Chapter Text
Hermione was sure she could stay in the Black family library for the rest of her days. It was truly expansive, the variety unprecedented and the content… well, it was enough for the young bibliophile to forgo food and slumber for its more persuasive charm of knowledge.
However, Hermione Granger was not on a typical fact-finding mission, nor was she collecting research. She had a goal, an end to which she was striving, and she was certain the answer lay within the maudlin walls of number twelve, Grimmauld Place. The secret she sought was closer every day. She had only yet to crack the right tome, to peruse the exact sentence that would bring him back, but she had no doubt that he would be returning to them soon.
After the war had ended and life was supposed to go, Hermione could not fill the empty void within her that seemed to grow with every marriage, every birth, and every new friendship. Something was missing, someone should be here. The way Sirius Black had disappeared beyond the Veil was mysterious and unfair, and Hermione had known something was wrong with the picture. People don’t just vanish; the Veil had called Sirius for a reason, there was something more to this than just another death of one of their friends. There was no closure behind his death and if there was anything Hermione Granger hated, it was unfinished business.
Expansive though the library might be, there was not enough information on the Veil to push Hermione in the right direction, though she had learned more than was previously known. For example, in modern wizarding folklore, the Veil was considered to separate the world of the living and the world of the beyond, but in ancient times, the Veil had been a conduit between two dimensions and her research suggested that communication, if not direct travel, through the Veil was possible.
Hermione sighed and closed yet another personal journal of a Black ancestor, having found little more than conjecture and speculation. She pushed the book back onto a space on the shelf, but something seemed to be in the way. The path was clear, but the book would not slide into the space. She frowned, stared at the empty space on the shelf and raised a curious finger to see if something was actually there. To her surprise, her finger fell upon a book, invisible to her eye but tangible to her touch. This was more than a Disillusionment spell, which would make the cover of the book seem innocuous, or a spell to deter her attention.
She pulled the invisible book from the shelf and gazed upon it. She only saw her hands raised in front of her chest, palms forward, but she could clearly feel the somewhat tattered and leathery texture of the book. She tried every spell in her arsenal to get the book to reveal itself, even whispering in desperation, “I solemnly swear I am up to no good!” but to no avail. The book remained hidden from her sight and somehow she just knew it would have the answer she needed. She had to uncover its secrets.
After eating dinner and falling into bed, Hermione, as the current, sole occupant of Sirius’ family home, pondered what the next step was. Obviously, more research was in order, but that was her answer for everything. The invisible book was perched on her bedside table, awaiting its undesired reveal, because for whatever reason, she had felt ill when she thought about putting it back on the shelf. She felt as though if she did, she would never find it again. She leaned over and caressed the cover, reassuring herself it was still there. She fell into a restless sleep.
She was tied again, always tied. She couldn’t see the ropes but she could feel them twisting, tightening. There was screaming around her and the smell of old blood assaulted her senses. She could see nothing in the darkness and her voice made no sound. She pulled ever harder against her restraints, her hands above her head and her feet tied together below her, but no relief was to be had. Her feet scrambled for purchase on the cold stone beneath her and found none.
Suddenly, all was silent and a faint whispering could be heard in the distance. It grew stronger until indistinct voices could be heard, voices that seemed to be pleading to her, but she was in no position to acquiesce. The voices grew louder until they were deafening her, they seemed to be inside her head and the noise grew to cacophonic levels.
Suddenly something cold and sharp touched the flesh above her heart. It sliced into her, drawing a silent scream from her lips as the knife drew over her skin. The wound was inflicted quickly but the pain did not recede, and she could feel the warm wetness spilling over her sides and down her stomach, too much blood for what felt like a flesh wound, but it was pumping out of her and onto the stone below, and the noise in her head finally died away to silence as her blood poured out of a single wound. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, the blood pooling beneath her, slicking the stone and drenching her body. Too much blood.
She pulled her hands once more in vain against her restraints before her vision faded to black.
Hermione woke up gasping, clutching at her heart to stop the blood flow. Dry, she was dry. There was no blood. Her hands were painfully clenched, her nails digging into the soft flesh of her palms bitingly. She tried to straighten her fingers but her nails were imbedded in her skin. She stretched them quickly and felt the blood pool in her hand. The dream had never been that bad before.
In the semi-darkness, Hermione reached over the bedside table, feeling for the book that she could not see. Once she felt it and was certain it was still there, she reached further and grasped her wand. Murmuring a healing spell on both her palms, she fell back into a blissfully dreamless sleep.
When Hermione awoke, it was with the feeling that she had not slept at all. She remembered her nightmare, as she always did, and was disturbed at its content but not afraid. After all, dreams are not reality! She stretched languidly on the bed and glanced over at the alarm clock to see it was early morning, her internal clock faithful as ever. Dressing quickly, she moved to the kitchen to get a pot of tea started. Toast and tea in hand, she retired to the overly large dining room, wondering what need there was for so much space and feeling quite insignificant in the large wooden chairs.
She thought about what she would do today. She wanted to see Harry, but she could not tell him about the book she’d found. For reasons she promised she would examine later, she wanted to keep the book’s existence a secret until she knew exactly what it meant. After all, it could be nothing more than a family recipe album, she told herself. No sense getting excited over Grandma’s oatmeal chocolate chip cookies.
She knew Harry had mourned Sirius and was not expecting him to come back any more than he expected Dumbledore or Remus to return. To everyone else, Sirius was as dead as the rest of them. But something told Hermione he wasn’t quite gone. And so she kept her plan a secret, knowing it would only hurt Harry more, getting his hopes up to have them dashed again.
Now that the war had ended, there was no real reason for the Order of the Phoenix. They still existed in theory but the meetings were long over. Grimmauld Place became nothing more than a relic, a useful place for people to come and go. Harry let her stay here in return for her keeping up with the place, maintaining the wards and preventing doxy infestations. Sometimes other people stayed here as well; Lavender had stayed for the week before her wedding to Ron, and Ginny had done the same before her nuptials to Harry. Alastor Moody came and went, probably checking up on her, Hermione groused. She was used to being treated like a daughter by all her surrogate fathers in the Order. She sometimes liked having other people here, but Harry preferred his rebuilt family home in Godric’s Hollow, and Ron and his family remained at the Burrow. She was alone and mostly preferred it that way.
She and Ron had broken up after the war when they both realized, Ron with a little help in the right direction, that they were better as friends. Neither had felt passionately about the other in any romantic way, and Hermione, though bookish, was a passionate witch. She thought. She never really had the opportunity to explore that thought, however, since she had been a virgin when she and Ron split, and remained thus due to lack of viable options, and lack of general interest on her part. She went on dates, mostly set up by her well-intentioned friends, but preferred her self-inflicted exile.
She did have to go to work though, as much as she would love to stay and research the book a little more. She worked in the Ministry in administration, but it was a stepping stone and would lead to great things. She had been offered more prestigious titles but liked the extra time her job afforded her for her personal research, which she published whenever possible. She had her own money from the Order of Merlin pension, and all in all lived a fairly contented life, except for the niggling thought that would not leave her, telling her that Sirius needed help.
And so she was helping the only way she knew how, by burying her head in tomes and reading until her vision blurred.
After she returned from work, exhausted and mentally weary, Hermione made a quick dinner and indulged in a bath. It was strange to be so alone; some days it felt like she didn’t open her mouth to speak at all. But that was somewhat true; once she Floo’d home from work, it was rare that she spoke aloud, and she knew she was grateful she had not begun to talk to herself, but fretted that day was not far.
Hermione wrapped herself in a towel and reached for her bedside table drawer for her moisturizer. Her hand froze in midair when she processed what she was seeing. The book. The book! It was there, plain as day, right before her eyes! She gasped, not daring to touch it, and sat upon the bed, drinking it in. What had happened?
Garnering courage, she stroked her finger along its cover and could have sworn she felt an answering finger brush down her spine. Shivering briefly, Hermione hefted the book into her lap. The title, to her eternal gratitude, was “Ancient Necromancing Rituals and Artifacts”. Scarcely believing her fortune, she carefully opened the book. Her breath was taken away by the page the book had, of its own accord, flipped to. The Veil.
But once she began to read, the words faded before her eyes. “No!” she cried out, watching the answers she had dared to dream would await her dissipate. Only the title of the chapter remained, a monument to how utterly she had failed.
She left the book open beside her on the bed, staring at it as she dressed, not daring to tear her eyes away lest the words return. What had made the book appear in the first place? She was sure this was part of the puzzle. Somehow, overnight, the book had deigned to make its presence known. Had she done something? Said the “magic word” in her sleep, somehow?
She closed the book, allowing herself to study the cover in more detail, now that the contents were absent. It appeared to be bound in human flesh, which disgusted her but did not surprise her. So many ancient Dark texts were made of flesh and written in blood, though this seemed to be written in magic instead, blood not having the ability to fade and reappear at will. She passed her fingers over the cover in a desperate attempt to appease it somehow, when her eyes were drawn to two small rust-coloured smears on the cover, beneath the title. It seemed the smears were as old as the book itself, but they felt almost moist beneath her fingers. Something tickled her memory: last night, she had grazed the book with her palm to ascertain its presence before healing her hand wounds. She had touched the book with her blood!
There was a reason wizards and witches did not go around doing blood magic to get whatever they wanted. It stole something from the person, demanding sacrifices in return for its delights, often after the fact and always more than the person was willing to give. But Hermione was determined—she would give of her blood to read the text, and she would bring Sirius back no matter what the cost to her. This was all she had cared about for the last three years since the end of the war; she would accept the challenge and Harry would have his godfather back.
Hermione found a ceremonial dagger among the items in the attic, and after checking it for its own Dark magic, for it would not do to bind herself to two masters, so to speak, she sterilized it and placed the book on the kitchen table, her quill and parchment at her right, dagger ready to press into her left hand. She opened the book.
Again, it flew to the page she most desired. She wasted no time and plunged the dagger in her fingertip, barely whimpering at the pain in her frenzy to read the words. She squeezed drops of her blood onto the page and the book absorbed them instantly. Slowly, word by word, the text appeared. She copied in a flurry, not taking the time to absorb what she was reading. Page after page she anointed with her blood until she had opened four fresh wounds on her fingertips and finally dragged the blade across her palm for a more free-flowing stream. The pain was barely registering in her vigor.
She turned the page yet again and saw the heading, “In which what we desire returns to us.” This was it!
She dropped more blood onto the page, but though the book absorbed it, it was not revealing the words. She howled in frustration. There was more, she knew the answer was right there! Desperate, she dragged the knife deeper in the wound on her palm, but though it bled profusely and she began to feel lightheaded, the words remained unsurfaced.
Suddenly something cold and sharp touched the flesh above her heart. Hermione gasped. That must be the answer, then. Her dream had told her what to do—the book wanted blood from her breast, from above her heart, not her hand! The freshest blood, the purest! It was so obvious now, Hermione laughed to herself and tore the sweater from her body, leaving only a thin camisole. It was cold in the house, but her body had a sheen of sweat covering it, and she felt no chill but the one in her soul. She placed the blade over her heart and paused, knowing this was the moment she could not turn back from. Once she spilled this blood, the dark magic would have a hold on her.
She hesitated no more and drew the dagger sharply over her heart. She cried out, the pain much greater than that of her hand, almost too much; it felt like the wound was on fire and frozen at the same time, like it delved much deeper than the surface, like it went directly into her heart, into her soul itself. She stood up, wavering slightly, and leaned over the book. The blood dripped steadily onto its pages and the words appeared instantly, much faster than before. She copied two paragraphs of information, again not fully registering the words, and then turned the page, her blood still dripping, and her camisole morbid in its anointment. This page was a recipe for a potion. As she wrote, all but one ingredient was familiar to her, but she knew who indeed would find it for her. The last page before a new title regarding earthbound spirits was revealed was an incantation in another language, one she did not recognize—no words were familiar, and she only hoped she would say it correctly when the time came. When she had copied the last word of the incantation, the book slammed shut and Hermione fainted.
There was a sibilant noise surrounding her: a long, drawn-out hissing that faded and grew but did not relent. The longer the noise lasted, the more Hermione felt it was voices, though she could not tell what they were saying, or if they were saying anything at all.
When she turned to move, to see if she could locate the noise, a painful throbbing began in her left hand, matched by one in her chest. She let out a low moan, and immediately the headache set in.
Okay, one thing at a time. Where am I? She felt around herself and became aware that she was lying on a hard surface with slats. The floor. So far, so good. Why am I on the floor? The answer for that did not seem to be forthcoming, so she moved onto the next question. What is my next move?
Hermione felt the back of her head and encountered a substantial bump. Apparently, she had fallen or been dropped. Fallen….
And then it all came back to her at once, flooding her senses until she gasped. “The book,” she croaked, her voice harsh in her throat. She pulled herself to her feet with sheer force of will and saw the book was closed on the tabletop, her parchments strewn haphazardly across the surface but otherwise unharmed.
She sat at the table reading over her notes and collecting her thoughts. She ignored the twin pains in her hand and chest. It would be easy enough to perform the spell she had copied. The potion would be the tricky part. She would have to brew it herself, something she knew she was capable of but which made her nervous nonetheless. A potion like this with nearly twenty ingredients was highly volatile and could be made unstable with only the slightest miscalculation.
She would have to go to Knockturn Alley to gather the ingredients. She would go alone; Hermione did not intend to tell anyone of her plan.
Hermione made another copy of the potion’s ingredients, including measurements, and placed the parchments containing the potion recipe and incantation in a small cavern between shifting wood slats on the third floor of the house. She took the second copy and divided it into three shorter lists. She would go to two different apothecaries, one twice, on three different days—just in case someone grew suspicious of her intentions, or, Merlin forbid, recognized the potion from its ingredients.
Getting out her cauldron and a grill for the fire and placing them on the dinner table, Hermione wondered what else could be done immediately. She figured she would have to go to the Veil itself to perform the spell. She would be able to get in without a problem with her clearance from her job. Once there, she would consume the potion, speak the incantation, and if everything went perfectly, Sirius Black should be back on the other side of the Veil within moments.
Hermione couldn’t be sure what life was like beyond the Veil. She hoped that Sirius was being held in some sort of stasis, where he wasn’t hungry or sad or even fully conscious. She prayed that he was not scared or in pain, and that the Veil was not like Azkaban, with Dementors sucking away his mortal soul. She would not let herself think of what he might be like upon his return, only that everything would be okay. And if it wasn’t, and he was some sort of zombie or something equally distasteful, well, she would deal with that when the time came.
Hermione even went so far as to clean and prepare Sirius’ old room for him, praying Harry wouldn’t choose that time to drop by unexpectedly and ask her exactly what the hell she was doing. The sheets were clean and the bed was freshly made when Hermione stopped her endless movement and sat down by the window in his room.
She could still sense him here, even after all this time. He hadn’t stayed here long, and in a way, she felt like she never really got to know him at all. But something was driving her, compelling her to try this one last thing. Just this last effort, and if it did not work, she would never tell anyone. She was even prepared to give a part of her soul just to try to get him back. He deserved at least an attempt.
By the time Hermione had prepared the bedroom for its erstwhile occupant’s return, Hermione’s bandaged hand was aching and bleeding through the gauze. She just might have overdone it with the physical activity; she still felt weak from the blood loss, and her hand felt incredibly sore now that she had slowed down enough to realize it. The cut on her chest had scabbed while she was unconscious and did not hurt as much. Actually, it didn’t hurt at all, not even when she stretched her arms high above her head, trying to loosen the kinks that had formed during her little floor nap.
When Hermione thought to check the time, it was nearly three in the morning. She had passed out around seven p.m., she estimated, and had woken up a few hours later. Now, she was exhausted and she had to be up for work in four hours. Resigned, Hermione changed the gauze on her hand, noticing the scab was nearly black and was very red around the edges, especially through the twice-sliced cut across her palm. Oh, well, she thought; she would clean it more thoroughly tomorrow and take a light potion to rid any infection.
