Disarranged

Sirius and I spent the next week giggling around 12 Grimmauld Place like lovesick teenagers and making love in all the rooms he had bad memories of (I'm sure he wanted to do it to spite his mother). He constantly showered me with kisses and praises. I knew it was him trying not to focus on the depression that hit with the end of Christmas. I felt like I was his only lifeline in this place, and I didn't want to remind him of the joy that had filled the house just a short while ago.

"You're a saint to deal with me," he lauded, swaying me back and forth. "You're a topnotch gal."

I started to realize that Sirius' feelings on the topic of us were more intense than I had originally thought. I wasn't sure if they were simply excessive or truly deep, however. Sirius was a complicated man to say the least.

On the other hand, I wasn't very clear with my own feelings either. I definitely loved Sirius as a friend, but I couldn't tell if it was more than that. Was even using the word love a sign I cared more than I thought? It was too complicated for me to think of for long periods of time, so I usually brushed it away to a corner of my mind.

One day we were in the drawing room. I sat in Sirius' lap and he sat in one of the armchairs. We were whispering sweet nothings to each other when he suddenly asked, "Do you love me?"

He asked it so sincerely and so hopefully that I had to choke back tears. I honestly answered, "I really don't know."

He was quiet before saying, "Sometimes I think I do, and then sometimes I think I don't." It hurt to hear that, but I appreciated the honesty.

"We're quite fucked up," I joked, earning a light smile from him.

"We should figure it out eventually," Sirius proposed, "Before things get too thick." I was surprised he said something so mature. I wondered if Remus had given him advice.

"Probably," I yielded. He seemed morose and put his head on my shoulder and let out a sigh. The action reminded me of a dog.

"I can't lose you," he admitted. "I think I'd go mad."

"You won't," I assured, clasping his hand tightly.

"You don't know that," he sighed on the verge of crying. "You don't know if this is mistake and it's all going to go to shit. I could hurt you so badly."

"What's done is done," I reasoned. "And I'd urge you to remember that it takes two to tango-" he snorted at that phrasing "-and to know that I could hurt you just as badly. You're so delicate, Sirius."

He let out a shaky breath. He realized now he had opened himself up to the point of no return. Women had called him suave, witty, smooth--but never delicate. But somehow she saw it. She saw the fragility that had developed over the years. He felt as if he were a glass figurine in the palm of her hands.

Sirius suddenly wrapped his arms around me like a python. "Please don't go," he begged.

I embraced him with as much ardor. "I'm right here."

We stayed embraced like two entwined trees. I wasn't sure how long we stayed in the drawing room, but when we released each other it was time for dinner.

An air of awkwardness settled over Sirius and I after that meeting. It was difficult to expose one's self so completely and not feel some emotional withdrawal.

We avoided each other, only acknowledging the other's existence with a friendly nod when we passed in the corridors. Luckily the damage done wasn't too terrible. I knew that because every night we still slept in the same bed, his arm tossed over my midriff and my leg over his.

I think with all the things that had gone wrong in our lives we were unwilling to talk about us. We were both scared we'd ruin it or say the wrong thing. It had already slipped down a peg when we spoke, so why risk aggravating it?

It was difficult to not be on perfect speaking terms. Fortunately the friendship I had developed with Tonks took off when Sirius and I stopped focusing on each other twenty-four-seven.

"So you and him?" Tonks giddily asked. I had just revealed the nature of Sirius' and mine relationship and the terrible job we had done of defining the relationship. "You both hid it so well!"

"Well, we did it behind closed doors," I joked. Tonks wiggled her eyebrows and I laughed.

"He probably told Remus," I mused. "So I guess it wasn't terribly unknown."

"Well, the boys can have their bromance," Tonks began, "But we can have our sismance!"

I cringed at the made-up term. "That doesn't sound very pleasant."

"No, it doesn't," Tonks admitted. "But you get what I mean!"

I smiled and nodded. "To the girls!" I toasted, lifting up my glass of Firewhiskey.

Tonks gave a wink and lifted her own glass. "To the girls!" We clinked the glasses together and took our respective sips.

"Can I tell you something?" Tonks asked conspiratorially. I leaned in.

"Of course!" I urged.

She looked toward the door and back at me. "I fancy Remus, too."

What ensued was the girliest thing I have ever done in my life. I squealed simultaneously with Tonks.

"I guess we both have a thing for the class of 1978," I jested, causing Tonks to blush and her hair to turn the same hue. We spent the rest of the night discussing her feelings for Remus and the man in question. I was concerned that he seemed to distance himself from Tonks. He had always been very sensitive and always felt needlessly guilty for his condition.

"He's a good man," I assured Tonks. "He'll come around and see how wonderful you are."

"Thank you, Scout," she said sincerely. "And even though he can be difficult, Sirius is a good man too and he is so lucky to have you either as a friend or more."