The Light

Chapter 21- The Kiss

The next few days passed in a flurry of homework, laughter and blissful freedom for Hermione, and Friday night crept up on them all too quickly. The students were buzzing with the promise of snow that sung from the perpetually grey skies, and frosty air, and the weekly Hogsmeade day had the older years, especially, jittery with excitement.

They were all sat in the library, as Peter helped James with his History of Magic assignment. Sirius had his feet up on Hermione's lap, his head hanging off the top of the chair, with his eyes closed, while she read. Remus sat on the chair beside her, eyes rigidly alert, and his fingers drummed anxiously on the table.

Hermione's eyes flicked to Sirius' face. His cheek was still coloured an ugly purple, contrasting from the smooth tanned glow of the rest of his face. She lifted her hand, ghosting the tips of her fingers over his bruise, tracing the outline.

His hand reached up and, without opening his eyes, Sirius interlocked his fingers with hers, keeping them on his face. Hermione just watched him. He looked so content, so peaceful, and she could feel every flutter of his eyelashes and twinge of the muscles in his jaw. His fingers were warm in hers.

She coughed, pulling her hand away, and diverting her gaze. James' eyes stared right through her.

Abruptly, Remus sighed, frustration emanating from him, and he dropped his arm on the table. In the same moment, he rested his head on his elbow, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He was restless, but Hermione didn't know why. She'd noticed it before now; the dark circles under his eyes, the pallid drawn skin of his face. He seemed tired, more so than usual; she didn't know what to do.

"This bruise ruins my whole flawless complexion," Sirius announced. He didn't bother opening his eyes. There was silence, and Hermione exchanged a bemused look with James. "No, it doesn't. You're still perfect, Sirius... I very much am fishing for compliments. I'm just waiting for the hook to pick some up."

Peter's face split into an amused grin and he repeated, "No, it doesn't. You're still perfect, Sirius."

"Why, thank you, Pete!" He said, opening his eyes finally and fixing Peter with an appreciative look.

Hermione shook her head. "I have never met anyone in my lifetime who is half as conceited as you."

But even as she said it, a certain Slytherin with platinum blonde hair and a constantly curled lip flashed before her mind's eye. In the next second, he was falling to the floor.

She shook her head.

Sirius pretended to be offended, clutching his chest as though he'd been stabbed through the heart. A high wheezing noise poured from his lips and he clenched his eyes in imaginary pain. She just raised an eyebrow, pushing his legs off of her lap.

He sobered quickly at that and said conversationally, "Kitten. I have been told, by multiple sources, that I am the eighth wonder of the world."

Hermione snorted.

"You may laugh, but feel free to admire me. I am told I am a beauty to look upon!"

"Yes," James agreed, and Sirius preened in delight. "But you're not the sharpest needle of the pile."

Sirius stared at him, and said, deadpanned, "You sound exactly like your mother."

James scowled, and leaned across the table to prod his best friend in the bruise. And hard if the noise he made was anything to go by for Sirius let out an almighty wail, eliciting a scolding from the librarian, who rolled her eyes when she caught sight of the culprit. He looked at Remus and said, rubbing his injury, "We should work on not listening to the first idea that pops into our heads in a sticky situation."