She was asleep the moment her head hit the pillow.
It was dark again, and her lack of sight made her other senses stronger. The taste of blood was heavy in the air and the stone was beneath her back once again. She was not bound like before, but felt as though her limbs weighed a ton each, and her movements were slow and sluggish. Moving even an inch was an effort, and she resigned herself to staying still until she could decipher her surroundings.
A whispering began all around her, starting low but gaining in volume until she was sure her head was splitting. A voice came that was louder than the rest, but consisted of a hissing sound with no discernable location. It told her to drink from the chalice, but she was confused; there was no chalice. The moment that thought completed, she could feel the cold metal in her hand and she struggled to close her fingers around it. She brought the chalice to her lips in a motion so slow it was agonizing even for her, and sipped.
It was blood.
But the voice would not let her put it down and told her it was all right; it was her blood, after all. Disgusted but determined, she drank and drank. She started to feel dizzy and sick and could not finish the libation. The voice was angry; it hissed and spat at her. You must finish, it told her. You must drink it all.
She raised the glass once more and drank the rest, letting the dregs settle and drinking those too. When the chalice was truly empty, she let it fall from her fingers. The voice hissed its pleasure. Then the pain began.
The next three days went by slowly. Hermione gathered every ingredient on her list but one. Essence of pure azure. She had never heard of it and neither had either apothecary. Returning to Grimmauld Place and organizing her ingredients on the counter, Hermione was satisfied that she would find this last ingredient. She would not think that her plan was over before she could even finish the first stage.
Finally, on Friday evening after work, with everything prepared but the potion itself, Hermione decided to Floo the one person who would be able, if not entirely willing, to help her.
Severus Snape, of course.
As she suspected, Snape was not thrilled to see her.
“To what do I owe the dubious pleasure, Miss Granger… or it must be Mrs. Weasley by now, surely?” His tone was cool and calculated, but Hermione could sense it unnerved him to be in the presence of someone who knew all his secrets. Indeed, it was hard to hate him when he had sacrificed so much for her and her friends. For love.
“It’s Miss Granger and probably shall ever be,” she said self-effacingly. “I’m here for your expertise—I would never presume to waste your time otherwise.” Hermione was the brightest witch of her age, after all, and nothing got through to Snape like flattery, especially sincere flattery.
“I live to serve, as you well know.”
Hermione snorted in a most unladylike manner and approached his desk, the Potions master’s office looking exactly the same as it did when she left, and as it would look evermore, she suspected.
Hermione cut to the chase, as she was wont to do, and simply stated, “Professor, I’m looking for essence of pure azure. I need it for… an experiment, and no apothecaries have heard of it. I knew you would know where to find it.”
Snape looked at her appraisingly. She could see the wheels turning in his mind and hoped this mystery ingredient would not give away her intentions. The silence seemed to stretch forever as he weighed her words, considering her request.
“Indeed, I do know where to find it,” he said in that infuriating voice that made her certain he lived to toy with her.
“And where would that be?” She forced the words out through her teeth, endeavoring to be congenial but growing more annoyed at the thought of Sirius in purgatory, waiting for rescue.
“In this very office, of course. I only have a few pinches, however, and it will cost you.” She had expected him to bargain and had brought a substantial amount of Galleons for trade. She could not contain her glee at the fact that he had what she was in dire need of, and he raised a questioning eyebrow at her grin.
“I’m so glad you can help me. I was beginning to think it was hopeless!” She consulted her ingredients list to see exactly how much of the elusive stuff she needed. Only a dash! Hermione exhaled gratefully. But her giddiness was not to last as the list was promptly snatched from her grasp. She reached for it, but Snape held her at arm’s length and read from her parchment.
“A very interesting combination here, but of course this is not the entire list, is it?” His voice was one of mild surprise and possibly… worry?
“No, sir.” He never failed to reduce her to her former schoolgirl self, and some part of her wanted him to figure out what she had planned so she could share in her excitement and possibly gloat over her brilliance.
“These are the darkest of items, meant to make a Dark potion. A dangerous potion.” His words were not a question.
“Yes, sir.”
“And you have good reason to be in my office, begging for an ingredient which will be used in a potion that will almost certainly kill, maim, or otherwise destroy the imbiber?”
“The best reason, sir.”
His eyes were upon her again, studying her for an interminable length of time, until finally he nodded. “Miss Granger, do not mistake my agreeability for naiveté. I may not know what this potion does without the rest of the list, but I know if you consume it or give it to someone else for consumption, you will not make it out the same as you were before. I cannot admit to caring whether you live or die for your sake, but I will feel a twinge or tickle of guilt if I indirectly bring about your demise, not to mention the more important fact that I could be brought to charges once it is discovered that I provided you with the killing ingredient, for that is what essence of pure azure truly is. If you combine it with the blood of a virgin taken willingly, your soul will be divided, and no wizard or witch can live a whole life having made such a sacrifice.”
For someone who was unaware of the potion’s directive, he certainly made an argument against taking it. But the reason for following through was still too strong, and Hermione was nothing if not brave. A part of her soul she could do without, for what good was it to her when her friend was suffering unknown horrors? How could she live with herself knowing she had not made the choice to at least try to bring Sirius back?
And as surely as if he had cast Legilimens, Snape was aware of her intentions. She could see the dawning knowledge on his face and silently begged him to understand. And he did, because it was this little witch who had returned to the Shrieking Shack and healed him from Nagini’s near-fatal attack; she had not left him to die and could not leave Sirius to die. And even Severus Snape could not begrudge Hermione her well-intentioned recklessness.
Hermione had nodded gravely through his speech on the potion and was now waiting for him to make a move. He rose wordlessly and left the room. She sat puzzled, uncertain if she had been dismissed or if she was to wait. Unwilling to surrender, she settled in for the long haul. Fortunately, Snape was back within twenty minutes with a tiny vial of a bright blue sand-like substance. There was just enough for the potion, no more. No second chances.
Before handing it over, Snape made one last bid. “If you do this, nothing will ever be the same for you again. Perhaps you should think of yourself for once?”
Snape would never understand the Gryffindor mentality. Hermione only shook her head and smiled as if she did not know how to do what he suggested. He sighed dramatically and handed her the vial. His hand closed around hers as she grasped it and he said only, “See me when it is done.”
There was no hiding anything from that man.
He shrugged off her thanks and left her in his office to see herself out. She did just that and Floo’d home. She would start the potion tonight, and it would be done by tomorrow afternoon.
With the potion simmering in the next room, Hermione was left to her own devices. There were only two ingredients left to add: the essence of pure azure, and her own blood. Blood Magic was the strongest and Darkest magic there was; it always, always took something from the person who performed it. Usually something vital. Virgin blood was the most potent blood, and would bind the potion to the virgin irreversibly, and made the potion exponentially more powerful.
But Hermione was not afraid.
She had wanted to tell Harry that she was going to the Department of Mysteries to see the Veil. She knew it wasn’t wise to go alone, with no one aware of her location. She could disappear into the Veil and no one would ever know. But she was afraid to tell Harry in case he stopped her, or worse, tried to go in her stead. There was no one else she trusted anymore and decided a note would have to be enough. She felt silly leaving a note on her own table when no one had been at Grimmauld Place in weeks. The note was short and sweet, and she finished just in time to add the final ingredients to the potion.
First to be added was the essence of pure azure. She measured out a dash and weighed it carefully in her hand. It had to be sprinkled in slowly while stirring a half circle every two seconds for four rounds. She did exactly as instructed. She then waited seven minutes exactly, before plunging the dagger into the flesh above her heart. She would not make the same mistake twice by trying to use blood from her hand. Her flesh burned and stung as the blood welled on the dagger tip. Thirteen drops while stirring continually at an even pace. She counted the drops carefully, aloud. She brought the dagger back to the wound on her chest again and again until the last drop sank into the potion.
Immediately, Hermione felt a heavy weight in her heart that spread throughout her body. She felt like she was being anchored to the ground and could barely move. Her muscles stiffened painfully, and she was held impossibly tensely. Then, a grey mist surrounded her like an aura, and entered through her mouth. A terrible ripping sensation began within her, and she felt like her insides were coming out. She tried to scream but choked on the mist while the ripping continued. Finally, something snapped and pulled free, the mist flowing back out of her body and into the potion. The potion turned the darkest black, and the fire below it vanished. Hermione’s body began to feel normal again; she could move, and her muscles were loose and obedient. She knew she was missing something, but did not feel any different.
It was time.
Hermione bottled the potion and gathered the incantation from its hiding spot on the third floor. She grabbed her cloak, her work identification, and made sure she had everything she needed. She brought healing draughts in case Sirius was wounded or weak. Wand, potion, incantation, and dagger just in case something unexpected came through the Veil instead of Sirius. She was ready.
She Floo’d to the Department of Mysteries and found herself before the Veil almost before she knew it. The room looked exactly the same as it had when she’d been here last. The Veil stood on a stone dais, and she sat before it. She organized the potion, the dagger, and her wand around her. She held the sheet with the incantation and hoped her pronunciation was flawless.
Holding her wand trained at the Veil, Hermione began to speak. Almost immediately, she felt the power rushing around her, the Veil shimmering violently and the air becoming thick and difficult to breathe. Her words flew out of their own accord, and she wasn’t sure if she was in control anymore. She spoke the words fiercely and clearly, somehow knowing she was saying them correctly. It was like the Veil wanted her to speak the words. It trembled before her eyes, and she began to hear a whispering sound, first emanating from the Veil, and then from all around her. It seeped into her skin, making her shiver and shake. She felt so cold.
When the incantation was finished, she let it fall from her fingers. She felt odd, unmistakably strong, yet detached from herself. She reached for the potion and removed the stopper.
She drank deeply, nearly gagging as the potion burned her mouth and throat. She could feel it settle like a rock in her stomach, and her insides began to cramp. Her grip on the potion tightened, and she could not finish. She felt faint and was glad she was sitting down. She wavered slightly. Then she heard a sound in her ear, just like in her dream; a hissing voice ordering her to finish the potion. And just like in her dream, Hermione did. She used her finger to scoop the dregs out, and downed every single drop. When she swallowed for the last time, she heard a noise like an explosion and felt her body begin to convulse. Then it was like she was looking at herself from above, seizing on the ground, eyes rolled back in her head, hand convulsively grasping the potion bottle.
Hermione watched her body from above, glad that she could not feel what her body was going through. Suddenly, her body’s eyes snapped open, and she stopped shaking. Hermione watched with detached interest as her body grabbed the dagger, drawing it deeply across the already-bleeding wound on her chest. I am going to be a veritable patchwork by the end of this, she mused pensively. The blood flowed and flowed, anointing the ground and spreading around her still-again form. There was more blood than should be possible, she was sure. The blood crept toward the Veil, and the second they connected, Hermione felt a great jerking sensation, and knew no more.
When Hermione awoke, she immediately knew something was very wrong. Her body felt ice cold and she was weaker than she could ever remember feeling. But that was not unexpected.
No, the problem was that she was in a bed. Her bed.
She bolted upright and immediately screamed at the pain in her chest. She looked at herself and saw that she was in clean clothes and her wound was free of spilled blood. But it was wide open, and she thought she could see bone, it was so deep. It throbbed, and there were red lines spidering off of it. She fell back against the bed, trying to catch her breath. The door immediately opened, but her eyes couldn’t focus on who it was. She saw shaggy black hair and olive skin.
“Sirius?” she asked weakly.
“Of course not! It’s Harry! What in Merlin’s name have you done, Hermione? You almost died, I could have lost you! How could you be so selfish? I cannot believe you would do something like this, so reckless; it’s not like you!”
Throughout his tirade, Hermione felt her heart sinking. It hadn’t worked. Sirius should have come out immediately, and if Harry was angry, that meant there was no Sirius. She closed her eyes.
Harry sat on the bed beside her and stroked her hair. “Hermione… what did you think would happen?”
“Sirius was… supposed to… come back through. Everything… went perfectly. I don’t… understand.” A choked sob escaped her. She had failed.
Harry held her while he told her what had happened. Snape had firecalled Harry after attempting to contact her repeatedly to no avail. He told Harry what he suspected, saying that he believed she might be at the Veil. By the time Harry and Snape got there, she had almost bled out. Only her own healing draughts and Snape’s blood replenishing potions had saved her. They brought her back here, and Snape was ready to murder her.
“Harry… I’m so sorry. It should… have worked. He should… be with us.”
“Please don’t do this. Don’t you get it? He’s gone! You don’t come back from the Veil. You don’t come back!” he shouted, and she cringed at the finality in his voice. She did not argue, only closed her eyes again, letting sleep take her.
When she awoke, she saw Snape in the armchair next to her bed. She immediately froze, and pretended to be asleep, but she must have given herself away. Without looking up from his Potions journal, he drawled, “So, the little lioness attempts to rebuild the pride. How does it feel to have relinquished a part of your soul for nothing?”
“Not for nothing,” she answered immediately. “I tried my best. Now I can live with myself.”
“It will not be much of a life, with a portion of your soul missing.” His voice was accusing, like she had personally affronted him. “You foolish, stupid girl. You have no idea what you’ve done. Your suffering is far from over, Miss Granger. Get used to pain, for your life just might consist of it.”
Hermione only sighed. She had done the best she could, and now she could only try to forgive herself for her failure. And try to get Harry to forgive her for being selfish, and not telling him what she had planned. She didn’t care about Snape—he would never understand, and she wouldn’t waste her breath trying to explain it to him.
“Can I have some food please? I’m starving.”
“Seeing as how you haven’t eaten in nearly three days, I don’t find that surprising whatsoever,” he muttered sarcastically, leaving the room.
Three days? Had she slept, been unconscious? Died? Now that she had nothing to research, nothing to look forward to after having had a mission for so long, Hermione felt bereft. She reached for the Potions journal and began to read. Snape returned with her food, and she ate heartily, making herself sick in the process.
Three more days went by in this manner, with Harry demanding to know what she was thinking, and Snape abusing her intelligence and demeaning her choices. Once she was able to walk around on her own, she asked that they leave. Snape didn’t hesitate and was gone after a final rejoinder on her lack of foresight, but Harry delayed.
“Please, Harry. I can be alone. I’m done trying, I promise. I accept that he is gone.” Her voice shook on her final words, but she meant what she said. Harry looked at her appraisingly and finally nodded.
“I’ll be by every day, though, to make sure you’re recovering as best you can.” Hermione nodded, knowing she could not escape his concern.
“And Hermione… no one else knows what happened at the Veil, okay? I’ve told everyone you’re under the weather. That’s all. No one needs to know.” Hermione was thankful for this, not wanting her few friends to think her crazy, or to know of her failure.
When Harry left, Hermione decided she would read a little before catching up on the work she’d been avoiding. She nearly fainted when she saw the Black Family Library was completely empty and devoid of books.
The small potions cabinet was bare of ingredients.
The cutlery drawer had no knives.
And her wand had been limited so she could only use basic spells and charms, or signal for help. She had been neutered. A fury built within her the likes of which she’d never experienced, and she raged, throwing a lamp and tearing paintings from the walls, creating a path of destruction all the way to Sirius’ room, where the rage reached a pinnacle. Before she knew it, her hands were bleeding, one finger was surely broken, and there was not a piece of furniture or linen in the room that was not destroyed beyond repair.
She slept amongst the damage.
When Hermione awoke, she was grateful to discover she could perform healing spells with her wand, and she fixed her broken finger, and her swollen and bloodied hands. The work was amateur, and her finger looked a little funny and clicked when she bent it, and she wasn’t able to fix the scars from all the cuts, but at least her hands were useable.
Hermione set about cleaning up the mess, ashamed and embarrassed that she had destroyed Harry’s house, Sirius’ home. She did not touch Sirius’ room though. She started to pick up a piece of tinder that may have at one point been a chair, but a feeling of coldness and emptiness stole over her so quickly she felt ill, and she left the room, feeling immediately better upon exiting. She did not return.
