
“Hmm. I would be careful about saying things like that if I were you. Ginny already thinks you're my mystery suitor. I can only imagine how relentless her matchmaking attempts will become if she has ammunition like that comment of yours just now.”
She fully expected a proverbial bachelor and ladies' man like him to blanch at the thought, and perhaps even excuse himself to go to the loo to be sick, but he did neither.
“Does she now?” he asked. He sounded suspicious, not amused. And he looked put out, not pale or ill.
He looked like Ginny had ruined his grand surprise.
Ugh!
She gave herself a jarring mental shake. She was being utterly ridiculous, she thought; seeing things that weren't really there, and all because of Ginny's stupid theory.
Still, his reaction did seem a bit out of the normal. Especially for him.
“Well,” he said and rose from his chair. “Thank you for breakfast-and for letting me crash here last night. I should really get going, though.”
“I thought the entire reason you stayed was so you could see the pipers this morning?”
He shrugged. “Don't know what time they're coming, though, do I? Besides, there's last minute shopping to be done,” he finished with a wink.
“Right,” she agreed, albeit with a huff of disbelief.
She didn't know what to think now. Why had he bothered to stay the night before if he didn't plan on sticking around the next morning?
Or perhaps he had intended to stick around, but her mention of Ginny thinking he was her secret admirer made him want to run away.
That seemed plausible.
“Well. Don't give Ginny too hard of a time,” she warned. “I'm sure she didn't mean anything by it; you know how crazy she tends to get in the off-season.”
Playing Quidditch was like therapy for Ginny. And when she didn't get to do it, the parts of her she usually channelled into the game-like aggressiveness, Hermione thought with a wince-ended up being thrown toward other things.
Sirius let out a merry bark and then came around the table to give her a peck on the cheek in goodbye.
It wasn't until after he Apparated away that she realised he hadn't bothered to deny Ginny's theory-or her joking accusation.
Stranger and stranger.
~*~*~
It was almost noon and no pipers had come to call. No house-elves dressed in silly costumes wielding flutes, or amphibians charmed to croak with the same sound wind instruments made either.
And she was bored.
It was Christmas Eve, she was home alone with only books she'd already read for company, and she was bored.
Hermione sighed. She should have taken Sirius up on his offer. Diagon Alley would be crowded and full of people who would gawk at her-particularly if she was seen with Sirius-but getting out of the house was the only thing she could think of that might alleviate the sudden onslaught of cabin fever.
Having made up her mind, she reached for her bag and her coat, and then Apparated to wizarding London's shopping district. She doubted that Sirius was still there, but that might not be such a bad thing. Without him tagging along, she could purchase a little something extra for him; a second gift to say thanks for how supportive he'd been.
Yes. That would work out nicely.
~*~*~
This was the reason she got all of her Christmas shopping early.
Every store was packed with people. Every single one.
Thankfully, in their panic to buy presents they should have bought weeks ago, most of them didn't pay attention to her.
Most, but not all, she thought with a scowl. So far she'd had three people ask for her autograph, a couple of elderly witches make snide comments about her bloodlines-comments that were loud enough for her to hear, even over the crowd-and one man pinch her bum.
She twirled around at the last one, wand in hand, only to see Sirius standing there with his trademark smirk in place.
“Had to get your attention somehow,” he said unrepentantly.
“You could have just put your hand on my shoulder and said my name.”
“What fun would that have been?” She rolled her eyes and he grinned again. “What are you doing here? I thought you said you had all your shopping done?”
“I do, but I thought... it's not important.” She couldn't tell him that he was the primary reason she was braving the mob, not if she didn't want to inflate his ego to inhuman levels. “I was just going a bit stir-crazy at home.”
He motioned to the door with a quick nod of his head, and she didn't protest as he placed a palm on her back and started to guide her through the mob to leave the store without bothering to ask if she actually wanted to.
“Ah,” he said in response to her admission. “The pipers not to your liking, then?”
“They didn't show-at least not while I was there.”
“Really? Hmm. Well, the day's still young.” He frowned, but the expression didn't look right. She couldn't quite place her finger on why it didn't seem entirely genuine, but the closer she looked, the surer she was that his disappointment was an act. “Unless Harry was right about Lestrange, that is.”
“What do you mean?”
“You didn't read the Prophet after I left?” he asked with some surprise.
That expression was real. She could tell.
“I don't really care for the Prophet. After everything that's happened, you would think they'd bother to employ reporters who know news from gossip, but apparently not.”
“They'll surprise you every once and a while. For instance, there was an article in this morning's edition that read almost like they'd done some real reporting.”
“You don't say,” Hermione said deadpan. She wondered if that was the story Sirius had seemed so pleased with.
And whether Harry had anything to do with whatever bad thing had obviously happened to Lestrange.
She disliked thinking poorly of her friends, but he'd never been one for keeping his opinions to himself, and he had seemed quite angry about the possibility that Rabastan was her suitor the other day.
Still, she supposed it could just be a coincidence.
“So what was this article about?”
“You can read it when you get home,” Sirius replied evasively and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
It was wrong how right that felt.
So wrong.
She reminded herself once again that he was just a friend and then allowed herself to sink comfortably into his one-armed hug.
“It's Christmas Eve,” he continued, oblivious to how his proximity made her feel. “Time for joy and merriment and-”
“Not discussions about the Daily Prophet's latest issue?”
“Precisely. Besides,” he said and pulled her a bit closer to him, “it looks like your pipers have finally located you.”
So they had. The sound of their flutes and clarinets cut through the noise of the crowd, and as they moved closer, Hermione was surprised to see that shoppers actually stopped to listen. And they even stepped aside to make room for the musicians to pass!
It was astonishing behaviour, really, given the majority of the wizarding population's dire lack of everyday manners. The snootier Purebloods could feign civility with the best of them, but their etiquette was generally reserved for one-on-one interactions, or meetings with groups that could return their politeness with a tangible favour; they didn't waste their time being nice to strangers.
She wondered for a moment whether the instruments were enchanted. It would certainly explain a lot.
Sirius repositioned himself so that he was at her back and then he curled his arms around her waist. Hermione's heart picked up. She knew he didn't know how their embrace looked to others, but she did.
It was romantic. Like they were a couple.
She grimaced. Having to chastise herself more than once for thinking about Sirius as anything other than a friend-in the span of less than five minutes-had to be a sign of deteriorating sanity.
On the other hand, if she was losing her mind, that would explain a lot, too.
Bother.
She nearly laughed when she forced her attention back tot he pipers and recognised the tune they were playing.
The Twelve Days of Christmas. How disturbingly appropriate.
Her mystery wizard had a sense of humour, she'd give him that. Of course, she'd already sort of guessed that was the case from the frogs he had sent her. And the elves-though she didn't find that one quite so amusing.
Especially once the blasted creatures refused to tell her the name of the man who had bought them for her.
They did say they were on salary, though, so she supposed that was something-even if they seemed rather miffed about it.
Sirius's lips brushed her ear and she shivered. It was cold enough outside that she could blame the chill if he called her on it, but that wasn't the reason that her body had reacted and she knew it even if he didn't.