Hermione cooked herself a pork chop for dinner, eating with her bare hands and feeling deliciously savage. She couldn’t stop the thoughts about Sirius from circling in her brain. He was still alive. She knew it like she knew her own name. She could feel it in her blood, and she never felt it as strongly as when she was raging through the house. It was like he was right there.
Hermione dropped her head into her hands and sobbed.
She returned to work as usual, citing illness for her absenteeism, and threw herself into her job. She barely stopped for lunch, and worked through to the last minute. She gathered up as much as she could and brought it home with her, dumping it on the dining room table and beginning again like she had never left work. She carried on thus through dinner and well into the night. She didn’t notice the tears streaking her cheeks or the way her hands were shaking. Finally, when she was too exhausted to do anything but absently click her poorly healed finger, she carried herself upstairs to bed. She passed Sirius’ door and said, “Good night,” under her breath, knowing she was going crazy and not caring in the least.
Her dreams were tortured and guilt-ridden, images of Sirius being tortured, being killed over and over, having his gut plucked out daily by vultures, pushing rocks up mountains only to have them tumble endlessly. This was the reward for her failure, and she accepted it.
She had just awoken from a vignette of Sirius on a stone slab being dissected with rusty tools when she heard a banging on the front door. Knowing it was well after midnight, Hermione ignored it, unwilling to open the door to some drunk wanting money to Floo home.
The banging continued for a straight minute, every desperate crash strumming directly into her heart, and finally Hermione couldn’t stand the tension. She pulled on her dressing gown and walked to the front door, approaching it cautiously. The banging stopped, but still she was compelled to open the door.
When she did, Sirius Black fell through the threshold, and onto the floor at her feet.
Chapter 4
Hermione opened the front door. When she did, Sirius Black fell through the threshold and onto the floor at her feet.
She felt like cold water had been thrown on her face. She couldn’t move, even as the soaking wet lump at her feet shivered and trembled. When it tried to raise itself onto its hands but couldn’t and fell back down, Hermione could only stare.
With a calmness belied only by her widened eyes and shaking hands, Hermione closed the front door. Sirius Black was inside her house. His house. Sirius was back from the Veil. He was alive.
Hermione’s breathing became shallow, and her chest felt like someone deposited a person onto it. A person shaped like Sirius Black. Sirius Black, who was currently near-convulsing face-down on the floor.
Holy shit!
Hermione immediately dropped to her knees and turned him over. His eyes were open, but they didn’t seem to have sight. He stared blankly past her face as his body was racked with shivers. She pulled him into her lap, wondering what the hell she was supposed to be doing right now.
“Sirius… oh, my gods, Sirius, can you hear me?”
No response, no flicker of recognition. Hermione placed her hand gently on his face, which looked precisely as it had on the day he’d entered the Veil. Even his clothes were the same, with no sign or age or misuse. It was as though not a day had passed since his disappearance. He didn’t seem to be in any sort of physical danger, just shock. How he made it home from the Veil was a mystery to her.
She carded her fingers through his hair, contemplating what she should do next. Obviously she had to Firecall Harry, but first she had to make sure Sirius was all right. She held his face with both hands, dreading the cold feel of his skin beneath her fingers.
“Sirius… I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to do!” This exclamation cost her a lot, as she hated admitting ignorance or helplessness.
Her hands on his face seemed to calm his movements. He closed his blank eyes, relaxing slightly against her. He only twitched occasionally as she continued to pet and placate him.
She knew she had to get him warm. His clothes were dripping with icy water, and she realized it must have been raining out. She scooted out from beneath him, wondering how she could get him into a tub. She laid him gently on the floor, thinking she would fill the tub first. Looking at him uncertainly, she decided he would be okay for a second. She ran to the main floor bathroom and started to fill the tub. She heard a low moan coming from Sirius, but by the time she ran back to his side, it had grown to a tormented scream. He had been trying to stand up again, but fell down after a fruitless attempt.
The unearthly cries stopped as soon as she touched him again.
“I’m running a bath for you, okay? We just have to…get you to it. I’m going to use a spell, and we’ll have you in the tub in no time, all right?”
She waited for an answer and received none. Eternally grateful that Snape had seen fit to take the limitations off her wand that very day, she cast, “Mobilicorpus,” and trained her wand on him. He rose from the ground a little quickly, and Hermione had to refocus her magic to get him stabilized. Shaking from the effort of not hurting him, she was able to get him into the bathroom without him protesting.
Once there, she lowered him to his feet and propped him up against the wall, thinking if nothing else, she could at least support him if his legs would help. He was able to stand, but continued to stare lifelessly at her, looking without seeing her. She quickly unbuttoned his shirt and took it off him, his body making the movements she needed it to, but without taking initiative. His limbs remained where she placed them until she moved them back, and she was able to undress his top half. Her hand hesitated over the fly of his jeans, and she mentally shook herself for being childish. Nonetheless, she averted her eyes as she pulled his pants down, leaving his tight black boxers on.
She levitated him right into the tub, and he jerked slightly at the change in temperature, but relaxed slowly, eyes falling shut.
Hermione sat by the tub with him, unwilling to look away for a second, lest he fall under the water line. She added more hot water twice, and she even washed his hair for him, knowing what pride he took in his mane.
While he was resting in the tub, Hermione finally let her emotions hit her. He was back; he was truly back, truly alive. She hadn’t failed after all; everything was fine. A sob escaped her throat, and the loud noise seemed to startle Sirius, because he frowned, though she thought him asleep. She tried to muffle the noises, but couldn’t stop the wrenching cries that escaped her. Harry will be so happy to see him. I’ve given him his family back. Everything is going to be okay…
Hermione’s tears turned to laughter, and her shoulders shook as the enormity of what happened hit her. In her mirth, she did not notice that Sirius’ frown had disappeared. He looked so at peace, she was loath to take him out of the tub. But she had to get him in bed so she could get Harry.
She began to mechanically dry him off with a large towel, leaving his dripping boxers on for the moment. His hair took a while to dry, and she knew instinctively he would not appreciate a drying spell on it.
“Okay, Sirius. You’re all warm and clean; now I’m going to use the spell to get you out of the tub, and then I’m going to dress you and put you in your bed. Then when you wake up, you can see Harry.”
Hermione was thrilled to see a flash of emotion in Sirius’ blank gaze at the mention of Harry before it was quelled. She got him out of the bathroom and started toward his old room before she remembered she had completely destroyed it in her uncharacteristic rampage.
She turned to her room instead, the only other furnished room at the moment. Once there, she found a pair of black pyjama pants and an old tee shirt of Ron’s, kept for sentimental reasons. She put the tee shirt on him by lifting his arms, which stayed in midair until she guided them down to his side again.
Okay, now the pants, she told herself. Hermione couldn’t stop the flush that stained her cheeks, unwilling to admit that she was affected by the body of her best friend’s godfather. After all they had been through together, Hermione was unable to touch him clinically. Mentally shaking herself, she put her fingers into the waistband of his boxers and began to tug. The trail of black hair on his lower belly leading into his shorts was too much, however, and Hermione pulled her hands away as if burnt.
Laughing unsteadily, she stared at him. He stared back, unmoving. Remembering herself and internally berating herself for her silliness, Hermione cast a drying charm on the underpants. She nearly cried at her inability to be detached, and she hastily adorned him in the black pyjama pants. She guided him to the bed, pulling the covers back and leading him in.
She pulled the sheets tight against him, freeing his hands from beneath them, as she herself hating having her hands trapped. His eyes closed almost immediately, his breathing steady. A light snore was escaping his lips, and Hermione stroked his hair gently. She reached down to kiss his cheek, but stopped halfway and patted it awkwardly with her hand instead.
“Welcome home, Sirius Black.”
She left the room and did not see one hesitant arm rise from the bed to reach for her before falling back onto the sheets.
Once outside the room, Hermione leaned on the wall heavily. Being in his presence was having a strange effect on her. Her body felt hot and itchy, uncomfortable, yet her mind was somehow at peace. And now, making her way to the fireplace to Floo Harry, she felt like she should be in there with Sirius. She felt really wrong away from him.
Probably my admittedly lacking nursing instincts kicking in, she told herself, reaching for the Floo powder.
Harry’s tired face appeared in her hearth, and she asked him to come over. He kindly reminded her of the time, and the fact that they both had work in only a few hours, but she insisted, and a few moments later, Harry stepped into her living room, grumpily dusting himself off.
“Are you okay?” he asked immediately, his Auror training kicking in when he saw the strange look on her face.
“Yes, of course. Harry, I…you need to see this,” she said, certain that telling him would only result in him vehemently denying it and wasting time.
He looked at her sideways, wondering if she’d well and truly lost it. “Okay, then. Let’s see.”
She took his hand, leading him to her bedroom. He stopped outside the open door, digging his heels in. “Whoa, Hermione! What exactly do you need to show me in your bedroom?”
“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Harry James Potter! Do you think I’m seducing you or something?” she demanded incredulously.
He laughed nervously, saying, “Of course not, I’m sorry. It’s late, you know,” he admitted by way of an excuse.
She gripped his hand tighter, dragging him into the room. “Just come, okay?” He followed her, his eyes searching the room and falling upon the bed. He narrowed his eyes and took a step closer. His hand flew to his mouth, and he gasped.
“Is that… is that…?”
“Yes, Harry. It’s Sirius. He came back tonight, I don’t know how, but he’s here and he’s alive.”
“Oh my… holy… Sirius….” Harry couldn’t stop the tears from escaping; he had never stopped missing Sirius, feeling he had been cheated out of his only family. And now here he was, looking like not a day had passed, sleeping soundly in Hermione’s bed as though it was the most natural thing in the world.
Harry turned to Hermione, gathering her in his arms and crying unashamedly into her hair. “Thank you, thank you,” he murmured, not taking his eyes from Sirius for a second. Hermione was crying as well, wishing Sirius was awake for this reunion.
“Harry, I don’t know when he will wake up or if he will be the same. Please brace yourself for any unpleasantness. He did look like he heard your name, though.”
“What do you mean? He hasn’t been awake? How did he get here?”
Hermione tried to lead Harry to the sitting room to talk, but he wouldn’t leave Sirius’s side. They sat on the bed, Hermione sitting close the pillows, absentmindedly brushing the hair off the sleeping man’s face, then taking his hand in hers, stroking her thumb over the back of his hand.
Sirius’ sleeping form let out a sigh and shifted ever so slightly. Harry’s eyes lit up immediately, but Sirius still seemed to be deeply asleep.
Sitting on the bed, both holding onto to Sirius’ hand as if he would slip away any second, the two friends talked about his dramatic arrival and subsequent bathing, and how he hadn’t responded to her voice or words, except Harry’s name, but seemed in perfect health. She didn’t mention the haunting scream, thinking Harry didn’t need to know since it was only a momentary thing and hadn’t recurred.
Hermione brought a cot into her room for Harry, who wouldn’t think of leaving his godfather alone. Hermione lay down on the couch in the sitting room, her eyes burning as she thanked the gods for Sirius’ miraculous return. She’d never seen Harry so happy, so excited. If anyone deserved this, it was Harry.
Making a mental note to owl Snape in the morning to tell him the news and possibly to gloat, Hermione let sleep take her, thinking only of the dark-haired man on her pillow.
The dream had the same qualities as the others: darkness, quietness, and a near-overwhelming sense of foreboding. But this was the first time she was not on a stone slab, secured by ropes or encumbered by heaviness. She seemed to be free to move. An insistent whispering was rising in volume all around her, but thankfully never to the deafening proportions of her other dreams.
An intense ripping sensation made itself known within her. She gasped in agony and clutched herself, but she knew the place from which the ripping began was not a physical place, but a spiritual one. It was not her body that was in danger, but that did not lessen the pain.
A low, keening cry surrounded her, and it reached vociferous levels before she realized it was coming from her. She felt so alone, so scared… something was missing… she was fragmented.
She let her head fall back and screamed.
She awoke with a start, her body beaded with sweat. She could tell it was still the middle of the night by the blackness surrounding her, but she felt wide awake. She spent a few moments contemplating trying to fall back asleep for an hour or so before she had to get up for work. Then she realized there was no way she could leave Sirius here by himself! Maybe Harry could stay with him, she mused. As much as she would love to play hooky and stay here in case something happened, she knew she couldn’t afford it.
She got up, knowing there was no way she’d be sleeping now that she was thinking of Sirius and when he would recover. She got herself a glass of water and brought it into her bedroom. She stepped up to the bed and knelt, making no noise, and looked up its occupant. Sirius had moved in the night and was lying on his side, hugging a pillow to his stomach. He looked so young, so peaceful. After he’d escaped from Azkaban and had been subsequently trapped in his house until his name was cleared, he’d looked like death warmed over. His hair had had no lustre and his eyes had been haunted. But the longer he was free, the more he’d returned to his old self, until he was as fit and handsome as he’d been in his youth. But even now, though physically intact, there was a look to him like he’d seen horrors, and Hermione knew she could never understand the depth of the damage caused by the prison. But in slumber, he looked childlike, and Hermione could not resist cupping his warm cheek in her palm and gently caressing his face. She grazed her thumb over his eyebrow and gently pushed his hair over his shoulder.
She was about to turn away when his lips opened and she heard a small moan. She gasped, knowing he was responding to her touch. She quickly put her hand back on his cheek, and his eyes immediately opened. Instead of being slightly out of focus, Sirius looked directly into Hermione’s brown eyes. She smiled hesitantly, silently urging him to say something, but he only looked at her. A flash of pain lit across his features, making him close his eyes tightly. She didn’t take her hand away, however, and soon his breathing became regular, and she knew him to be asleep again.
Chapter 5
Hermione woke Harry to ask if he would stay with his godfather for the day, and she was told he’d already owled his boss asking for a week off. She nodded and told him she’d be going to work. She asked him to Floo her if anything, anything at all, happened, and he replied that he would.
She moved to the bed. She took Sirius’ hand in hers and squeezed it gently. He did not wake up or squeeze back, so she left with regrets.
She was in the copy room at work, making a seemingly infinite number of copies with her wand, when one of her colleagues ran through the door, panting.
“Harry Potter is looking for you!” he cried, his eyes alight at apparently having met the Saviour of the Wizarding World.
“At the Floo?” she queried.
“Yes! He needs you to come—he told me to find you!” The sound of pride was unmistakable in his voice, as though he’d been trusted with the Holy Grail and not a mere errand.
Hermione followed him quickly to Harry’s face in the fireplace. “What happened?” she immediately demanded.
“I don’t know!” His voice was harried. “He only just woke up, and when he saw me, it was like he knew me! But then he started screaming like he was in pain, and nothing I did seemed to help, and he couldn’t tell me what he needed!”
Hermione could hear Sirius’ tortured shouts in the background, and her heart nearly stopped. “Harry, I’ll be right there. Floo Professor Snape. I’m sure he can help!”
She ran out of the building to a public Apparation point and was almost immediately outside her front door. She let herself in and saw Harry talking to Snape through the Floo. She didn’t stay to listen, but ran immediately to her room, her heart wrenching at the screams.
She flung open the door and ran to the bed. Sitting beside Sirius, she tried to assess any damage. He seemed exactly the same as the night before, but his eyes were screwed shut, and he was thrashing on the bed, moaning and shouting.
She couldn’t stifle her sob at seeing him like this, wishing she knew what to do. She touched his forehead to check for fever, and like magic, Sirius’ body fell still. A sense of calm stole over Hermione as his body settled and all noises stopped. Not really aware of her actions, Hermione lifted back the covers and lined her body up with his, her front pressed to his side. The feeling of calm increased, and for some inexplicable reason, Hermione felt she could fall asleep at that moment, despite the panic.
Harry ran in, saying, “Professor Snape is coming after his last class.” He looked shocked at seeing her body next to his godfather’s, but was relieved that the ungodly noises had ceased. “What are you doing?”
“I don’t really know. It worked, though,” she informed him honestly. Harry only nodded, wishing Sirius could tell them what was wrong.
Harry felt strangely uncomfortable, so left to make them all lunch. He would make some for Sirius, even if he didn’t eat it, just like when for a year after Sirius’ trip through the Veil, he had had his room cleaned like clockwork, awaiting his return. Now, he berated himself for giving up, giving in, when Hermione had not. I owe her so much, he thought.
Hermione munched on the sandwiches Harry had put together, never leaving Sirius’ side. It made her feel better to be touching him, probably because she could ascertain his realness that way. She could also feel his breathing and it calmed her.
When she got up to go to the bathroom, she could hear Sirius moaning as she was washing her hands. She re-entered the room just as he was gaining volume. When she touched him, he fell back into silence.
Okay, Hermione thought considering. Obviously this is more than just a coincidence. He needs to be in my presence to be calm. Hermione thought of the possibilities. It seemed likely that she had created a connection between them through the magic she’d done to bring him back. Or, it could be that he had imprinted on her in a way, being the first person he saw after his absence. There was no way to know for certain, but she had a feeling Snape would enlighten them in the snidest way possible.
Harry looked troubled at the new development, but couldn’t bring himself to be jealous or sad, since he had Sirius back. That was all that mattered.
“Do you think we should be telling people?” he wondered aloud. “About his return, I mean.”
“It’s up to you, Harry, but it’s my opinion that we should wait until he returns to normal.” She paused, thinking about her words. “Or at least until he is aware of his surroundings. Just in case new people frighten him or stress him out.” She couldn’t explain the insane feeling that made her want to keep it between them, keep Sirius to herself.
So she said nothing.
“You’re right; I don’t want to slow his healing or anything.” Harry sighed. He just wanted Sirius to wake up, take him into his arms, and tell him everything would be all right. Harry had never had anyone do that for him, and he needed it.
Hermione fell asleep in the bed against Sirius with Harry keeping a watchful eye over them both. She woke up when she heard Snape’s voice in the other room along with a woman’s that was vaguely familiar. Harry told them about Sirius coming back, and she heard surprised exclamations from the woman. Harry was obviously excited as he told the story, sounding a little sad when he spoke of Sirius’ apparent hysteria. She then heard Harry explain how Hermione had calmed Sirius, and Snape’s responding words were too low to catch.
She looked at her bedfellow, whose eyes were still closed. She placed her hand over his heart and immediately felt a strange sensation in her own chest. It was a few moments before she realized their hearts were beating in tandem, at exactly the same time. She took her hand away, and her heart skipped a beat and began pumping at her regular, slightly faster rate. How very unusual, she thought, trying to ignore the feeling of wholeness she’d had when their heartbeats had matched.
“Well, isn’t this a pretty picture,” came the slow drawl of Severus Snape. He didn’t seem too surprised to see Sirius, but he hid his emotions very well. Hermione only rolled her eyes. She knew he’d been concerned when they’d found her at the Veil, and it was hard to be rude to someone who cared if you lived or died, whether they denied it or not.
But she tried anyway.
“Not anymore,” she snarked, trying out her best glare on him. He only snorted and attended the bed. Madam Pomfrey, owner of the familiar voice, also entered the room, trailed by Harry. She seemed slightly in shock, but ran her wand professionally over Sirius a few times, then performed a few spells, some Hermione recognized as diagnostic, another as a hydrating spell, and some she did not know.
“Well,” Madam Pomfrey began, “he seems to be the very picture of health. He was a tad dehydrated, but otherwise perfectly intact. If you use the hydrating and nutrient spells, he will not create any waste until he eats real food.” Hermione had wondered how they would handle that.
“Other than that, I say let him rest as much as possible and try to move his limbs to keep him limber. There is no atrophy, so wherever he was seems to have basically put him on pause. I believe he should be fine in a few days. If not, we will take him to St. Mungo’s.” Her tone brooked no denial, and the young friends nodded gravely.
After promising to keep what she’d seen a secret for now, she nodded once to them, then to Snape, and walked briskly from the room.
Snape himself gazed at Sirius inscrutably. “It has never, ever been done,” he murmured, tearing his eyes from his old enemy to look at Hermione. “Never.”
“I know,” she answered, a little unnerved by the intense stare of which she was on the receiving end. “But it has been done now, and we need to help him.”
“He has been a victim of untold horrors, for who knows how long. Obviously time does not work the same way past the Veil; it could be that while only moments passed for his body, an eternity elapsed for his mind. He could be quite mad when he awakens. Or, he may never awaken at all.”
Harry glared at him, wondering why Hermione thought he would help. “He will awaken, Snape, and he will not be mad. Everything will be fine. You can see yourself out.”
Hermione sighed, knowing she needed to speak to Snape in person. “Harry, I need to talk to the professor, and since I can’t leave Sirius…” She left her sentence unfinished, knowing Harry would understand. He looked uncertain, but then Snape interrupted.
“Actually, it may help to see exactly what happens when you do leave his side, Miss Granger.”
Harry protested, “You just want to see him in pain!”
Snape turned his calculating gaze to Harry, “Potter, you may not want my help, but you need it. I must determine if it is just any comfort he needs, how fast acting the calming effect is, how long she can stay away and a number of other factors. I can either hear it second-hand and make an uneducated guess, or Miss Granger can demonstrate, and we can go about helping Black. My interest in this case is purely educational, not vindictive.”
Harry looked chagrined, and he left the room saying he didn’t want to hear the screams. Hermione only nodded, preparing herself to endure them.
Snape nodded at her, and she left the bed to stand by his side.
Nothing happened. They waited a few minutes, but the only sign of distress was a slight toss of his head and a clenching of his fingers. Snape told her to leave the room, and she walked out to the sitting room. Within moments she heard frantic, incoherent shouting. Snape called for her to return. When she stepped into the room, Sirius calmed down, his head tossing and body shaking, but he made no noise. Even with his eyes closed, he seemed aware of her presence.
Snape bade her approach the bed. The closer she got, the less his body moved. When she touched him, he stilled completely.
“Interesting. Get Harry back here.”
She did, and they repeated the process, getting Harry to go to Sirius instead of Hermione while she waited in the hall. It didn’t work, even when Snape instructed him to lie directly beside Sirius on the bed, like Hermione had before. Harry did, but Sirius tossed and screamed.
She came back in the room and the effect was immediate. He still jerked, his hands stretching out beside him, until she took one in hers.
“Well, it appears that the spell has bound Miss Granger to Black. It is most likely irreversible, but the bond seems to be weakening quickly, given that you said he didn’t calm until you got into bed with him before. You can only hope it dissipates to the point that you can have a normal life, Miss Granger. As for when he will wake up, it is anyone’s guess. Continue to talk to him, keep him hydrated as Pomfrey instructed, and try not to distress him.”
“But why did he begin to… need me only today? Why not last night?”
“I can only hypothesize that immediately after exiting the Veil, he was in a protected state of some kind, or maybe so entrenched in his own mind that he was overpowering the need.”
Hermione nodded, thinking that was possible. Harry only looked scared for the only family he had left.
Snape left after asking to be kept updated, and Harry began a rant on how Snape saw this as a science project and not someone’s life.
“I know he’s difficult Harry, but he is brilliant. Sirius has you and me for bedside manner; we only need Snape’s expertise.”
Harry muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “Yeah, fat lot of good that did,” but Hermione hoped he was too mature for such statements, and her look told him so. He smiled sheepishly and Hermione grinned. Harry walked to Hermione and hugged her tightly. He just held her for a few moments, and Hermione knew what he meant by it.
“Everything’s going to be okay, Harry. Why don’t you go home and get some sleep? I know you barely slept last night.”
“But you’ll call as soon as…?”
“As soon as anything happens, Harry, I will call you,” she promised. He let himself out, and Hermione sat on his cot by the bed. An owl tapped at her window, and she was irritated to see her work had been sent to her from the Ministry. She was apparently not permitted personal time. She shrugged and got to work, not leaving the bed for hours, until finally she had to get something to eat, and she wanted to grab a book. She looked sceptically at the door, wondering how fast she could make dinner. She cast the hydrating and nourishing spells over Sirius, thinking she would do it whenever she ate, to make sure she did it enough.
“I’ll be right back, okay, Sirius? I’m only going to make dinner. Promise.”
For some reason, she expected an answer, but got none. She ran from the room to the kitchen and threw together a sandwich, wishing she’d thought to ask Harry to make some for her before he’d left. She didn’t hear the moaning begin until she was already running back, plate and water in hand. She grinned.
“I made it!” she announced.
She ate silently, running out once more when she was finished to fetch a book. No moaning this time, but a strange tugging sensation in her chest. She scratched absently at the scar over her heart and settled down in the cot to read. She promptly fell asleep, waking once in the night to a low groan that was unlike his other more panicked noises. She got up to check on him, but he appeared to still be asleep.
She was just falling asleep again in the stiff cot when she heard the noise for the second time. She put her hand on his forehead but got no response. Too tired to think, she crawled into bed with him, covering them both to the chest. She didn’t wake up again for the rest of the night.
Chapter 6
When Hermione awoke in her bed, she yawned lazily. It was so nice to wake up before the jarring noise of the wind-up alarm on her bedside table. She went to throw her arms above her head and stretch when she realized she was held down. It was unlike her to have the covers over her hands, but they were trapped up in the sheets. When she struggled to be free, she became aware of a heavy arm on her stomach, holding her down.
Fighting a panic, Hermione breathed deeply. It was still too dark to see clearly, but the arm certainly belonged to a man. A rather large man.
Just as she was inhaling to loose a shattering scream, she remembered where she was. In her bed, with Sirius. It was his arm on her, not some crazed rapist intent on defiling her. She stiffened and took stock of what was happening. Sirius had actually moved in the night and put his arm over her. She couldn’t help but be excited at this development.
She gingerly removed his arm, slipping out from beneath him. She got a small thrill from touching him, but forced herself to remain detached. Just as she was slipping from the bed, his hand shot out and grabbed her shoulder, pulling her backwards into the bed. He wrapped one arm around her middle; the other arm was beneath her neck, holding her opposite shoulder. He was spooned against her backside, pressed so firmly against him she could feel his chest hair tickling her spine.
“Sirius?” It was still too dark to see if he was actually awake or if his actions were instinct or unconscious. Her heart was racing with the thought that he might actually be awake. She hadn’t allowed herself to think that he might never recover, but the dread of that idea had been held over her head every moment.
In response, he only pulled her closer to him. Every movement on her end created a tightening of his grip on her, until she was forced to stop struggling lest she be strangled. She tried to think of what the proper thing to do in this situation would be, but she couldn’t get her brain to work properly when she was beginning to feel his hardening arousal pressing against her bottom. Apparently, despite his lack of cognitive ability, his body was perfectly functioning.
That’s good, Hermione, keep speaking in clinical terms. That way you’ll forget all about that thick, hard…
“Where the fuck am I?”
Hermione gasped and immediately spun in his arms. In his apparent shock, he’d loosened his grip, and she was finally able to move. She looked at his face and was able to make out that his eyes were wide open and his mouth agape.
“Um… you’re in your house, Grimmauld Place. And you’re in my bed. Well, you’ve been sleeping here. Without me. Until last night when I ended up in here too.” She was babbling but she couldn’t stop, a huge grin spreading over her face and tears sparkling in her eyes.
“And who… are you?”
Hermione had prepared for the fact that he might not remember her, or anything, from before his time in the Veil, but it still hurt to think he’d forgotten her. “Hermione Granger.”
“Hermione…” Sirius gasped. “Oh, my gods! Hermione!” His voice was frantic. He pushed her onto her back and quickly straddled her hips, his hands on her shoulders, shaking her. Hermione was all too aware of his erection pressing against her lower belly, but she was too excited that he was actually awake and coherent to give it a second thought.
She could see a panicked look on his face, and she leaned as far as she could to turn on the lamp. He stared at her face, seemingly memorizing her features.
“Where is Harry?” he demanded. She felt a thankful ache that he remembered his godson as well.
“Harry is fine, he’s with Ginny. Everything is fine.”
Sirius nodded, looking relieved. He met her eyes again and said, “You’ve gotten old.”
She snorted and began to laugh. She laughed out loud, losing control over her laughter while Sirius looked at her, slightly shocked. Her mirth wracked her slight frame until emotion caught up with her and her laughs became sobs. Her breath was hitching and tears were streaming from the sides of her eyes onto the pillow.
“Hermione, stop that.” She inhaled sharply at his command and was able to contain herself. She sniffed delicately and gave him a watery smile.
“You’re okay, Sirius, you’re back and you’re okay.” Her hands were running up and down his arms, which were still pinning her shoulders to the bed. She felt a strange shock at the contact and took the time to marvel that his muscles were extremely well-formed beneath her hands.
“I… I’m okay? I remember… my cousin aiming at me… the green flash… and falling backwards. Then...” he looked confused and shook his head, “I remember the front door of Grimmauld Place. That’s it, until now. What’s happened?”
No wonder he thinks I look old, she mused. He has no idea years have passed since his “death.” Hermione took a deep breath, which was difficult with a body on her. The scar on her chest was itching like crazy, and she rubbed it absentmindedly through her shirt. Sirius’ eyes were drawn to her action, and she saw him wet his lips with the tip of his tongue as he followed the movement. Her eyes widened, and she put her hands on his shoulders, pushing him away.
He rolled off of her and sat on the bed beside her. She moved to sit cross-legged in front of him. She took a deep breath, fortifying herself to tell him what had happened.
“Sirius, five years ago you went through the Veil. We were sure you were dead, because no one ever comes back from beyond the Veil. Ever. But it was like I could feel you, sense you. I couldn’t give up. I found a spell and a potion, and I brought you back.” Her wide smile was back, and she was internally smirking at her overly simplified explanation, but Sirius only looked confused and lost.
“While you were gone, we won the war. We… lost some people, though. Remus died. I’m so sorry.”
Sirius nodded, seemingly taking the news in stride, but a flash of intense hurt crossed his eyes before he closed them. Hermione went on to list the casualties, then the marriages and births. He seemed pleased to hear about Teddy Lupin, but his smile faded quickly. He didn’t ask about the death of Voldemort, but there was all the time in the world for those details.
“So, I’ve been gone for five years.” It was not a question, but Hermione nodded anyway. “Why do I feel so… wrong? So strange, so incomplete, so off?” His words were rushed, and his face was the quintessence of confusion.
“I think it may take some time for you to get entirely back to normal. I should think it’s perfectly natural to feel out of sorts after all you’ve been through. I can’t even believe we’re sitting here, talking like old friends when everyone thought you were dead!”
“Everyone but you,” he reminded her. She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, feeling another jolt when her fingers grazed his bare skin. He gasped, and she yanked her hand away. Hermione’s heart was hammering; what was happening to her? He grabbed her hand back and held it in his, stroking it with his long fingers. He had a look of intense concentration on his face. His eyes closed, and he brought her fingers to his mouth. Kissing her fingertips, he looked at her again.
Hermione had let her eyes slip shut and her head fall back slightly. His simple kiss on her fingers was more erotic and satisfying than any fumbling, clandestine touch she’d ever experienced. When he opened his mouth and ran his tongue gently over the pad of her forefinger, Hermione moaned.
He couldn’t help but taste her. He knew he should be more concerned; he’d just been informed he had basically come back from the dead. And he’d awoken in the bed of his godson’s best friend. He’d been told his own best friend was dead, the war was over, and he was alive. All these thoughts flickered through his mind like fireflies, and yet the only thing he could focus on was the alluring scent coming off this young woman before him, the silkiness of her fingers, and the feeling of completeness that came when he held her hand.
She was beautiful in her passion. Sirius knew something strange was happening; he was rock hard from merely licking her finger and wanted nothing more than to throw her back against the bed and take her as hard as he could.