“What do you think?” he asked. “This bloke of yours has put a lot of effort into all of this, hasn't he?”
“It certainly seems like it.”
“So are you going to give him a chance when he finally reveals himself?”
She swallowed thickly. Ginny wasn't right, she told herself. She couldn't be.
And she couldn't keep hoping for something that would never happen.
She nodded. “Yes. I think I might.”
~*~*~
If her parents hadn't chosen to stay in Australia after she'd returned their memories, she imagined that she would have to drag herself out of bed and head over to their house for breakfast and presents. But as it was, she had no family left in England, she lived alone, and she planned on having a good lie-in Christmas morning.
The Weasleys wouldn't be expecting her at the Burrow for dinner until early in the evening, but that was far enough away that she needn't be concerned about it.
Sadly, none of that mattered, as her plan to sleep the morning away was not to come to fruition.
It couldn't be much past five when she heard it-the sound that would rattle her skull and drive her from the comfort of her bed. If she wasn't mistaken, the loud and very annoying noise was her twelfth and final present.
How anyone thought twelve drummers drumming was a good finale to almost two weeks' worth of gifts was beyond her.
Honestly, they couldn't have gone for something a bit more romantic than something that was going to leave her ears ringing for the rest of the day?
At the very least, they should have put in some kind of stipulation on what time the twelve drummers could stop by. It was early and if the raucous that almost drowned out the well patterned thump, thump, thump of the drums was any indication, the animals currently residing on her property didn't appreciate the interruption of their nice, quiet morning either.
She grumbled to herself. She supposed it would be bad form to simply throw on her dressing gown and go downstairs to tell the drummers to go away. The wizarding world was surprisingly Puritan in many of its views and if the musicians weren't taken aback by the sight of her wild early morning hair-and her clothed only in her pyjamas, housecoat, and slippers-then they would probably be offended on behalf of her suitor for her not enjoying the present as it was meant.
Really, she'd be doing them a favour, though. The sooner they left, the sooner they could go spend the rest of the holiday with their families. Even if they didn't celebrate Christmas, a day off was a day off, right?
Perhaps if she explained it to them that way...
“You're not dressed.”
She jumped. She hardly thought she could be blamed for the physical reaction since she'd had no way of knowing that Sirius was in her house-especially at that hour-but his expression said otherwise.
Hmm. She probably should have heard him enter her bedroom, she thought. As tired as she was and as much as her thoughts laid elsewhere, her inattention was understandable-but not excusable.
Not for a war veteran who knew better than to not know what was going on in her surroundings.
“Sirius! You scared me half to death!” Her palm pressed against her chest as if to prove it, but he ignored her dramatics to frown at her state of undress.
“You can't go downstairs like that. All of the drummers are male.”
Hermione wasn't entirely sure what that made a difference one way or the other. She looked a fright first thing in the morning; she knew that. If anything, having no witches in the group meant no disparaging comments would be made behind her back.
Well, not as many, anyway.
“It's cold,” Sirius said when he saw her incomprehension. He made eye contact with her breasts to prove his point.
Her face went pink when she realised that her nipples, pebbled from the chill, could be seen reasonably well through the thin fabric of her pyjama top.
And that Sirius's pointed glare had turned into a dazed expression even though his gaze hadn't wandered.
“Right. I'll just... um...”
“Or,” he said and took a step toward her, “we could just stay up here. You don't have to see the twelve drummers drumming to know their performance was given to you, after all.”
“Er...”
Gods! She was really at the top of her game today, wasn't she? Hermione thought, her inner voice full of self-deprecating sarcasm. First an um and now an er. The next thing she knew, she'd be stammering like she had a speech impediment or something.
“Now, now, poppet...”
He took another step forward.
And then another.
But all her brain could focus on was the pet name he'd just called her, and before she knew it he was close enough to place his hands on her waist.
“I believe you said you would give me a chance.”
He didn't wait for her to process what he said, he just tugged once, hard, so she was flush against him. And then he dipped his head to kiss her.
She wasn't surprised that he was a good kisser, but she hadn't expected him to be an amazing one. Firm without being demanding, soft without being sloppy; she felt the zing from the press of his lips against hers all the way down to her knees.
“You... but... you?” she asked when he eventually pulled back for air.
She remembered his question in Diagon Alley all too clearly now: Was she willing to give her mysterious suitor a chance when he finally revealed himself?
“Me,” he confirmed with a smirk and then brushed her lips with a barely-there kiss. “You can't tell me you didn't suspect-not after Ginny told you she did.”
“I did, but I didn't really think...”
She'd hoped, though. Merlin, how she had hoped. When Ginny first speculated, her heart had leapt at the possibility. But she didn't think it was true, so she convinced herself that it couldn't be.
Hermione gave her head a quick shake. “Why did you go to all that trouble? Why didn't you just tell me that you... liked me?”
She stumbled over the last part of her question, still unable to truly believe what was happening.
“I thought it would be more convincing this way.”
Hmm. He had a point. She probably wouldn't have taken him seriously before.
Still.
“But... the cards... with the letters and the jumbling...” Why had he pretended to help her solve a mystery he already knew the answer to? Not to mention give her presents that... Her eyes widened and the only reason she didn't slap his chest was because his hands had a very firm hold on hers. “And the elves! You gave me house-elves, Sirius!”
“And I put them on salary,” he pointed out with a grin, totally nonplussed by her spurt of outrage.
“Yes, but...”
It was the principle of the thing. She didn't need servants-particularly not servants who had been brainwashed to think they were better off as slaves.
“Now come on and get dressed,” he said and gave her a peck on the nose. “Breakfast is waiting downstairs-made by those house-elves-and there are presents waiting to be opened.”
More?
She didn't know if she could handle any more presents, even if it was finally Christmas.
Then again, she thought as a devious smirk curled up one corner of her mouth, she finally had a good idea as to what the second gift she'd planned on giving Sirius could be.
And considering how amorous he'd been after revealing himself as her mystery suitor, she was confident that it would be a very happy Christmas indeed.
~end~
Author: scifichick774
Challenge: 2009 Christmas Challenge
Rating: T
Word Count: 9,443
Warnings: Fluff
Disclaimer: The characters you recognise and the world they live in belong to JKR, not to me. I'm making no money from writing them.
A/N: Many thanks to pokeystar for the super fast beta!
~*~*~
“Granger!”
Hermione winced. Her boss was an easy-going sort who was generally more focussed on his own projects than those of his underlings, so for him to send his Patronus, yelling like the department was on fire and she was the one who started it...
It couldn't mean anything good.
Bother.
She must have made a miscalculation somewhere in her latest experiment. She had checked her work a dozen times over, but that didn't mean she was infallible. The Arithmantic formula was long and complex, and just the slightest issue could easily be overlooked and still wreak a massive amount of havoc.
“Granger!”
That one was actually him, she thought, not the silvery, insubstantial form of his Patronus. Since the door to her office was closed and she could still hear him, she supposed she ought to see what the problem was before he made even more of a scene.
She left the room quickly, but her pace slowed to a near stop when she reached the atrium and spotted what had caused Chapman's ire. There, right in the middle of the lobby of the Department of Mysteries, was a small, potted tree.