He dropped her hand like it burned him, and her eyes shot open. She mumbled an apology and jumped from the bed. He didn’t stop her; instead he stared at her like he wanted to devour her, and he would have, given half a chance.
She was gathering her work clothes from her drawers. “I have to go to work. I’ll Firecall Harry, and he’ll Floo right over. He’ll be so happy to see you, he missed you so much.” She spoke quickly and went to leave the room, but Sirius was out of bed in a flash, hand tight around her wrist. She stopped, but didn’t turn to him. She couldn’t explain the strange feelings inside her, the need to let him touch her, the feeling of discontent that began the moment she left the bed. She knew it was related to the spell she’d cast, the bond that was between them, but she didn’t know how to handle it. His hand on her wrist was enough to make her breath catch.
Sirius breathed her scent in through his mouth. She was exquisite, and she’d been right in front of his eyes for years. He’d only ever seen her as a child, but the creature in front of him was no doubt a woman. He stepped closer to her and placed his hands on her upper arms, drawing her back against his warm, firm chest.
“And you, Hermione?” His voice was silken sin. “Did you miss me?”
Hermione fought the urge to loll her head back and give in to the sensation of his voice in her ear, but she controlled herself. “Of course. I brought you back, didn’t I?”
His mouth was ghosting over the shell of her ear, and she felt more than heard his next words.
“Yes, you did. And soon you will tell me how. And why.”
He let go of her arms and she stumbled forward, letting her momentum carry her out of the room.
Sirius heard the bathroom door shut, and finally let out the breath he’d been holding. His mind was racing and his heart pounding. He’d been away… for five years of his life. He’d lost so much. He took a moment to think about Remus, his only friend for so long, even when Remus had believed him a murderer. And now he was gone… but at least he was with Tonks. Sirius had been surprised when Hermione said the two of them had finally gotten together, and he was thrilled that Remus was finally, officially, his family. And little Teddy was his family as well. He’d have to get to know him.
That made him think of Harry. Amazing, strong, resilient Harry. How much fun they could have had if only there had been no war. If only they’d been normal. But now everything is normal, he told himself. He could see Harry, teach him and be a parent to him. Sirius’ name had been cleared; he would never have to hide again.
And he had Hermione to thank for that. The strange, lovely, intoxicating witch who had no idea of her own power. He had sensed that much from their brief moments together. She had absolutely no clue she was sex incarnate. Neither had he, for that matter, but he sure did now. For some reason he needed her, and nothing kept Sirius Black from what he needed.
Five years in oblivion did little to change the man inside him, and what he wanted, he made sure to get.
Hermione had hurriedly dressed and was now waiting for Harry to arrive. He practically flew through the Floo, looking at her frantically. She pointed him toward the bedroom, smiling at his excitement. She waited until she heard frantic exclamations from both men and smiled softly before leaving the house to Apparate to work. She wanted desperately to stay, but Harry had the week off anyway, and she’d only be in the way. She was at work before she knew it, a daze forming in her mind that consisted only of Sirius’ soft tongue against her fingers.
The memory made her wet even before she’d entered her office.
The day went painfully slowly, especially when Hermione began to feel ill around lunchtime. Her stomach was twisting, and she had a massive headache. In addition to that, she had a general feeling of discomfort and malaise. She kept herself busy, Firecalling Harry on her lunch break to see how things were going. He’d answered, laughing harder than she’d seen him do in years. He’d told her he and Sirius were playing cards, and she heard Sirius in the background exclaiming his disgust at his alleged defrauding at Harry’s hands.
When she heard his voice, her clenched stomach relaxed, and her headache abated slightly. When he poked his head into the hearth to tell her that she would get to play the champion when she was done breadwinning, her unease dissipated. She could not believe how Sirius seemed to be completely back to his old self and that he and Harry were carrying on like not a day had passed.
But after the rest of the day plus two hours of overtime, Hermione was nearly dead with fatigue and melancholy. She felt ready to throw up at any moment, and her skin was crawling. The scabbed-over scar on her chest was causing her extreme discomfort, and the red lines emanating from it were visibly throbbing. She reminded herself, not for the first time, to do something about that.
Hermione made error after error with her work and was wholly unable to concentrate by the end of the day. Her co-workers looked upon her with pity, but were also frustrated by her inability to get the job done, which in turn caused them all more work. Hermione was the last to leave when she finally wrapped up one final report.
She grabbed her purse and left the office. On the way out of the building, her stomach clenched so tightly she was sure it would wrench itself loose. She fell to her knees in agony and vomited on the carpet in front of her. Her body heaved as it expelled her lunch and dinner. She could barely stand, but somehow made it to her feet. She had intended to Apparate home but wouldn’t dare to in her current condition. Regretfully leaving the vomit on the floor, she made her way to the Ministry Floos.
She gathered enough strength to call out her location in a clear voice and stumbled through the Floo, right into Sirius’ arms on the other side.
Sirius had felt quite out of sorts during the day, but pushed the feeling away because he was so excited to be with Harry. Harry had chattered at him all day, unable to contain himself. Sirius had asked him to keep his return a secret just a little while longer. He still felt very odd and was beyond worried that the Veil would snatch him back as quickly as he’d been returned.
Toward the end of Hermione’s work day, he’d felt positively deathly. Harry was worried about his health and wanted to call Pomfrey, but Sirius assured him it was just too much excitement. He’d gone down for a nap in Hermione’s room, and Harry insisted on staying with him on the cot. Harry fell asleep almost immediately, like a child after a day at the zoo. Sirius remained awake, scared of the pain he felt, and unable to remain still. He had been constantly scratching and rubbing his arms and chest, feeling like a drug addict in withdrawal.
Suddenly, he’d had the unquenchable urge to go to the Floo. He knew Hermione would be through it any minute, and though his mind was confused, his body informed him she was the only way to stave off the discomfort. No sooner than he stepped before the fireplace did Hermione careen through, looking like death itself. He managed to catch her as she fell.
Immediately, their mutual sickness quelled. Her stomach settled, and her headache disappeared. His flesh stopped itching, and he felt completely normal. They both gasped at the immediate relief, but once the discomfort was gone, they drew sharp breaths for a different reason.
They both felt the sensation of rightness in the other’s embrace. Sirius wrapped his strong arms around the frail witch, drawing her into his strength. She melted into him like it was the most natural thing to do.
Their hands roamed all over each other’s bodies, touching as much skin as possible without being indecent, before Sirius grabbed Hermione’s hair and forced her to look up at him. His hands on her skin were hot, and he felt fevered, but somehow healthier than ever. He looked into her whiskey eyes and saw only invitation.
When he bent his head to devour her plump and trembling lips, they heard Harry’s sleepy voice from the hallway.
“Is that Hermione? Sirius, you owe me a rematch for the last game, and then Hermione plays the winner.”
When Harry entered the room, the confused pair had sprung apart, Hermione looking guilty and flushed; Sirius looking slightly annoyed and completely determined.
Chapter 7
Over the next five days, Harry spent nearly every waking moment with his godfather. He’d essentially moved into the Black house and was staying in a room on the third floor, with only a newly transfigured bed for furniture. He was making the most of his week off and making up for lost time with Sirius.
Sirius had told Hermione that he wanted to stay in his own room instead of hers, and she hastily told him she needed to tidy it up a little.
The clean-up took nearly an entire evening before the room was put together enough for his return. Hermione was ashamed of her temper, having never lost control of herself to that extent before. She wasn’t able to repair a lot of the damage, but she did the best she could, figuring even with improperly repaired sheets and slightly rickety drawers and chairs, it was better than wherever Sirius had been.
The first night Sirius spent in his own room ended up being akin to torture. He had nightmares and woke up soaked in sweat and incoherent with fear. He couldn’t recall what he’d dreamt of, except an overwhelming sensation of dispassion, detachment, and loneliness. He was hardly able to catch his breath after he’d awoken. On top of that, his skin felt like it was on fire, and his mind was jumbled. He felt a need, a need so strong and yet wholly incomprehensible.
When he’d gotten up to get a glass of water, he’d unlocked his door—locking doors behind him became a habit after his stint in Azkaban where privacy was a many-splendored thing—and Hermione’s sleeping form had toppled into his room. It appeared that she’d slept propped against his door. She fell on his feet, still slumbering, and Sirius was shocked to find he felt at peace, though a little embarrassed at her state of dishabille, as she’d been wearing only shorts and an oversized tee-shirt. She’d worn revealing clothing in the summers when she was younger, but it felt different now, especially since he was touching her.
He’d gathered her in his arms and put her back in her own bed, poured and drank a glass of water, and checked in on her again on his way back to his own room. She appeared to be asleep, but she was making small whimpering noises that Sirius recognized all too well as the evidence of a nightmare.
He’d crawled into bed with her, and they both slept peacefully. Thus began the pattern. Every night, they would attempt to sleep in their own rooms, but every night they ended up in one another’s beds, arms wrapped around the other in a desperate embrace.
Neither spoke of their strange need for the other, though both spent many hours reflecting on it privately. In the mornings, Hermione always woke up first, getting dressed in the near-dark and silently leaving for work. Sirius never awoke to her exit.
Hermione came home every day at lunch to play a few games of cards, or just sit in the living room reading while Harry and Sirius carried on. Their discomfort was bearable if they spent an hour together midday, but by the end of the day, both were invariably exhausted. Harry didn’t suspect anything was off, but realized that Hermione and his godfather seemed to be getting on better than ever.
On Hermione’s part, she spent every spare moment researching exactly what had happened. Obviously they were bonded and needed each other for comfort, but she needed to know how long it would last and what would happen when they inevitably couldn’t be together at some point.
Her research efforts were fruitless. She could find even less on this mysterious bond than she had found on the Veil originally. None of her studies even gave her a lead. She could only hope the mutual need would diminish, because she was starting to feel perverted, caressing Sirius’ arms in his sleep to get relief for her itching skin and headaches.
For Sirius, the reason behind the bond was less important than the fact that it existed in the first place. Ever the man of action, Sirius didn’t care about the why of the matter—he just needed to know how to fix it or make it go away. Since he’d discovered that touching and talking to Hermione made the pain go away, that’s what he did. To him, it was a small thing in the grand scheme; he only had one family member in the world, his godson. He got to see him every day, so he was happy. He only had one friend—Hermione herself—and he had her as well. There didn’t seem to be much of a problem, when you got right down to it. However, he could tell Hermione was perturbed by her need for him, and he intended to make things go a little more smoothly for her. After all, what was more natural than touching a lover? So, it stood to reason that the only way to make Hermione comfortable and make his life easier on all counts, was to get Hermione to agree to be his lover.
And what Sirius wants….
“Are you sure you don’t need me? I hate leaving you here.”
“Harry, son, of course we need you. You have no idea how much I’ve enjoyed our time. But it’s hardly fair to Hermione to have to cook and clean for the both of us because Merlin knows I’m hopeless; besides, I know Ginny misses you, she owls you twice a day. Have a heart, man.”
Sirius said this good-naturedly, but the truth of the matter was he needed his godson to leave. The last day had been especially painful, and Hermione’s visit during her lunch break had not helped enough to get them through the day without extreme discomfort. His temper was wearing thin, and he would hate to snap at Harry because all he wanted was to touch his best friend.
“I don’t mind cooking!” Hermione protested half-heartedly, knowing Harry would feel guilty if she didn’t, but at the same time, wishing she could curl up on Sirius’ lap to stop the agony in her skull.
“No, Sirius is right. I can’t stay here forever, especially not if we want to keep Sirius’ return a secret for now. I’ll come back tomorrow night though, if that’s okay.”
He looked to Hermione, who technically lived in Grimmauld Place, and she looked to Sirius, who owned it. Everyone smiled awkwardly at the unusual situation, and it was agreed that Harry should return the next evening.
Harry Floo’d home to Ginny, leaving Sirius and Hermione standing in the sitting room looking like they’d been saved from the firing squad.
Sirius started to cross the floor to gather Hermione in his arms, for better or worse, but she stopped him with a raised hand.
“Did you know I performed the spell to bring you back an entire week before you actually returned?”
Sirius shook his head in denial. “No, I didn’t know. What does the mean? Where was I?”
“I’m not exactly sure, but it worries me. Why the delay?”
Sirius thought about it for a moment, wishing the talking would stop so he could get some relief. “Maybe it took that long for the Veil to accept your offering, or maybe the Veil couldn’t find me; it’s possible there are hundreds or thousands of souls like me on the other side—we just don’t know.”
Hermione thought the first concept had merit, but she wondered what about her offering might have been lacking. She had no choice but to shrug it off, as she would get no answers from Sirius, who could recall nothing but intense emotions, and even those only came to the surface when he was sleeping, leaving mere impressions but no concrete details.
Hermione hugged herself with her arms, her body craving physical touch with Sirius, but her mind telling her it was wrong, that Harry would hate her, that Sirius would think her depraved.
Sirius could see the dilemma in Hermione’s face, and he instinctively knew that she was restraining herself from what they both needed. She bit her lip in consternation, and the decision was made for him.
He was in front of her in three determined strides, taking her upper arms in his hands. Both sighed with contentment at the contact, but it wasn’t enough.
Hermione put her hands on his chest, surprised at the strength she found there, despite having seen it in person whilst bathing him. She blushed at the memory, and Sirius was certain he’d never seen a more enchanting sight.
His hands moved up to her shoulders, then her neck. He cupped the nape of her neck in one hand, her jaw in the other. Tilting her head up, his eyes were drawn to her lips, which she was worriedly nibbling between sharp white teeth. He used his thumb to pull her lip loose, and it was white for a second before the blood rushed back to it. He had to taste it.
He brushed the softest of kisses against her sweet lips, barely grazing them, and he lauded himself on his restraint. She huffed a sharp breath against his lips, and her breath was minty and warm.
And as quickly as it happened, it stopped. She was out of his arms before he could even establish she was moving. She pulled at her hair with both hands, wishing she could run her fingers through it like normal people. She turned away from him and walked to the kitchen.
A drink would settle her nerves.
She quietly poured herself a glass of Firewhisky and sat down at the table. This was an unfortunate situation, to be sure, but she was Hermione Granger, for Merlin’s sake! Nothing escaped her, nothing eluded her. She would find a way out of this and Sirius would be free, actually free, instead of this mock freedom that tethered him to her. A fate worse than the Veil, he probably thought.
Dropping her head in her hands, Hermione fought back the tightening in her throat. It mattered to her whether he liked her or not, something she’d never felt before with anyone, let alone him. She’d never even registered him as more than Harry’s godfather in all the time she’d known him.
While Hermione was indulging in some liquid amnesia, Sirius was pacing the hallway by their bedrooms. It was very strange, this attachment. It wasn’t altogether unpleasant. He’d expected to be free, sure. If he’d been in a position to expect anything at all, that is. He knew he’d been gone for five years, but it was only a day to him, no time at all.
He also knew he’d have to return to the real world eventually. People would expect that of him, and though he felt a divine rush in not giving people what they wanted, he knew the members of the Order, as well as the Weasley family and other people who considered him a friend, would want to know. He only hoped Hermione was ready for the backlash that would come when people discovered exactly how he’d been brought back. Blood magic was illegal for many reasons, and she could be in serious trouble. Hopefully she’d thought of that, like she thought of everything. He smiled affectionately.
She hadn’t told him all the details about the spell and potion, namely the virgin blood part. She kept that to herself, not even telling Harry. It just wasn’t important. She also didn’t reveal how much blood she’d used, or that she’d scarred herself fairly badly in the process. The wounds wouldn’t heal, despite her working knowledge of healing charms. The scars on her fingertips and the palm of her hand were mangled as well, though they should have healed nicely even without the aid of magic. But never one to dwell on appearances, Hermione tried not to give it a second thought. It wasn’t as though she wore shirts that revealed her décolletage, anyway; the scar on her chest would be hidden from view.