Her brow furrowed. It was odd, to be sure, but she failed to see how she was responsible for its mysterious appearance, or why her boss looked positively enraged by the sight of it.
“Remind me, Miss Granger: What is the first rule of being an Unspeakable?”
“You can't tell anyone that you are one.”
“Correct. So why is there a bloody pear tree-with a gift tag addressed to you-sitting in my lobby?”
Uh...
She blinked, perplexed. “I haven't the slightest idea, sir. Everyone I know thinks I work in Magical Law Enforcement.”
He huffed, which turned his already pink cheeks several shades darker. “There was a bird in it,” he gritted out and then pointed to a high shelf on the far wall where the creature had settled. “You know how I feel about birds, Granger.”
Yes. The same way he felt about any living thing that wasn't human-disgusted.
She cocked her head to the side as she examined the bird's plumage from a safe distance. “It... it looks like a green partridge!” she gasped excitedly.
A magical cousin of the ordinary partridge, the green variety was prized for its feathers, which were used for high-end quills.
“Brilliant,” Chapman said dryly. “After you kill the damn thing, you can buy me new robes with your profit from the sale of its feathers.”
“I-”
He held out his right arm to show where the bird had displayed its mutual dislike of him by defecating on his sleeve. The bird's droppings were known for being dangerously acidic, and she could see that there was already a hole starting to form in the fabric.
Hermione gave him an apologetic grin-which would just have to do, since she wasn't going to say she was sorry for something that wasn't her fault-and then coaxed the bird to fly to her by cooing at it. She was sure Chapman would have preferred if she'd just stunned the partridge and summoned its unconscious body, but she hadn't wanted to risk harming such a magnificent specimen.
She stroked its wing. She couldn't imagine who would have sent it-or the tree-to her. Crookshanks might be getting on in years, but anyone who knew her well enough to have guessed that she didn't really work in Magical Law would know that her cat wouldn't stand for her having a bird around the house.
Unless it was special treat for him, that was.
She frowned. Poor bird, she thought. It might be more humane to just sell it to a quill maker like her boss suggested. From the little she knew about the small companies, they didn't kill their birds, they kept good care of them until they died natural deaths.
Of course, she didn't know that for sure. It could very well be one of those things authors of school-aged texts wrote to make the children reading their books feel better.
It wouldn't do to sell him before she found out the truth either way.
She could return it to whoever had given it to her, she supposed. Yes. That was a much better idea.
~*~*~
There was no name on the gift tag besides hers.
No. Of course not.
They probably didn't want to get in trouble for sending her a present at her secret workplace.
Ugh!
Worse, once she'd realised what kind of sapling she had been gifted, she got a sinking feeling that she was in for another eleven days of presents from the anonymous sender.
A pear tree.
A partridge in a pear tree.
Very clever.
It might have even been romantic if her boss didn't hate birds and the animals didn't make up half the gifts in the song.
The fact that she didn't have a 'true love' to be sending them to her, as the Christmas carol implied, also made her wary.
The man who sent her the partridge in a pear tree obviously knew her-and her schedule-well enough to know that she didn't really work where the Ministry told everyone she did. The only conclusions that she could draw from this were that: A) her potential suitor was either in her department or B) he was a very accomplished stalker.
The first seemed unlikely. Most of the wizards in her department were married, and those who weren't knew better than to send her a gift at work.
The second, while more probable, disturbed her a bit, so she pushed the thought out of her mind for the time being.
She focussed on Crookshanks instead and a grin lifted the corners of her mouth. Her cat was, it seemed, significantly smarter than her boss was, because he was leaving the green partridge alone so he wouldn't get shit on.
Somehow she didn't think the hens, swans, or other birds would receive the same hospitable treatment.
~*~*~
The second day of Christmas brought another gift as she'd suspected, but thankfully, the two turtle doves were delivered to her office instead of the atrium.
And they were crystal rather than living.
Faerie-cut crystal with topaz eyes, as a matter of fact. The turtle doves were charmed to snuggle together, briefly pull apart, and then snuggle together again. From their size, she imagined they were intended as a mantle or table decoration.
Great Merlin.
Whoever her mysterious true love was, he had excellent taste. And a lot of money to support that taste.
That ruled out Ron.
Well, the fact that she was being given presents with thought behind them ruled out Ron, actually. He'd seldom given her anything other than candy, and on the rare occasions that he did, her gift usually ended up being whatever book happened to be on display at Flourish and Blotts.
She had hoped, after the war, that he would change. It was a foolish dream, and she knew that, but she thought if he'd only be able to finally admit his feelings for her, that they could have worked on their respective issues together. But she had initiated the only kiss they'd ever shared, and... It hadn't been great. Not even with an incredible amount of adrenaline behind it.
Neither of them had sought a relationship after that, and she wouldn't have even considered him as her secret gift-giver now, except for the pathetic fact that he was one of the last men to show any kind of romantic interest in her.
A knock came at her office door and she released the locking charm she'd set to let in whoever had come to see her.
She wished she hadn't.
Chapman might be easy-going on most days, but when he carried a grudge, it could last forever. “My wife says I owe you an apology,” he grumbled ungraciously. “So there you have it.”
Hermione snorted softly but nodded in acceptance of his mediocre attempt just the same.
“Is that your 'second day of Christmas' present, then?”
“Yes,” she answered, her eyes on the crystal figurines. “I came in this morning and they were sitting on my desk.”
“Hmm. You have good wards on your office; shouldn't have been easy for them to get in here.”
“I agree.”
“Same kind of gift tag attached?”
She picked up the tag and the loop of golden string that had been around one of the dove's chubby necks dangled from the card as she handed it over.
“No indication who it's from,” she said. “And I don't recognise the handwriting.”
“I just don't understand why they would choose to send the gifts here. Yes, yes,” he said flippantly before she could interrupt. “I get that it's romantic or whatever, but it seems like it would be a better idea to send them to your house.”
“I'm here more often than I'm home,” Hermione reminded him. If she actually worked in Magical Law Enforcement, that probably wouldn't be the case, but Unspeakables had rather complex schedules that demanded a significant amount of time. “I'll admit that it's a bit disconcerting to realise someone's been watching me long enough to know that, though.”
“That is... hmm. Someone in the department, then, you think?”
Chapman wasn't a supervisor because he was slow-witted.
“It crossed my mind,” she admitted. “But...”
“Yes. Not exactly picks of the litter, are they?” It wasn't a question. “Most of them are married, so you can probably rule those ones out-my wife, at least, would notice so many galleons missing from our vault.”
She nodded.
“Some of them are otherwise inclined,” Chapman continued. “And the ones that are left are a bit off in the head.”
That pretty much summed it up, she thought. She did have a few friends in the Department of Mysteries, but in general, everyone was so driven by their need to research, to explain, that they let normal social behaviour and interaction fall by the wayside.
“Well,” her boss said. There was a note of finality to that one word and Hermione was thankful for it. “If you ever figure out who he is, let me know. I'll bill him for my robes.”
~*~*~
She didn't work on the weekends-not usually, anyway-and her stalker apparently knew it, because the gifts of three French hens and four calling birds were delivered to her home.
They were there when she woke up in the mornings, and though she was a light sleeper, she never heard any noises in her house during the night or early hours that shouldn't have been there.
Hermione sighed. Sneakiness aside, she had to applaud her mystery man's taste. The hens were beautiful. Unfortunately, there was no practical way she could keep them-not with the way Crookshanks lowered himself into a predatory stoop when he caught sight of them through the magical container she'd erected.
Perhaps the Weasleys would like them.
They had considerably more land-and they already had a couple of chickens, so it wouldn't be a big adjustment.
She would have to ask if they would be interested in taking them off her hands when they returned from visiting Charlie in Romania.
The calling birds, on the other hand, she was keeping. Crookshanks had shown very little interest in them and, like the green partridge, they were a magical breed-and offshoot of the phoenix, if legend was to be believed. Although their tears couldn't heal, their songs could soothe even the most aggravated of people.
Since she returned home from work totally stressed more often than not, the calling birds would come in handy.
She just wished she knew who to thank.
~*~*~
Sweet Nimue.
Whoever her mysterious suitor was, he was taking the “12 Days of Christmas” song entirely too seriously.
Five gold rings.
Not just golden, but gold-and magnificently wrought gold at that.
There were no gems on any of them, but they all shone as if there were. And she was more impressed by the fact that they were each engraved with a different set of runes, anyway. Protection and adoration were the repeating themes, with the runes for fertility added to a couple of them-which made her blush so deeply that she was glad no one was around to witness it.
Hermione sighed. If only she could figure out...
She frowned when she caught the gift tag out of the corner of her eye and thought she saw something out of place. The ring she'd been admiring was set down on her desk and she picked up the card to examine it.
There!
It wasn't as strong as a watermark on Muggle paper, but it was similar; something that could only be seen under just the right angle of light.
Just there, in the lower right hand corner, was the letter “I” when she tipped the card to mimic the same way she'd caught the difference in her peripheral vision.
Had the same mark been on all of the cards? Had she somehow missed it before now?
She had saved all of them in some futile hope that she had missed something, and that they would eventually provide a clue to her secret admirer, but they were at home.
And she had a long day of work ahead of her.
Bother.
~*~*~
Her heart was beating fast in anticipation by the time she got home. She couldn't wait to see if the letter on the card had been unique, or if it was a hint, or...
“Sirius!” The quick pulse under her skin froze for a moment and then stuttered as it started up again. “What are you doing here?”
He lifted an eyebrow; it felt like a scolding gesture, though she couldn't imagine why. “It's Monday.”
Oh.
Right.
Damn.
She and Sirius spent every Monday evening together-had ever since he'd returned from the other side of the Veil.
Her first really big assignment at the Department of Mysteries had been to research the Veil Sirius Black had been cast into. Everyone was surprised-including her-when she found a way to release the people that had fallen through the diabolical drapery. They hadn't died, as widely thought, but had been held in a dimensional bubble that kept alive, though in such a slow-moving stream that they may as well have been in stasis.
More surprisingly-to her, at least-Sirius had insisted on getting to know her after his release, convinced that he owed it to her to try to get along. And they did, most of the time.
The rest of the time, she was either furious with him or drooling over him-something that made her furious with herself.
He was gorgeous and clever, even when he was arguing with her, but despite his attempts to get along with her, he still saw her as Harry's best friend and little more.
And there was no point in wanting something she couldn't have.
“You forgot,” he said.
“No, I... It just slipped my mind.” She winced. “Temporarily.”
“Hard day at work?” he asked sympathetically.
She could hear Kreacher rooting around in her kitchen and although she didn't approve of house-elf treatment in general, she and this particular elf had come to terms some time ago. Besides, she thought, she had been planning on ordering take-away. It would be nice to have something that wasn't from a restaurant once that week.
“That, too,” she replied and took a seat on the chair across from where he was sprawled on the couch.
“Too?”
Her knee bobbed up and down a few times before she finally gave in and leaned forward. “Can you keep a secret?” His dry look made her giggle. “Right. Sorry. It's... For the past five days, someone's been sending me gifts. More specifically, presents that go along with the Twelve Days of Christmas.”
“The song?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm. Well, that explains all the birds, I suppose. I'd wondered, you know-what with Crookshanks still roaming about.”
She smiled. She doubted that any of her other friends would have even thought about her cat, but since Sirius had a bit of a friendship with him, too, he knew better than to disregard him.
“So,” he said, seeming genuinely interested, “Who is this bloke? Have I met him?”
“Therein lies the rub,” she admitted. “I have no idea who he is.”
“What?”
“He hasn't signed any of the cards. I just discovered a clue while at work today-if it even is a clue. It may very well not be.”
Sirius grinned indulgently at her and she couldn't help but think how nice this was. Harry would have lectured her about not taking gifts from strangers, Ron wouldn't have listened beyond finding out that her story wasn't Quidditch related, and Ginny would have been upset that she hadn't told her about everything immediately after she received the first present.
It was nice to have someone to talk to who actually listened to what she had to say.
“All right,” he said, and leaned forward, matching her posture. “I think you need to tell me the entire story from the beginning. Over dinner, though, okay? Because I'm starving.”
~*~*~
“Here's a 'B',” Sirius said and handed her one of the gift tags. “So what does that give us so far?”
Us.
Hermione grinned. It was very sweet that he had included himself in her endeavour to find out who was sending her the gifts-especially when she knew he had better things to do with his time.
“I just found a 'U'. I think that's all of them so far. So... 'B', 'U', 'O', 'R', and 'I'.”
“Huh. Spelling out his name, you think?”
“Assuming his name has twelve letters.”
“Maybe he's including his last name, too.”
“Maybe,” she said, a little disheartened. She was no closer to figuring out who her 'true love' was now than she had been before.
~*~*~
And to think: she used to enjoy word jumbles.
They weren't nearly as much fun when she didn't have all the letters to work with, though.
“Okay, that's it. You're going on holiday early.”
Hermione looked up from her parchment and quickly tried to shuffle it under some other papers that actually had to do with work.
Just in case Chapman decided to get nosy.
He'd already uncharmed the lock on her door to barge in without knocking. Who knew what else the man was capable of?
“Pardon, sir?”
“Six geese a laying, Granger. Laying gold eggs, to be precise. Right outside your office in the hallway. People keep trying to take them, but since the geese don't recognize them as their proper owners, they've been snapping people's fingers off with their beaks. I've had to send three agents to St. Mungo's already.”
“Oh.”
“Oh, she says. Oh.” Chapman huffed. Loudly. “I can't have you here if your boyfriend's gifts are going to cause this much of a disruption.”
“But-”
“Save it. I know it's not your fault, so I'm telling you to do the only thing you can do before dancing ladies and a bunch of drummers come through here. Go home.”
“But-”
“And that's an order.”
~*~*~
“I think we may have been on the wrong track before. Maybe it's not his name.”
“No?” She looked over to where Sirius had been working on letter combinations on a piece of parchment.
And then she rolled her eyes.
He'd formed “OIL RUB” out of the letters she'd received thus far.