Hermione was on her third glass, wishing Sirius would stop pacing above her head. She clicked her finger. It still looked a little funny and was as annoying as hell. One more battle wound, she thought self-pityingly. She tried to ignore the now-familiar sensation of her flesh crawling, tried to drown it in alcohol, but to no avail. She felt like giving up, giving in. It was too hard! Was she supposed to spend the rest of her life following him around like a puppy, desperate for scraps? What happened when he found someone, kicked her out on her butt, and she was left with these cravings?
It was during her fourth drink that she remembered she had barely done any research that day and had not even opened her briefcase to do any real work. She still had one day before the weekend, and Fridays were always full of last-minute demands on her time. She would be behind before she even began! She allowed a dramatic moan to escape her lips and wondered, not for the first time, why she hadn’t accepted a more prestigious position when they’d been offered to her after the war. She really was a glutton for punishment, always doing everything the hard way.
Sirius felt more than heard Hermione’s displeasure. It felt like a sudden curtain falling over his good mood. When her groan reached his ears, he was down the stairs before he knew it. Seeing her head cradled in her arms with one hand clutching a near empty glass of familiar amber liquid, Sirius had to smile. She always took on so much, he thought, wondering how he knew that but knowing it was true.
He confiscated her glass and the bottle of Firewhisky, relocating it to a more elusive hiding place. He pulled up a chair directly beside her and pulled her limp body into his arms. She leaned gracelessly against his chest, and both sighed in relief at the contact. She was flushed and her skin was clammy, and he knew she’d regret drinking come the morning, as it appeared she did not hold her liquor well.
Heaving her body into his arms, he carried her to her bed. It was still early to go to sleep, and she hadn’t even had dinner, but Sirius knew she’d be out of commission for the night. She tried to deny it, but her words were slurred, and she giggled at her own incoherence. Certain he’d never heard her giggle, hadn’t even been certain she knew how, Sirius had to laugh out loud. What an outrageous situation for an old man like me to be in, he thought musingly. Bet she never would have brought me back if she’d known I’d be her ball and chain. His thoughts were resentful toward himself, but he felt only the sincerest gratitude toward her.
That night, there was no self-deluded attempt to sleep apart. Partly because he didn’t want her falling down the stairs in search of his room, but mostly because Sirius longed to hold her in his arms, feeling her breath on his neck and her silky skin under his rough palms.
He fell asleep holding on to her like an anchor in an uncertain world, and there were no nightmares that night.
Sirius woke up first for the first time since they began their clandestine night-time meetings. Hermione was snoring lightly, something she never did while sober. Sirius marvelled at the fact that he knew her well enough to know that. But as soon as he thought that, he realized he did not really know her at all. What had persuaded her to bring him back, to never give up?
When they’d known each other before the Veil, they had tolerated one another well enough. She didn’t like him always taunting Snape, or his encouragement of Harry to have a little reckless fun. He hadn’t appreciated her know-it-all attitude or the way she took it upon herself to scold him like she was the adult and he the child. But they’d got on well enough, giving one another a wide berth and mostly communicating for Harry’s sake only.
Below the surface though, he could admit now, as he gazed upon her still form bathed in moonlight, that he’d respected her more than just about anyone he knew. She reminds me of Remus, he thought, and his heart ached for a moment. They were both so intelligent; they were both so good, always trying to do the right thing, and both always looking out for Harry. He’d actually entertained the notion of the two of them getting together, because if anyone could handle Remus’ lycanthropy, it was Hermione. But when Tonks made her desires known, Remus was lost, and Sirius shelved the thought.
On her part, though Sirius never knew it, Hermione had had her own impressions. She enjoyed his sense of humour when it was not directed at Snape or another victim. She loved his carefree attitude, all the more because she herself could never adopt it. But those feelings were buried beneath frustration at the exact same attributes: his cruel humour and lackadaisical nature.
Knowing what he knew about her, Sirius wondered why she was the only one who’d never given up. She’d always seemed so realistic, sensible to the point of coldness. What had kept the coals of his survival burning?
Hermione sniffed indelicately and shifted in the bed. He knew she didn’t have to be up for about an hour, and he intended to use that time wisely. He hadn’t perfected his plan to seduce her just yet, but the sensitive nature of his plot might just get thrown to the wind if she kept grazing her leg against his like that.
Though he couldn’t deny the fluttering of arousal the brief caress gave him, he pulled his body back. If he denied himself for a while, the relief would be even sweeter when it came; he also suspected she might not appreciate being molested in her sleep. He brushed her unruly hair away from her face, drawing his fingers across her silky cheek and over her lips. They were so soft, slightly parted, with the bottom lip sticking out precociously in a delicious pout. Sirius rested his fingers against the plump lower lip and her tongue came out to wet her lips, grazing his fingertips in the process. Sirius groaned and pulled away, turning onto his back and questioning the merits of his self-torture.
He was sure that if he just started kissing her, he’d be making love to her in no time. He honestly didn’t believe she’d pull away. He sensed that she wanted him as much as he wanted her, even if she wouldn’t—couldn’t—face it. But despite the antics of his youth and his brief freedom after Azkaban, Sirius was wise enough to know when a woman was special. He’d met few of them, or perhaps hadn’t appreciated them when he had met them, but he knew Hermione was one. She was delicate, a little bird with hollow bones, ever fragile and timid. He would take his time because she deserved it.
She was special. She was different. She was touching him.
She was on her side facing him, and she’d snuggled right up to his side, wrapping both her arm and thigh over his front and pressing her face against his chest. She sighed contentedly, and Sirius’ self-control slipped a little. A lot.
She smells so good, she is so soft. Sirius never felt older than the moment her young flesh snaked across his skin, her leg coming dangerously close to his groin, and her hand grazing a bared nipple until it settled on his side. Merlin, he thought; if she makes me this hard in her sleep, what could she do awake?
With that treacherous thought in mind, Sirius left the bed. Good intentions weren’t worth a Sickle when the mere heat from her body flooded his cock with blood.
A cold shower and a self-reproachful lecture later, Sirius was gratified to hear Hermione awaken. A loud groan reached his ears, even though he was still in the bathroom. He grinned wryly; she must be regretting her indulgence now. He stood still, trying to hear what she was doing. A loud thump sounded, and he thought maybe it was time to go back and see if she needed help.
He approached the bedroom door and immediately wished he’d stayed in the bathroom, where it was safe.
Hermione was frantically pulling open drawers. She’d donned a simple pair of black underwear and a matching bra, but she couldn’t find the trousers she’d wanted to wear today. And to make matters infinitely worse, her headache was raging and she was certain it was not the result of a Sirius deficiency. This is why you never drink, she reminded herself harshly. Even if she didn’t get drunk, she always felt like crap warmed up the next day. She bent over, opening the bottom drawer and was about to smile in success when she heard a groan from the doorway.
She turned around quickly, her eyes falling upon an awake and blushing—blushing?—Sirius Black. She froze, knowing she should hide her state of undress, but really, he was the one watching her get dressed! And there was nowhere to hide, anyway. Taking a deep breath, she glared at him, mentally yelling at him to leave, since actually yelling might rip her skull in two. She hastily donned the pants, and found a red blouse to go with it. When she turned back toward him, his eyes were closed and his fists were clenched. Hermione worriedly wondered if he was wishing she had her own place and wasn’t living in his house, when her eyes were drawn to his crotch. He was definitely... awake, she noticed.
Gulping, Hermione finished dressing and thought about moving toward the door, but knew if she did, she would be closer to him, and she might even brush by... it, on her way out the door. So she just stood there. Thankfully, Sirius moved first. Not meeting her eyes, he crawled back into the bed, facing away from her. Well, if that isn’t a dismissal, I don’t know what is! she thought, a little hurt by his actions. She quietly stomped (because stomping to her satisfaction would result in her immediate demise, according to her head) and went to the bathroom.
Sirius was humiliated. His actions were that of his fifteen-year-old self; he hadn’t gotten that turned on by a woman getting dressed since he was a teenager. And worse yet, she’d seen. So much for being the suave seducer. Now he would be lucky if she saw him as anything other than a total pervert, a voyeur, a dirty old man. When he heard Hermione go down the stairs, his hand, of its own accord, moved under the covers toward his straining cock.
Gripping the length in hand, Sirius mentally pictured Hermione in her black panties and bra, smiling softly at him in the doorway. Instead of getting dressed quickly enough to win a medal, in his head she held out her hand to him. He crossed the floor, and she smiled wickedly up at him, before falling gracefully to her knees in front of him. Sirius groaned, and his hand began to move faster, his other hand moving towards his balls to speed up his release. Hermione looked up at him and lowered his pants. Still meeting his eyes, she slowly licked the precum off the tip of his cock, moaning softly as she tasted him. Sirius’ rolled back in his head, and his grip tightened on his member. A few more quick, brutal yanks and he bit his lip to keep his cry from escaping. He couldn’t contain his groan as he spilled himself over his belly, colour returning to his gaze, and heartbeat returning to normal.
They really needed to talk, Sirius decided.
Hermione finished making a lunch for herself and Sirius, putting his in the fridge like she always did, and looked up the stairs. Her feet deciding for her, Hermione made her way to the bedroom. She paused in the doorway. Sirius was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. He looked a little flushed, and Hermione hoped he wasn’t angry at her.
“I’m leaving for work now,” she announced. Sirius started, raising himself slightly in the bed to look at her.
“Okay.”
“I’ll come home for lunch,” she informed him, though they both already knew this.
Sirius cleared his throat and looked away. “Okay.”
“And tonight...” Hermione wasn’t sure if she wanted to say this, but knew it had to be done. “Tonight we should talk about... what’s been happening. I don’t think our current way of dealing with things is working.”
Sirius demonstrated his incalculable knowledge of the English language by nodding and saying, “Okay.”
She nodded back, and left the room hastily. She’d wanted to go back in for one last touch before she had to leave, but something about his attitude held her back. He’d looked... angry, at first. But then she recognized the feeling not as anger, but hunger. And that scared her almost as much.
As the days were wont to do since Sirius’ return, this one trickled by, and every second on the clock was a distinct noise in Hermione’s ears.
Even the venture home for lunch did little to dispel her anxiety, and Hermione was glad they’d decided to talk tonight, because avoiding the problem was making her crazy. The respite they found from touch and proximity felt good for a minute, but the discomfort came back as soon as they parted. She chuckled a little desperately at the picture they must make, hugging one another desperately in the sitting room the moment she came through the Floo, holding hands to get their lunches, sitting on the couches, thighs touching, as they ate in silence.
She’d cast one more longing look over her shoulder at Sirius before she stepped through the Floo. His face had been one of pure agony, but he didn’t meet her eyes.
Now she was watching the seconds tick by, her body feeling like it had run a marathon, and her mind exhausted and disrupted.
Harry sent an owl saying he wouldn’t be by tonight after all, as he and his partner would be staking out the house of a notorious Death Eater. They were slowly rounding them up, but if anyone knew how to be slippery, it was Death Eaters. Hermione owled back with an invitation to dinner on Sunday instead, telling him to bring Ginny. She was certain he’d told his wife about Sirius, and Ginny was probably beside herself in excitement.
Finally it was time to go. She gathered up her weekend work and fairly ran toward the Floos. She was not really looking forward to the talk with Sirius, but she was excited to see him.
Sirius had spent the day reading and pacing, thinking about what he wanted to say to Hermione when she got home. He wanted to tell her his plan for them to actually be... a couple? Together? Sirius frowned, wondering how he would propose the idea. He hadn’t thought much about the details, just the sex. She would probably want to date and stuff. Well, he could deal with that, he decided. It wouldn’t be so bad; she was bloody gorgeous, funny and smart. Young... his mind unhelpfully inserted. Too young for you.... He quickly turned off his brain, annoying organ that it was, and thought about the sex some more.
Sirius was jolted from his licentious thoughts when he heard the Floo activate and saw Hermione come through. After a brief spell to cleanse her clothing of ash, she was crossing the floor to the couch where he was lounging, leaning back against the headrest, both legs stretched out on the seat, fingers laced behind his head. Tight jeans passably concealing erection.
Hermione stood in front of him, looking about ready to order him to move his feet for her to sit down. He pre-empted her by giving her a challenging stare and raising his eyebrow. She frowned.
Sirius didn’t move. If she wanted to sit, she would sit on him.
Locked in a battle of wills with Hermione hardly understanding what was happening, Sirius turned onto his side, moving so his back was pressed into the back of the sofa, leaving a little room for her, not enough to sit, but if she lay right next to him, holding onto him....
“Hermione love, come on. Lie with me. We both need you to.” His voice was at its seductive best, low and vibrating right through her.
Hermione took of her shoes and sat in the small space his body left on the cushion. Sirius wasted no time and pulled her down, her back snug against his front, her legs trapped beneath one of his. His arm snaked over her side to rest casually just below her breasts. He praised himself again for the choice of jeans.
Hermione held herself impossibly stiff, until the comfort of being in his arms took over, and she could only sigh. The tension melted from her body, and she put both her hands on the arm holding her against him. She could hear Sirius smelling her hair.
He nudged her bushy mane aside with his nose, and lowered his mouth to the junction of her shoulder and neck. He pressed his lips to her, not moving, just waiting. She didn’t make a move, not a noise, so Sirius regretfully removed his mouth.
“Time to talk?” he asked, not relishing it, but wanting it out of the way.
She nodded, removing his arm so she could sit up. He was loath to let her go, but he did.
They rearranged themselves to sitting facing each other. Sirius reached for her hand and held it in his lap. Having her body against him was better, but her hand brought relief as well.
She began, “I know this isn’t the ideal situation, and I assure you I had no idea it would be like this when I brought you back. But I think it’s in our best interests to try to bring some comfort to one another until we can figure out how to... make it go away.”
Sirius frowned. She sounded so official, so stiff. “So, if you’d known you’d have to touch me, you’d have left me there to rot... or whatever?”
“No, no...” she backpedalled. “I only meant... well surely, you—” She stopped abruptly. This wasn’t going well. “I meant that you probably wouldn’t have wanted to come back at all if you’d known!”
Sirius laughed. “I would have wanted to come back if it meant I had to snuggle the Dark Lord himself!” And as soon as the words left his mouth, he realized he’d compared her to Voldemort. This could be bad.
Hermione looked appalled, and then her flashing eyes narrowed and settled on his. “Well, I could always send you back and you could go find him!”
He sighed. He had never been good at this whole “talking” thing, and she was not making it easier.
“Okay, Hermione. I didn’t mean it like that. Let’s just try to get through this talk without killing one another, because I don’t think I could live without you right now, you know?” Words meant to be casual were loaded with feeling, and Sirius kicked himself. He used to be so charming with the ladies, but this one had him confessing things meant to be hidden.
She looked placated, and said, “I know what you mean. So what it comes down to is that we need to be in near-constant contact.”
“That’s the crux of it, it seems,” he agreed.
“Why?” Her words were plaintive, and he realized it must be driving her absolutely barmy to not know.
“Hermione, maybe you should tell me exactly what spell you cast. Where did you find it? What were the precise instructions?” Sirius wasn’t sure he could glean more from the situation than she herself had, but he wanted to try to help her.
“I’ve already been over it, there’s nothing that would indicate a reaction like this.” She gestured between them with a pained look. “I’m so sorry.”
He gripped her hand tighter. “Please don’t be sorry for bringing me back. Please. I know this is... odd, but we can make it work. And maybe... I can make it good for you?” He had meant that last part to be sexy, but it sounded like a plea.
She looked puzzled, and Sirius seriously questioned the seduction techniques of her previous partners. He hoped he wouldn’t have to come right out and offer his cock, but he would if he had to.
“If touching me feels good, love, then I want you to touch me. Whenever you want. Wherever you want. However you want...” His voice fell so low she had to lean forward to catch the last part. She looked into his heated gaze, and his grey eyes were slate with desire. Her mouth fell open, taking in his words. He wanted her to touch him? Like that?