“Ah. So you think he's just making lewd suggestions.”
“Why not? It's not like you know who he is, so naturally he has no fear that you'll give him a stern talking to.”
“Who says I would?” she responded flirtatiously.
Good gods, she'd had too much wine.
Plus, she wasn't used to seeing Sirius more than once a week and it was clearly messing with her will-power. She would have to send him home soon or she might actually try something.
“I'll have you know that I'm an excellent masseuse.”
He gaped at her for a long second, but eventually the fog must have cleared from his brain, because he cleared his throat and smirked at her.
“Is that a fact?”
Her cheeks heated in embarrassment at his suggestive tone. Oh, yes. She had definitely had too much to drink.
~*~*~
She had been wrong about Harry's reaction. He hadn't immediately launched into a lecture about taking gifts from strangers.
Instead, he goggled at the bird sanctuary her house had become, listened to Sirius explain the situation, and then launched into a lecture about taking gifts from strangers.
“Well, it's not as if I've had any say in the matter,” she argued. “The presents don't come by owl, so I can't exactly return them to the sender, can I? And I've been good, Harry. I've checked all of them for curses and the like.”
“Still,” Harry groused.
Sirius rolled his eyes and Hermione was inclined to agree with the sentiment. Harry's debating skills left much to be desired.
“Oh, leave off,” Sirius said and gave his godson a firm pat on the back-too firm, as Harry stumbled forward a step before he caught himself. “The new fountain outside really spruces up the place, and the swans are lovely. Besides, the Twelve Days of Christmas was originally a courting ritual back in the day. Hermione might end marrying this secret admirer of hers when it's all said and done.”
“You didn't tell me that!” Hermione exclaimed.
“That you'd end up marrying him?”
“That it was a courting ritual! Why didn't you tell me that when I first told you what was happening?”
“Figured you already knew,” he said with a lazy shrug. “You're pretty well read, you know.”
Oh. Well, that made sense.
“I still don't like it,” Harry said. “This bloke could be anyone, Hermione. What if it's one of the Death Eaters who escaped prosecution? Did you ever think of that? They'd know all the old Pureblood courting rituals, I bet, and there are a fair few who still have the funds to pull it off. Like... oh! What if it's Rabastan Lestrange? He's loaded even after lying and bribing his way out of a prison sentence. And I've never liked the way he looks at you.”
She turned to Sirius, expecting to share another eye roll, but she was startled to see that he wasn't amused by Harry's paranoia like she was. Rather, he looked positively murderous.
“Really?” he drawled dangerously. “How does he look at her, Harry?”
“It's not Rabastan Lestrange,” she huffed.
“Like he wants to fuck her on the spot,” Harry answered Sirius bluntly.
“Language,” Hermione scolded.
Harry snorted. “He's looked at her like that ever since the fight at the Department of Mysteries,” he continued and then finally turned his attention back to her. “And how do you know it's not him?”
“Because I think Sirius's theory about the letters on the gift tags is correct and Rabastan Lestrange doesn't have an 'O' or a 'U' in his name.”
“But-”
“Besides,” she interrupted, “I don't think he would send me five gold rings with runes for protection, adoration, and fertility engraved on them.”
She held up her left hand to display the ring she'd selected to wear. The only finger it fit on was traditionally used to signal marriage or engagement, but she didn't think it mattered since there wasn't exactly a line of wizards waiting to date her who it might scare off.
“That's... yeah, okay. That's a good point.”
“Thank you,” she replied blandly. She glanced at Sirius, but his expression hadn't changed, despite her excellent reasoning.
Damn.
He'd been surprisingly protective ever since his return from the Veil. She hoped that Harry's inane blathering about Rabastan Lestrange didn't cause him to do anything rash.
~*~*~
Oh. Dear. Gods.
She was beginning to think Chapman may have had a point when he sent her home early for the holidays.
Eight maids a milking.
Milking giant cows.
In her very small back yard.
Except they weren't maids doing the milking, they were house-elves dressed in maid attire. Obviously her suitor had misinterpreted that line in the song.
“You is needing a bigger house, Miss Hermione,” one of the elves told her plainly and then set down a bucket of milk at her feet.
She frowned. “Actually, this one was just the right size until recently.”
“But now you is having animals,” the elf said. “And soon you will be having childrens, too.”
Uh... what?
The creature motioned pointedly to the ring she still wore on her left hand. The ring she liked best had runes for protection, adoration, and fertility on it, but... That didn't mean anything. Not when she wasn't doing anything that could get her pregnant.
“You is needing a bigger house.”
Hermione's lips quirked into an affectionate grin. Bossy beast, she thought. But at least her mystery man knew her well enough to choose a bunch of elves who could think for themselves. That was something.
“I'll take that under advisement. Thank you for... doing this.” Even if she had no idea what she was supposed to do with so much milk. “You're all welcome to go home now.”
The house-elf gave her the oddest look and she suddenly felt her stomach drop out.
“No,” she said weakly.
No!
“Goes inside, Miss. We will makes you a nice, big breakfast. You needs to put on more fats for the babies.”
~*~*~
“So?”
“So? So? He gave me house-elves, Sirius! House-elves!”
“Right. We covered that. I meant, did you ask any of them who sent them to you?”
Her mouth opened and closed-a couple of times, to her great mortification-but no words came out.
“How did I not think of that?”
“Did he send another card?” he asked. It looked like he was trying to keep a straight face, which she appreciated, but the corners of his mouth twitched with mirth just the same.
“Er... yes. The letter was a 'C',” she grumbled and then folded her arms across her chest.
“Don't pout, princess,” he said-without even looking at her. He jotted a “C” down on his list and furrowed his brow in thought as he tried to make the letters they'd collected resemble anything that might give them a clue to her secret gift giver's identity.
“I have every right to pout,” she said sulkily and then sat down beside him.
Just in case he was able to discern a name from the jumble of letters that she hadn't been able to.
That was the only reason.
Really.
“Did you ask the elves if he paid them?”
The question took her aback and she gaped at him again. She wanted to respond with, “Of course he didn't!” But she didn't actually know that for a fact, did she?
Bugger.
If her stalker was as smart as he'd led her to believe, then she supposed it might be possible that he was keeping the house-elves on salary-if for no other reason than to appease her.
“Uh...” She cleared her throat. “No. I didn't. You really think...?”
He glanced over at her and arched an eyebrow. Probably because of her hopeful tone, since she so rarely gave into girly whims.
Arse.
“No way to know unless you ask,” he said.
“Right. Well. That's... I'll...”
“Rob Calium, maybe?”
“Pardon?”
He motioned to the parchment. “I didn't think any of the wizarding Caliums still lived in Britain, though. And come to think of it, I don't think they spelled it that way. Two 'L's maybe?” He frowned. “There's no 'M', though, so either way, we're missing some letters,. And I'm probably wrong, as it is.”
“No! You're probably right! There are still four days left for those letters to show up, after all.” Her excitement hit a very sudden and unwelcome wall. “Except... I don't know anyone by that name. And the person who has been sending me things is obviously well acquainted with me and my schedule.”