He leaned closer, placing one hand on the side of her neck, the other holding hers firmly within it. He tilted his head, and whispered against her lips.
“Hermione... touch me.”
Chapter 9
Hermione, usually quick on the uptake, took a few minutes to absorb what Sirius was saying to her. He wants me to touch him. Like that. He wants us to… what?
Hermione tried not to lean into the hand gently caressing her neck, but the feeling was so soothing, and she felt relaxed sitting so close to him. Her lips parted, and her head tilted back slightly, pressing into his touch and baring her neck. She wasn’t sure exactly what she wanted, but she wanted something and knew it was his to give to her.
Sirius could see his words affect her, could feel her pulse speed up and her breath come a little faster. He took advantage of her parted lips and pressed his against hers. She gasped softly, but did not pull away, and Sirius pressed his advantage.
He moved his lips slightly against hers, softly, searchingly. Her lips were like silk against his, and her breath was so warm and sweet. He touched the tip of his tongue to her bottom lip, sweeping across its plumpness. He wanted nothing more than to thrust his tongue into her mouth and fuck her with it in an obscene pantomime of what he really wanted to do to her, but with strength seldom previously exercised, he restrained himself.
Hermione moaned as his lips became more persistent against hers, and she parted her lips fully to permit entrance. He took it immediately, and the hot satin of his tongue was stroking hers lovingly. Her hands tangled in his hair, and she luxuriated in its thickness. His own hands had moved over her shoulders and to her waist, where he was pulling her tightly against him.
Sirius broke the kiss first, maintaining his self-control against all odds, and looked into her eyes. They were half-lidded with desire, the normal whiskey colour darkening to a deep chocolate, and Sirius drew in a sharp breath at the need he saw there.
“Hermione… are you okay with this?” He felt more protective of her than he usually did of his conquests, and wanted to make sure she didn’t feel forced into this.
“I don’t really know. I feel okay with it, until I stop to think. It’s just happened so fast, too fast,” she breathed. Hermione pulled away, and started to get up, but Sirius held her fast. She relaxed into his embrace, feeling embarrassed but also scared of what was happening to them. She knew Sirius was the type to resent when his life became beyond his control, and Hermione couldn’t help but feel guilty that she’d taken away his choice. But his kisses had felt so good, so real—like he wanted it to happen. If only she could turn her brain off.
“I know. But we’re in this together, right?” Hermione nodded. She wanted to know more about how the connection affected him, so she asked the first thing that came to mind.
“How badly do you need me?” No sooner had she spoken then her face blushed furiously, and it covered even her neck and chest. Sirius only grinned knowingly and lightly bussed her lips.
“You have no idea… or maybe you do,” he said silkily, lightly kissing a pattern on her neck and shoulder.
“I do... but I meant to ask: how strong is the urge for connection, for you?”
Sirius thought for a moment. “It feels okay while I’m asleep, but as soon as I wake up, I need to touch you, to make sure you’re there. I can last a few hours during the day, but I start to feel ill about half an hour before you come home for lunch or after work. I don’t think I could stand being away from you all day. Then when we touch, I feel like everything is going to be okay, like I’m complete for the first time. Everything falls into place. But the need is for more than just physical touch. I want you to want to touch me as well, and I want you… in an intimate way.”
Hermione was thoughtful through his description. It was nearly exactly the same way she felt. The bond between them wanted her to touch him, but not just platonically; it seemed to beg for a sexual connection, and was becoming increasingly difficult to stave off.
“So, are we just supposed to have sex all the time, for the rest of our lives? That just doesn’t make any sense!” Hermione’s frustration was revealing itself enough that her words hardly embarrassed her. She looked pleadingly at Sirius, as though he would have all the answers, when he was even more in the dark than she was.
He only shook his head. “A fate worse than death, to be sure,” he began ironically, “But let’s not lose our heads. There must be an explanation. No spells are created without documentation, not even Dark spells like this. We’ll just have to… research.” The last word was stated with distinct disdain, and Hermione smiled at his grimace. But the only book that might have answers was the one in which she found the spell, and for some reason she didn’t want to tell Sirius about it, even though, technically, it was his book. She wasn’t sure if he’d be angry or disappointed in her, but she also felt like the book was her secret to keep.
“I’ll keep looking, of course. And maybe I should get Professor Snape to help me again.” Sirius sneered at the name, and looked as though he questioned her sanity. “Well, he was the one who helped me complete the spell in the first place,” she said defensively. “Without him, you’d still be floating around in oblivion!” She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to defend her former Professor so vehemently, but she’d always hated the pointless animosity between the two, even knowing the reason behind it.
Sirius only snorted derisively, his expression telling her exactly what he thought of her idea.
“Well,” Hermione felt her anger grow, and wanted to lash out unthinkingly. “If you think it’s a bad idea, it must be the right thing to do!” Hermione leapt off the couch and announced her intended location into the Floo. Sirius followed her to the hearth, but she was gone before she could hear his scream of frustration and the sound of a vase being shattered into a million shards.
Hermione tumbled ungracefully out of the fireplace in Snape’s office at Hogwarts. Snape was sitting at his desk, facing a young Hufflepuff girl, presumably pointing out errors on her essay when Hermione made her grand entrance.
He stopped midsentence, and set his sights on her. “Miss Granger, another unannounced visit. How nice.”
Hermione rolled her eyes at his droll tone and saw the Hufflepuff’s eyes widen with terror at this action. The young girl looked at her Professor in fear, but relaxed slightly when she saw nothing like rage on his face.
“I need your help again, Professor. It couldn’t wait.”
Snape nodded. “Miss Devereaux, please see yourself out. You have until tomorrow to revise this essay to a state of coherence. Second chances are seldom granted, so make good use of it.”
Miss Devereaux nodded quickly, and Hermione couldn’t resist calling out “Good luck!” to the girl before she fairly ran down the hall away from the dungeons to safety.
“And to what—”
“—do you owe the pleasure?” Hermione finished, and grinned inwardly when Snape narrowed his eyes. So predictable.
“It’s about the bond, about the spell I cast to get Sirius back. It’s… very strong, and I’m worried about the implications.”
“You mean to say you shudder at the thought of being inextricably attached to Black for all your days? I can hardly contain my surprise.” Hermione stifled a laugh at his wry commentary, and nodded.
“Something like that. But mostly I need to know why it is happening. It isn’t as bad as it could be, obviously. But we need to know how long it will last and what will happen if the bond’s needs aren’t met.”
Snape gestured to the seat Miss Devereaux had vacated, and Hermione gratefully took it. She regretted running out on Sirius like that, but his attitude had become stifling. She respected Snape and did not like to hear him denigrated. Her temper seemed to get the best of her more often, these days.
“Miss Granger, I believe I told you at the beginning of all this that the potion you consumed would have far-reaching results. You, in all your Gryffindor bravery—” this word he spat like a curse instead of a compliment, “—decided you need not heed my warnings. And now you are asking for help again. Why would I believe you are willing to listen this time?”
Hermione knew she was skating on thin ice. She spoke carefully. “Professor Snape, you’re correct, of course. I should have listened, and if it were not for the life of my best friend’s godfather in the balance, I would have. I thought I was doing the right thing, and I still do. I was grateful for your help before and always will be. Now, though, I need your help again, and this time I swear it will not fall on deaf ears. Just tell me what I’ve gotten us into.”
Snape looked somewhat placated by her comments. He leaned back in his chair and threaded his fingers together over his stomach. He looked pensive for a moment, and began to speak.
“Essence of pure azure is a highly volatile substance. When combined with certain other elements, it becomes unstable and dangerous. When combined with more than one said element, it can be downright disastrous. There were at least three such items on the list I took from you the last time you were here, and I know that was not the complete list. Who can know how many unstable elements you combined in your potion?
“However, based on my limited knowledge of the spell you performed, the state we found you in at the Veil, and the symptoms you are experiencing now, I believe I can give you an educated guess as to what is happening to you and Black.
“First though, are you a virgin?”
His question hit her off guard and she sputtered. He rolled his eyes at her indignant reaction.
“You know that virgin blood as also referred to as Soul Blood, do you not?”
Hermione recovered, and shook her head. She’d never heard that terminology. She told him in a tone braver than she actually felt that she was, indeed, a virgin. He nodded meditatively.
“Soul Blood is used as a binding ingredient. It is an anchor for the potion, and is used to create an interactive base for the all other elements. When used with the essence of pure azure, it is used to foster a trade. A part of the person who consumes the potion becomes attached, or bonded, to a part of the person for whom it is meant. In your case, yourself and Black.
“The Soul Blood in your potion removed part of your soul; of this I am almost certain. Dark Magic comes with a great cost, as you were told. But more than that, I believe that part of your soul was given to Sirius, and part of his soul given to you. For all intents and purposes, you are now the same being. That explains your need to be close to one another, and your feeling of completeness when the connection is honoured; your souls are most comfortable around their other portion.
“It may also explain the week-long delay after which you performed the spell and yet Sirius did not return. Soul Blood searches by intent, and would have to delve both into your deepest desires and into his in order for it to make the right connection, so as to not bring back the wrong person. The trading of souls also takes time, and Sirius could not be brought back without a whole soul; the Veil would not have let him pass. If you had died during that week, you would have been stranded in purgatory, and Sirius would have two souls fighting for supremacy within his body. You would have damned both yourself and Black for eternity.”
Hermione was nearly shaking by the time Snape’s melodious yet dreaded voice fell silent. How could she have been so foolish, so naïve? She had bound them to a lifetime of slavery to one another. She tried to mentally search herself to see if she could sense a piece of her soul missing. She couldn’t feel a vacancy, but that made sense: Sirius’ soul-portion would now be in that place.
“I… see. So… what do I do now?” Her words were calm but the underlying shakiness belied her controlled demeanour.
“Now, you go and tell Black, survive the fallout, and try to live without murdering one another. It will be impossible, I’m sure; I’ll check the Daily Prophet for your obituaries on a regular basis.”
Hermione was slowly shaking her head, as though she could banish all she had just learned, or better yet, banish that part of her that always had to have answers for everything. Would it be better to not know? she asked herself. Time will tell.
“Professor Snape, I understand the need for contact. It’s like our souls are trying to reconnect, correct?” He nodded in the affirmative. “Then why do we need more than just… a friendly sort of touch?”
Snape looked at her blankly. Hermione plunged on. “I mean we want to touch each other sexually, okay? There’s a very, very strong compulsion to… do it.” Hermione mentally slapped herself for being so childish, while she simultaneously internally giggled at her words.
Snape looked positively uncomfortable, but she was sure she saw mirth in his eyes at her own discomfort. Ah, Schadenfreude, she snarked to herself.
“Your souls want the deepest connection possible. More than a physical connection, they want a spiritual and mental one as well. The best way to become connected, though some may not agree these days, is to be sexually intimate. It is truly an act of becoming one. The release will bring relief that will last longer than the touches you’ve been giving one another. I can’t say how much longer, but I doubt Black will wait to find out once he learns this—like the mutt needed an excuse to bed you.” Snape looked thoroughly disgusted at the thought.
His eyes gentled, and he looked at her with something as akin to pity as Snape could manage without spontaneously combusting.
“Miss Granger, I’m sorry you had to sacrifice yourself like this. It must be disheartening to know that your first time will be forced instead of natural. I would not wish that on anyone.”
Hermione only nodded blindly, barely hearing his words. She would have to sleep with Sirius; that was the only way to get on with their lives. Maybe it would only need to be once a month or something. That way, they could go on with their lives, maybe even date other people. Get married. It isn’t so bad, she told herself. Just a little caveat, nothing serious. She snorted at her mental pun.
She had to get back before she fell apart in Snape’s office.
She stood, a little unsteadily, and Snape came around the front of the desk to lend her an arm. She took it gratefully and put her weight on him.
“I meant what I said, Hermione. I am truly sorry that this is happening to you. I wish…” But he didn’t finish his sentence, and walked her to the Floo instead.
Hermione was in no state to notice his use of her given name, and just called out her destination in a dull voice. She thanked Snape, and he nodded.
Once she arrived at Grimmauld Place, she bypassed Sirius, stepping over a broken lamp without even noticing its presence, and went straight to her room. She heard Sirius calling her name, but she only shut her door, and went to lie on the bed. She felt so defeated. For once in her life, there was no way out, no way to fix what she had done.
And she didn’t know if she would fix it if she could.
Chapter 10
The look on Hermione’s face when she came through the Floo had broken Sirius’ heart. She looked absolutely devastated, as if someone had stolen her candy and kicked her puppy. He wanted to go to her, but he was still angry at her abrupt departure and knew he should calm down before they spoke again.
Plus, he had to get this place cleaned up, since a tornado bearing his name had come through.
Sprawled somewhat lazily on the couch, Sirius aimed his wand at various broken and battered items of furniture and artwork and went about putting his house in order. It was not the first time he’d flown into a rage, and he knew all the best spells for repairing his oft-abused fixtures.
Once finished, he allowed himself to think on their kiss. She was a good kisser, he would give her that much. She was all soft and smooth and perfectly compliant to his own particular style of kissing. She’d let him take the lead in a way that suggested she preferred it that way, and that line of thinking inevitably led him to wonder what else she would let him take the lead in.
Which inevitably led him to think about tying her to his bed.
Which inevitably led him to drop his head into his hands and groan out load.
He wanted her, he knew that much. He wasn’t used to working so hard to seduce a woman. It usually fell into his lap; he’d make the first move, and the object of his desire would succumb to his undeniable charm. But for whatever reason, Hermione was denying his allure, and he was damned if he was going to let her keep that up.
In Sirius’ mind, he had two choices. He could play hard to get, distancing himself until she became desperate and threw herself at him. This option would take time, patience, and self-control.
The obvious choice was his other option: go after what he wanted ruthlessly and with absolutely no regard for anyone or anything but his own satiation. And, of course, Hermione’s.
While her bond-mate made an important decision regarding her sexual satisfaction, unbeknownst to her, Hermione was pondering her future with Sirius. She knew she had to tell him what she had learned from Snape, but she was scared. The great Hermione Granger was scared to talk about sex. To a man. To Sirius.
Her face immediately flushed. His kiss had been so demanding, so forceful and yet so attentive to her own movements. She felt like for once in her few kissing experiences, she could play the passive role, let him guide her, teach her.
She was so thankful to not have to take on the teaching role this time. And it was one of Hermione’s many hidden desires to have a man really take over, really let her relinquish control. She hadn’t trusted anyone else in her life in that way, not like that; but she had a feeling she could trust Sirius to take good care of her. To see to her own needs as well as his own.
Hermione reclined back on her bed, wondering if she could somehow leave Sirius a note with Snape’s message or otherwise chicken out of telling him what needed to be done. She closed her eyes, knowing she would have to come up with the courage to talk to him about sex and reconcile the part of her that still saw him only as Harry’s godfather and still saw herself as thirteen years old. She was an adult now, and Sirius was a man… a kind, attentive, devilishly handsome and devastatingly sexy man with a delicious-looking trail of coarse black hair under his belly button that lead to places of which she’d only imagined.
But maybe it was better to stay away from thoughts like that altogether.
The door opened, and Hermione knew, due to the immediate settling of her scattered thoughts, that Sirius was in the room. She didn’t open her eyes, thinking if she pretended to be asleep, she could avoid the confrontation for just a little longer.
Sirius cleared his throat and Hermione contained a snort. Very subtle. But she remained in repose, trying not to jump up when she felt his weight settle on the bed next to her. She was in the middle, and he was quite close to her, enough to disrupt her thought process. Why am I pretending to be asleep again?
She felt a hand, perhaps the back of his fingers, slide along her bare arm, and little shocks followed his movements, leaving a trial of heat. His fingers slowly traced each of hers, and her hand twitched slightly, wanting to grasp him but restraining. It felt so good to be touched by him, it felt so real… but Hermione’s treacherous mind reminded her there was nothing real about this situation; it was contrived, his feelings weren’t genuine but forced. But that became more difficult to believe when his fingers ghosted over her lips and cheek, around her ear and back down her neck. His actions caused her body to tremble, and she wondered how long she could maintain the façade of being asleep.