His eyes twinkled and his mouth curled up into a partial grin. “I'd say that's a reasonable assumption. I imagine he's also fairly well connected. It's not every bloke who knows where you really work-let alone who'd be able to deliver you gifts there without being caught.”
Hermione bit her tongue before she did something stupid like accuse him of telling her secret admirer-or anyone else-the truth about her career. Out of all her friends, he was the only one who knew that she worked for the Department of Mysteries, and only then because it would have been difficult for her to claim otherwise when he'd seen her upon his emergence from the Veil.
But he wouldn't have told anyone and, despite the irrational accusations that were begging to be let loose, she knew it.
The wizarding oath he took to secure his secrecy wouldn't kill him if he decided to go blabbing, but it would mute his magic to the point where he might as well be a squib.
Sirius would never risk such a thing.
His life, yes. His magic, no.
“Agreed,” she said after her moment of thought turned into an awkward lapse in the conversation. “So. Perhaps we're going about this the wrong way. Maybe we should compile a list of names that fit those criteria instead.”
He grimaced. “That will take some time.”
Oh. Right.
Goddess!
She was an idiot. Of course he'd rather be doing something other than helping her piece together clues for a mystery that didn't even have anything to do with him.
“Probably,” she said guiltily. “But you don't have to stay if you don't want to. Really. I've monopolized so much more of your time than I usually do, and I would never-”
Sirius rolled his eyes. “It's fine, Hermione. I was just going to say I need sustenance if we're going to keep playing the guessing game today.”
As if on cue, her stomach rumbled hungrily-which seemed to amuse him to no end.
Prat.
“So who would you like to prepare lunch for us? My elf or yours?”
Had she thought he was a prat? She meant git.
Along with a couple of derogatory modifiers to boot.
“I have a better idea. Let's eat out.”
It wasn't a better idea-at least not better for her, as he was likely to choose some Muggle establishment that specialized in high fat, high calorie meals-but a walk in the fresh air would help clear her mind.
And since she was on the verge of taking his teasing seriously instead of like the joke it was, she could use all the help she could get.
~*~*~
Nine ladies dancing.
Nine porcelain ballerinas, rather, all set in gorgeously carved jewellery boxes that she would never use.
But, she supposed she could re-gift them-if her friends ever started to have daughters instead of just sons.
At the rate things were going, she certainly wasn't going to have any of her own daughters to give them to.
~*~*~
“Three more days. How do you think your mystery bloke is going to pull off the 'lords a leaping' bit?”
Sometimes she really disliked Harry. He could at least pretend he thought she was capable of taking care of herself.
Ginny swatted the back of his head. “Be nice. It's romantic.”
“If you say so. But I think it's creepy,” he countered. “It's like he's stalking her.”
Sirius scowled at him. Hermione almost missed the look because she was busy glaring at him, too, but she was nearly positive she caught the dangerous expression flit across Sirius's face before he schooled it into an impassive one.
“Come to the kitchen with me for a second, Harry.”
She blinked in surprise. Sirius had been amazingly supportive throughout the entire ordeal, but she didn't think that would extend to truly warning his beloved godson to back off. He'd already told him once, yes, but he had seemed so light-hearted about it that she hadn't given that warning a second thought.
Apparently neither had Harry.
“Why?”
“Because the girls want to gossip and gush and you're being an overprotective buzz kill,” Sirius said plainly.
Harry blushed scarlet, but Sirius swung his arm around his shoulders in an amiable way, and guided him out of the room without pausing to address his embarrassment.
Or possibly indignation, Hermione thought. It was sometimes difficult to tell with Harry.
Ginny cackled merrily. “Merlin, I wish I could get away with talking to him like that.”
Hermione managed not to roll her eyes, but it was a near thing. Her ginger-haired friend wasn't exactly known for her subtlety or tact, and she'd heard her say much balder things to Harry than what Sirius just had.
“So?” Ginny started, her tone tinged with a relentlessness that Hermione had come to recognize only too well. “Who do you think it is?”
She sighed. “I honestly have no idea. No one has asked me out in ages, and I haven't noticed anyone following me around.”
“Invisibility charm?”
“Possibly, when I'm not at work. But the Ministry has wards up to prevent things like that. Ever since what happened during the war, you know?”
The other witch nodded thoughtfully. And then, after a long moment, a calculated gleam entered her eyes. “What about Sirius?”
“He doesn't have any ideas either. He's been trying to help, though-which is more than I can say for Harry. Honestly. You'd think he was my brother with the way he acts. And an older brother at that!”
“Uh... yeah. But I meant: What about Sirius? Do you think he might be your secret admirer?”
Hermione gawked at her like she'd sprouted a third arm. That settled it, she thought. Ginny had finally lost her mind.
She'd wondered if that might be the case a few times in the past, as many of the redhead's actions and statements could be construed as off. But this time, there was really no mistaking the question she'd asked for anything other than the mark of insanity that it was.
Pity. The wizarding world seemed to lose so many talented witches that way.
Sirius and Harry emerged from the other room before her mind could come up with a rational response to Ginny's irrational question. Hermione was not at all surprised to see that they both held bottles of elf-made alcohol in their hands.
Whatever he'd had to drink hadn't helped Harry calm down any, as the nervous tension he carried was still abundantly evident, but he didn't exactly seem angry either. Instead, his eyes were glazed over and his jaw looked liable to unhinge at any second.
Dumbstruck.
Gob smacked.
Floored.
Whatever Sirius had said to him had the brilliant effect of leaving him speechless.
Hermione smiled brightly. Sirius might not be the wizard who was trying to court her with expensive gifts like Ginny thought, but he had managed to shut Harry up-and that was the best present she could have ever hoped for.
~*~*~
Curse Ginny and her crazy ideas!
She hadn't been able to look at Sirius the same way since her friend had mentioned her ridiculous theory. If she were only seeing him once a week like she had been before he'd involved himself in her problems then it wouldn't be an issue, but as it was, with her being home from work and all, she saw him quite a lot more than that.
Point in case, he'd spent the night at her house last night, claiming that he wanted to be there in the morning-to play lookout, he said-for when her gift showed up.
It wasn't just that, though. He seemed to be spending the majority of his time with her. And while that did wonders for a friendship that had been stilted at best, it now put all the wrong thoughts in her head.
Ginny's thoughts.
In her head.
It didn't get much more wrong than that.
Especially when those thoughts had her casting suspicious looks in his direction. Up until the delivery of ten frogs wearing powdered wigs showed up the previous day, she had honestly not believed that Sirius was the one behind her sudden flurry of gifts. But charming the wigs to stay on the amphibians so that they eerily resembled members of the House of Lords in the Muggle world was precisely the kind of thing that would appeal to his sense of humour, so she was thrown for a loop.
Sirius made a sound-a pleased grunt, if she were to judge without seeing the expression on his face-and she looked up from the parchments she'd been pretending to read.
She hadn't set out to be deceptive, but work didn't hold much interest for her that morning-not when she was on forced leave-and if she didn't have something more than her breakfast to train her eyes on, then her covert glances would turn into long, uncomfortable stares, and she suspected that neither of them would appreciate that.
“What?”
“Nothing.” He folded his copy of the Daily Prophet and tossed it aside. “So what are you planning to do today? Last minute shopping?”
“I finished my Christmas shopping a month ago, Sirius.” She was sure that he was already aware of that fact and his smirk only confirmed it. “What about you?”
“Not quite done yet. Only a couple of things left, though.” He grinned mischievously. “You think your eleven pipers piping will show up in Diagon Alley if I make you go shopping with me?”
“Make me? None of the gifts have been malicious, so there's no reason to think that's going to change. I don't need to be coddled or looked after. Don't tell me Harry's visit yesterday turned you into a caveman who thinks otherwise.”
Like Harry does went unsaid.
“If I'd turned into a caveman, I think you'd know it,” he responded with humour, not at all bothered by the way she overreacted.
“Because you'd have developed a pronounced forehead?”
“No, because I'd have thrown you over my shoulder and taken you to the bedroom by now.”
She choked on the sip of tea she just took. Since that was probably the exact reaction he had hoped for, she refused to oblige him further by scowling at him.
Rather, she dabbed her mouth with her napkin and tried to act perfectly unaffected.
“Hmm. I would be careful about saying things like that if I were you. Ginny already thinks you're my mystery suitor. I can only imagine how relentless her matchmaking attempts will become if she has ammunition like that comment of yours just now.”
She fully expected a proverbial bachelor and ladies' man like him to blanch at the thought, and perhaps even excuse himself to go to the loo to be sick, but he did neither.
“Does she now?” he asked. He sounded suspicious, not amused. And he looked put out, not pale or ill.
He looked like Ginny had ruined his grand surprise.
Ugh!
She gave herself a jarring mental shake. She was being utterly ridiculous, she thought; seeing things that weren't really there, and all because of Ginny's stupid theory.
Still, his reaction did seem a bit out of the normal. Especially for him.
“Well,” he said and rose from his chair. “Thank you for breakfast-and for letting me crash here last night. I should really get going, though.”
“I thought the entire reason you stayed was so you could see the pipers this morning?”
He shrugged. “Don't know what time they're coming, though, do I? Besides, there's last minute shopping to be done,” he finished with a wink.
“Right,” she agreed, albeit with a huff of disbelief.
She didn't know what to think now. Why had he bothered to stay the night before if he didn't plan on sticking around the next morning?
Or perhaps he had intended to stick around, but her mention of Ginny thinking he was her secret admirer made him want to run away.
That seemed plausible.
“Well. Don't give Ginny too hard of a time,” she warned. “I'm sure she didn't mean anything by it; you know how crazy she tends to get in the off-season.”
Playing Quidditch was like therapy for Ginny. And when she didn't get to do it, the parts of her she usually channelled into the game-like aggressiveness, Hermione thought with a wince-ended up being thrown toward other things.
Sirius let out a merry bark and then came around the table to give her a peck on the cheek in goodbye.
It wasn't until after he Apparated away that she realised he hadn't bothered to deny Ginny's theory-or her joking accusation.
Stranger and stranger.
~*~*~
It was almost noon and no pipers had come to call. No house-elves dressed in silly costumes wielding flutes, or amphibians charmed to croak with the same sound wind instruments made either.
And she was bored.
It was Christmas Eve, she was home alone with only books she'd already read for company, and she was bored.
Hermione sighed. She should have taken Sirius up on his offer. Diagon Alley would be crowded and full of people who would gawk at her-particularly if she was seen with Sirius-but getting out of the house was the only thing she could think of that might alleviate the sudden onslaught of cabin fever.
Having made up her mind, she reached for her bag and her coat, and then Apparated to wizarding London's shopping district. She doubted that Sirius was still there, but that might not be such a bad thing. Without him tagging along, she could purchase a little something extra for him; a second gift to say thanks for how supportive he'd been.
Yes. That would work out nicely.
~*~*~
This was the reason she got all of her Christmas shopping early.
Every store was packed with people. Every single one.
Thankfully, in their panic to buy presents they should have bought weeks ago, most of them didn't pay attention to her.
Most, but not all, she thought with a scowl. So far she'd had three people ask for her autograph, a couple of elderly witches make snide comments about her bloodlines-comments that were loud enough for her to hear, even over the crowd-and one man pinch her bum.
She twirled around at the last one, wand in hand, only to see Sirius standing there with his trademark smirk in place.
“Had to get your attention somehow,” he said unrepentantly.
“You could have just put your hand on my shoulder and said my name.”
“What fun would that have been?” She rolled her eyes and he grinned again. “What are you doing here? I thought you said you had all your shopping done?”
“I do, but I thought... it's not important.” She couldn't tell him that he was the primary reason she was braving the mob, not if she didn't want to inflate his ego to inhuman levels. “I was just going a bit stir-crazy at home.”
He motioned to the door with a quick nod of his head, and she didn't protest as he placed a palm on her back and started to guide her through the mob to leave the store without bothering to ask if she actually wanted to.
“Ah,” he said in response to her admission. “The pipers not to your liking, then?”
“They didn't show-at least not while I was there.”
“Really? Hmm. Well, the day's still young.” He frowned, but the expression didn't look right. She couldn't quite place her finger on why it didn't seem entirely genuine, but the closer she looked, the surer she was that his disappointment was an act. “Unless Harry was right about Lestrange, that is.”
“What do you mean?”
“You didn't read the Prophet after I left?” he asked with some surprise.
That expression was real. She could tell.
“I don't really care for the Prophet. After everything that's happened, you would think they'd bother to employ reporters who know news from gossip, but apparently not.”
“They'll surprise you every once and a while. For instance, there was an article in this morning's edition that read almost like they'd done some real reporting.”
“You don't say,” Hermione said deadpan. She wondered if that was the story Sirius had seemed so pleased with.
And whether Harry had anything to do with whatever bad thing had obviously happened to Lestrange.
She disliked thinking poorly of her friends, but he'd never been one for keeping his opinions to himself, and he had seemed quite angry about the possibility that Rabastan was her suitor the other day.
Still, she supposed it could just be a coincidence.
“So what was this article about?”
“You can read it when you get home,” Sirius replied evasively and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
It was wrong how right that felt.
So wrong.
She reminded herself once again that he was just a friend and then allowed herself to sink comfortably into his one-armed hug.
“It's Christmas Eve,” he continued, oblivious to how his proximity made her feel. “Time for joy and merriment and-”
“Not discussions about the Daily Prophet's latest issue?”
“Precisely. Besides,” he said and pulled her a bit closer to him, “it looks like your pipers have finally located you.”
So they had. The sound of their flutes and clarinets cut through the noise of the crowd, and as they moved closer, Hermione was surprised to see that shoppers actually stopped to listen. And they even stepped aside to make room for the musicians to pass!
It was astonishing behaviour, really, given the majority of the wizarding population's dire lack of everyday manners. The snootier Purebloods could feign civility with the best of them, but their etiquette was generally reserved for one-on-one interactions, or meetings with groups that could return their politeness with a tangible favour; they didn't waste their time being nice to strangers.
She wondered for a moment whether the instruments were enchanted. It would certainly explain a lot.
Sirius repositioned himself so that he was at her back and then he curled his arms around her waist. Hermione's heart picked up. She knew he didn't know how their embrace looked to others, but she did.
It was romantic. Like they were a couple.
She grimaced. Having to chastise herself more than once for thinking about Sirius as anything other than a friend-in the span of less than five minutes-had to be a sign of deteriorating sanity.
On the other hand, if she was losing her mind, that would explain a lot, too.
Bother.
She nearly laughed when she forced her attention back tot he pipers and recognised the tune they were playing.
The Twelve Days of Christmas. How disturbingly appropriate.
Her mystery wizard had a sense of humour, she'd give him that. Of course, she'd already sort of guessed that was the case from the frogs he had sent her. And the elves-though she didn't find that one quite so amusing.
Especially once the blasted creatures refused to tell her the name of the man who had bought them for her.
They did say they were on salary, though, so she supposed that was something-even if they seemed rather miffed about it.
Sirius's lips brushed her ear and she shivered. It was cold enough outside that she could blame the chill if he called her on it, but that wasn't the reason that her body had reacted and she knew it even if he didn't.
“What do you think?” he asked. “This bloke of yours has put a lot of effort into all of this, hasn't he?”
“It certainly seems like it.”
“So are you going to give him a chance when he finally reveals himself?”
She swallowed thickly. Ginny wasn't right, she told herself. She couldn't be.
And she couldn't keep hoping for something that would never happen.
She nodded. “Yes. I think I might.”
~*~*~
If her parents hadn't chosen to stay in Australia after she'd returned their memories, she imagined that she would have to drag herself out of bed and head over to their house for breakfast and presents. But as it was, she had no family left in England, she lived alone, and she planned on having a good lie-in Christmas morning.
The Weasleys wouldn't be expecting her at the Burrow for dinner until early in the evening, but that was far enough away that she needn't be concerned about it.
Sadly, none of that mattered, as her plan to sleep the morning away was not to come to fruition.
It couldn't be much past five when she heard it-the sound that would rattle her skull and drive her from the comfort of her bed. If she wasn't mistaken, the loud and very annoying noise was her twelfth and final present.
How anyone thought twelve drummers drumming was a good finale to almost two weeks' worth of gifts was beyond her.
Honestly, they couldn't have gone for something a bit more romantic than something that was going to leave her ears ringing for the rest of the day?
At the very least, they should have put in some kind of stipulation on what time the twelve drummers could stop by. It was early and if the raucous that almost drowned out the well patterned thump, thump, thump of the drums was any indication, the animals currently residing on her property didn't appreciate the interruption of their nice, quiet morning either.
She grumbled to herself. She supposed it would be bad form to simply throw on her dressing gown and go downstairs to tell the drummers to go away. The wizarding world was surprisingly Puritan in many of its views and if the musicians weren't taken aback by the sight of her wild early morning hair-and her clothed only in her pyjamas, housecoat, and slippers-then they would probably be offended on behalf of her suitor for her not enjoying the present as it was meant.
Really, she'd be doing them a favour, though. The sooner they left, the sooner they could go spend the rest of the holiday with their families. Even if they didn't celebrate Christmas, a day off was a day off, right?
Perhaps if she explained it to them that way...
“You're not dressed.”
She jumped. She hardly thought she could be blamed for the physical reaction since she'd had no way of knowing that Sirius was in her house-especially at that hour-but his expression said otherwise.
Hmm. She probably should have heard him enter her bedroom, she thought. As tired as she was and as much as her thoughts laid elsewhere, her inattention was understandable-but not excusable.
Not for a war veteran who knew better than to not know what was going on in her surroundings.
“Sirius! You scared me half to death!” Her palm pressed against her chest as if to prove it, but he ignored her dramatics to frown at her state of undress.
“You can't go downstairs like that. All of the drummers are male.”
Hermione wasn't entirely sure what that made a difference one way or the other. She looked a fright first thing in the morning; she knew that. If anything, having no witches in the group meant no disparaging comments would be made behind her back.
Well, not as many, anyway.
“It's cold,” Sirius said when he saw her incomprehension. He made eye contact with her breasts to prove his point.
Her face went pink when she realised that her nipples, pebbled from the chill, could be seen reasonably well through the thin fabric of her pyjama top.
And that Sirius's pointed glare had turned into a dazed expression even though his gaze hadn't wandered.
“Right. I'll just... um...”
“Or,” he said and took a step toward her, “we could just stay up here. You don't have to see the twelve drummers drumming to know their performance was given to you, after all.”
“Er...”
Gods! She was really at the top of her game today, wasn't she? Hermione thought, her inner voice full of self-deprecating sarcasm. First an um and now an er. The next thing she knew, she'd be stammering like she had a speech impediment or something.
“Now, now, poppet...”
He took another step forward.
And then another.
But all her brain could focus on was the pet name he'd just called her, and before she knew it he was close enough to place his hands on her waist.
“I believe you said you would give me a chance.”
He didn't wait for her to process what he said, he just tugged once, hard, so she was flush against him. And then he dipped his head to kiss her.
She wasn't surprised that he was a good kisser, but she hadn't expected him to be an amazing one. Firm without being demanding, soft without being sloppy; she felt the zing from the press of his lips against hers all the way down to her knees.
“You... but... you?” she asked when he eventually pulled back for air.
She remembered his question in Diagon Alley all too clearly now: Was she willing to give her mysterious suitor a chance when he finally revealed himself?
“Me,” he confirmed with a smirk and then brushed her lips with a barely-there kiss. “You can't tell me you didn't suspect-not after Ginny told you she did.”
“I did, but I didn't really think...”
She'd hoped, though. Merlin, how she had hoped. When Ginny first speculated, her heart had leapt at the possibility. But she didn't think it was true, so she convinced herself that it couldn't be.
Hermione gave her head a quick shake. “Why did you go to all that trouble? Why didn't you just tell me that you... liked me?”
She stumbled over the last part of her question, still unable to truly believe what was happening.
“I thought it would be more convincing this way.”
Hmm. He had a point. She probably wouldn't have taken him seriously before.
Still.
“But... the cards... with the letters and the jumbling...” Why had he pretended to help her solve a mystery he already knew the answer to? Not to mention give her presents that... Her eyes widened and the only reason she didn't slap his chest was because his hands had a very firm hold on hers. “And the elves! You gave me house-elves, Sirius!”
“And I put them on salary,” he pointed out with a grin, totally nonplussed by her spurt of outrage.
“Yes, but...”
It was the principle of the thing. She didn't need servants-particularly not servants who had been brainwashed to think they were better off as slaves.
“Now come on and get dressed,” he said and gave her a peck on the nose. “Breakfast is waiting downstairs-made by those house-elves-and there are presents waiting to be opened.”
More?
She didn't know if she could handle any more presents, even if it was finally Christmas.
Then again, she thought as a devious smirk curled up one corner of her mouth, she finally had a good idea as to what the second gift she'd planned on giving Sirius could be.
And considering how amorous he'd been after revealing himself as her mystery suitor, she was confident that it would be a very happy Christmas indeed.
~end~