Not long, apparently. For when his lips descended on hers, his warm breath melding with hers and his tongue snaking out to taste her, she couldn’t withhold her gasp. Her eyes opened against her will, and she could swear he wore a triumphant smile.
But that smile disappeared when she pressed her lips more firmly to his, demanding more from him, but still not taking control. She only pressed their lips together; it was up to him to move. She held the kiss for as long as she could and almost gave up, when his mouth slanted over hers and the kiss became brutal, desperate. His tongue moved sharply, quickly against hers, and his body moved over hers, both hands braced on the bed beside her head. He was holding his body atop hers, not letting them touch, but Hermione knew it was a Herculean effort, since she herself was having a hard time not rocking her hips upward to meet his.
Sirius seemed to regain his control and slowed the kiss to a bearable heat. Hermione’s lips were traced and her tongue gently sucked. She felt herself falling off a precipice, wanting desperately to grab something—someone—to hold on to and fall with her, but knowing someone had to stay grounded, and it certainly wasn’t going to be her.
Sirius slowly lowered his body to hers, his legs on either side of hers and his hips aligned with hers. He could feel her heat even through his jeans, and it nearly made him lose his precarious control. It would feel so good, so perfect, to grind his pelvis into hers until the friction brought them both to climax, but as much as he wanted that and so much more, he remembered that they had to talk.
What a horrible, horrible thing to remember. No other recollection had ever caused him so much pain. Yet recall he did.
“Hermione,” he rasped, trying to show her he was still in control of himself and failing miserably, “I wanted to say I’m sorry.”
Hermione was jolted from the blissful weight of his body on hers by his inopportune verbiage. “It’s okay, no problem,” she assured him, punctuating her words with quick, hot kisses on his neck. Sirius tried to take a deep breath to centre himself but found his lips to be otherwise occupied once again. Hermione drew his tongue into her mouth where she worshipped it, and Sirius saw no reason to leave.
But he had to at least finish what he started. The talking part, that was. “I shouldn’t have insulted Sni—everus in front of you. I know you… respect him,” Sirius barely stopped himself from finishing with, ‘for some reason.’
Hermione looked at him, surprised by his admission. “I do, Sirius. He is a good man. Thank you. I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have left like that… sometimes it’s hard for me to contain my temper these days, and I don’t like that feeling.”
Sirius didn’t doubt that. He sensed it frustrated her very much to show any weakness. “Where did you go?”
He knew the answer, but thought he might enjoy a little self-flagellation by hearing her say it.
Hermione scooted out from under him, and both felt bereft from her movement away. She sat up at the same time he flopped onto his back, hands laced behind his head.
“I went to see Professor Snape,” she admitted, looking away in case his gaze pierced her. He only nodded, gesturing for her to go on.
“He gave me some answers, though they might be… difficult to hear. They were for me, at least.” She had already gone this far, clearly there was no backing out. And he deserved to know, to make an informed decision. He stayed silent, so she plunged on, drawing a deep breath and barely pausing until she’d relayed Snape’s entire monologue.
A lovely shade of magenta, Hermione didn’t even pause when she told Sirius that having sex (or intercourse, as she clinically called it) was the only way to alleviate their mutual discomfort to a manageable level.
To her shock, when she braved a look at his reaction, he did not look completely disgusted. Thoughtful, yes. Repulsed, perhaps not. She pursed her lips, waiting for an answer.
“So…” he began, lips twitching, “We find ourselves in an unusual position. We are both attracted to one another, yes?” Hermione couldn’t answer for him, but nodded for herself. “Yes,” he agreed. “And we are both consenting adults who happen to enjoy one another’s company, as well as live in the same house, alone, by ourselves. Together.” Again, Hermione nodded, lips white from staying tight so long.
“And we have to have sex in order to live.”
Again, Hermione could only nod, but feeling she should contribute, said, “Um, essentially.”
Sirius looked like he was carefully considering her valuable input, and nodded decisively.
“Well, it appears the decision has been made for us, then.” And with no further compunction, he grabbed her hips and dragged her body onto him, settling her between his thighs and taking her mouth in a violent coupling. He groaned when her mouth immediately opened, and he buried his fingers into her dishevelled hair, not allowing her to pull away.
Which she wouldn’t have done, even without his death grip on her mane.
He broke the kiss to whisper against her lips, “The things I will do to you, Hermione, you have no idea.” She whimpered and he took her lips again.
Nearly an hour and many half-hearted attempts to leave the bedroom on both their parts later, Hermione and Sirius decided it was best for all parties to get some food and a shower (not together, Hermione admonished) before bed. It had been the very longest of days, and she was especially exhausted. And tomorrow Harry and Ginny would be coming over for dinner, and she needed to clean and get ready for that. Not to mention all the work she’d brought home with her.
After tucking into a sandwich, Hermione was thinking about the turn of events as the warm water cascaded over her skin and trickled over her body. She wanted Sirius, more than any other man she’d ever known. It felt so right when he touched her, kissed her. He didn’t seem to ask permission, he only took everything she offered, and she felt relieved that he didn’t treat her like some wilting violet. She was strong, she’d proven it innumerable times, and yet men always seemed to handle her like glass.
But not Sirius. He held her like a woman, like she was fire instead of water. She felt so sexy in his arms; she felt confident around him. It was a dangerous, heady feeling. The pounding of the water matched the blood in her veins, and Hermione couldn’t—and didn’t want to—stop her fingers from sliding over her soap-slicked skin and into her light brown curls at her apex. A moan escaped her parted lips when her fingers brushed her swollen nub. No man had ever put her in such a state, of that she was certain. Leaning against the coolly-tiled wall, Hermione’s fingers danced and pressed until her movements became frantic and she cried out her release, desperately hoping, a little too late, that the sound of the rushing water masked her wanton racket.
But Hermione had no such luck, and by the time she had towelled off and hightailed to her bedroom to don pyjamas, Sirius had already disposed of his own franticly discharged release, having heard Hermione’s soft moans. His choice had been between attacking her in the shower and fucking her blind or relieving himself by his own hand in the cold comfort of the kitchen.
Hardly sated but more in command of his senses, Sirius took to the shower when he was sure Hermione was in bed.
Merlin, but he wanted that girl. She was just so fucking innocent, so untouched. He usually didn’t go for that type, preferring a woman who knew her way around a hard-on, but there was something about her tentative touches, her enthusiastic responses, that made him rethink his approach.
He wondered about her past. How many men had had her? Not many, he mused, and most likely none that would make her feel like he would. Her innocence was the only thing that had stopped him from ripping her clothes off her body in the bedroom earlier, and if he didn’t know better, he might have thought she was a virgin. But there was no way she’d been with Ron all those years and remained virginal, especially if they’d still been together in those lost years, during which he knew nothing of her life. She very well might have been with numerous men while he was beyond the Veil. Sirius couldn’t identify the strange twist in his gut when he thought about that. He did not enjoy thinking that other men had known her like that. He had never been anyone’s first, and didn’t intend to be, but he couldn’t deny that he wished there had been no men before him.
Maybe he was just being selfish.
Sirius wondered about how Harry would react to him and Hermione. He knew his godson loved Hermione, and as with Remus, Sirius had entertained the idea of them getting together one day, especially before Ginny. And he also knew Harry loved him, almost to hero-worshipping levels, and though that made him simultaneously proud and uncomfortable, Sirius knew he would be shaking the foundation of trust when Harry learned he and Hermione had to be together. He could only hope Harry would understand the necessity of it. There really was no choice, after all. They had to follow the bond; they were playing by rules beyond their control.
It didn’t matter that Sirius knew he would have pursued Hermione even if the bond didn’t exist, because even when the bond between them abated, his desire for her was intense. She was smart, funny, beautiful and she wanted him as well. Harry would just have to deal. He was adaptable; Sirius knew he could handle this. He’d probably gape and gasp and fly off the handle, but he’d calm down and be rational.
Because Harry was known for his rationality. Just like Sirius was known for his self-restraint.
Speaking of which, he was now pondering the intelligence of getting into bed with no boxers on and ravaging Hermione. But somehow (and this is what gave Sirius hope about Harry reacting positively to the news) Sirius controlled himself and donned underpants.
He crawled into bed none too quietly and immediately drew the warm, sleeping body into his arms. Hermione sighed against his chest, and her fingers reflexively clutched his bicep. Sirius grinned into her hair, smoothing it away to diminish the chance of choking to death on it in his sleep. Everything was going to turn out just fine.
Chapter 11
The morning sun streamed in ribbons across the bed Hermione shared with Sirius. She awoke slowly, not to the brutal alarm clock, nor to the noises of the city. Instead, she woke up naturally, with no apparent catalyst.
She blinked rapidly to force her eyes to focus and looked over at Sirius. Objectively, he was a truly handsome man, one who had lived a rough life, maybe, but who still had a lot of life left. He had crinkles around his eyes, and Hermione wondered at the fact that a man with so much so be sad about could have laugh lines. His lips were slightly parted and looked a little dry. His hair was spread over the pillow case, and some had fallen onto his face, over his eye. Hermione brushed it back, careful not to actually touch his face, just his hair.
She thought back to their talk the night before. He’d been extremely… amenable to the news that they would have to be intimate in order to fulfil the needs of the bond. It was strange, thinking of the bond as a sentient entity, but she’d come to believe it truly was. She couldn’t deny that it shifted the responsibility from her, for which she was truly grateful. She admitted her hand in what happened, but it felt nice to be able to say, ‘the bond is making me want to wake Sirius up with a nice, wet kiss,’ rather than admit to herself it was her own desire.
But she had to wonder what it would feel like to have a man want her for her, not because he might perish otherwise.
Since she would never know, she could at least enjoy Sirius’ attentions for the time being. Once they found a cure or a solution, she could think about her real life. Until then, she would be stuck playing house with a man who probably wanted anyone but her.
Hermione slipped from the bed, intent on performing her morning ablutions before Sirius woke up. Today was Sunday, and Harry and Ginny would be coming over for dinner. Sirius wanted to tell them today, and she didn’t disagree. She didn’t want to be the one to tell Harry, though; but she would if she had to. It would be easier for her to be the bad guy than Sirius; she was more used to it and could handle it better. Sirius was too much of a friend to Harry and not enough of a father figure. He would absolutely detest having Harry be mad at him. And so would she, but she knew they’d be forgiven. She was not prone to the same dramatic outbursts as Sirius was, and even he admitted as much.
Hermione, towelled and, still dripping from the shower, wrote out a quick list of food she’d need for their dinner. She planned on making a simple chicken in white wine sauce, with caramelized asparagus and roasted potatoes. She might not be the greatest cook, but even she could handle chicken.
When she heard the shower running, she returned to the bedroom to get dressed. She tugged on simple white underpants and a lace-trimmed white bra. She had just opened the wardrobe when she heard the bathroom door open. She quickly went to grab something with which to cover herself, but before she could manage, she felt strong arms circle her waist and she was lifted off her feet.
Sirius laughed as he unceremoniously threw her on her back upon the bed, clamouring over her and pinning her down. Hermione half-heartedly struggled, sensing he actually wanted her to, until his lips met her neck, and he tongued her still-damp flesh.
“You thought you could escape me, huh, baby?” His voice was rough and playful, and he nipped her shoulder with his teeth. Hermione meant to squeal, but whimpered instead.
“No! I was only—” She meant to tell him she’d been preparing for dinner later, but he didn’t really want an answer and let her know as much by firmly kissing her lips. She dutifully denied him entrance, not appreciating being silenced in such a manner, but he was persistent. He playfully licked her closed lips, giving a frustrated grunt when she pursed them. He kissed all around her mouth, running his tongue along the seam of her lips and finally biting her bottom lip not quite gently. Hermione gasped at the sting, and Sirius dove in.
His tongue roved her open mouth, and she could no longer think to deny him. Their tongues caressed each other, Hermione almost immediately ceding control to Sirius, who relished it. They both became aware that Sirius was entirely naked, pressed firmly against a nearly-naked Hermione, and Sirius couldn’t stop himself from grinding his erection against her thigh. He groaned at the friction and tried not to think that he was acting entirely too much like Padfoot right now, rutting against her leg like an animal.
Hermione bent her leg at the knee, and Sirius’ groin connected with hers instead of her thigh. She gasped against his lips and he grinned. He could feel the dampness of her panties against his bare cock and resented the only barrier between himself and certain heaven.
Sirius shifted his weight to the side so he could snake his hand down into her panties. Hermione was holding onto him with both hands, and her nails imbedded themselves into his flesh when his fingers grazed her swollen lower lips. They both moaned at the contact; Sirius was amazed at how wet she was, ignoring the fact that it might be because of her shower. His middle finger slipped into her folds, seeking out her hidden pearl. Upon his discovery of it, Hermione quietly keened, pressing her hips up against his hand, desperate for more contact.
Sirius would have loved nothing more than to mount her and thrust his hardness into her, giving neither of them a moment’s respite before pounding them to an ecstatic release. But something held him back, and he maintained his position beside her, kissing her languidly as he gently fingered her clit.
Hermione broke the kiss when his fingers gently pinched her swollen nub, and her head fell onto the bed, her mouth open but no noise emitting. Sirius kissed and sucked on her neck, his fingers moving faster and faster as he felt her hips move more insistently. Without even slipping a finger into her, Sirius brought Hermione to the most intense orgasm of her young life. She cried out, clenching her fingers unforgivingly around his biceps, shutting her eyes tight against the waves that flooded her body. Her hips circled of their own accord, and Sirius was entranced by the movement, wishing he hadn’t listened to that little voice and had buried himself within her like he’d wanted to.
When the surges ceased and Hermione came back to herself, she could only smile weakly. She suspected she was supposed to return the favour, but just as she was gathering the nerve to touch him, Sirius pushed himself off the bed and, winking at her lasciviously, headed back into the bathroom to finish his shower.
Hermione lay on the bed for a few blissful moments. The bond was giving her absolutely no stress, and she couldn’t even feel it when she mentally reached out for it. It was satisfied. For now.
Sirius had sensed Hermione’s hesitation in touching him. Her hands had not strayed lower than his waist the entire time. Rather than make her feel uncomfortable or obligated to reciprocate—which she absolutely was not—he escaped to the shower to give himself some much needed release. Using his new memory of Hermione writhing on the bed beneath him, Sirius brought himself off in record time, grunting as thick ropes coated the tile wall. He rinsed the wall off obligingly and thought about the next time he’d get to touch Hermione.
After going to the grocery store for Hermione, Sirius was permitted to do nothing else to help for dinner. Grimmauld Place was very tidy, the table was set, and dinner was nearly finished. Sirius staved off boredom by randomly mauling Hermione while she cooked, perversely enjoying her protests more than her acceptance.
By the time he’d ripped her nylons and popped the buttons off his own shirt in a fit of passion, Hermione was forced to banish him to the sitting room. Abandoning nylons altogether, Hermione snickered to herself. Sirius had a way of making her forget the bond. It was almost like he was touching her and maintaining his closeness to her so she could forget, never giving the bond a chance to make its needs known.
She appreciated the effort, and it almost worked. But Hermione’s mind, even with warm, rough hands trailing all over her body, never shut off entirely, and it was always crying out, ‘He doesn’t really want this, not from you!’ And she wasn’t in the habit of ignoring her mind, so she never truly forgot.
Harry had Firecalled in the morning to confirm their invitation, and Sirius had responded that the dinner was still on. And right on time, Harry announced to Sirius, who was sitting in front of the hearth wondering what else he could do to torment his semi-unwilling lover, that he and Ginny were coming through.
They both somewhat gracefully entered the sitting room, and Harry immediately ran to Sirius, hugging him tightly. He was still having a hard time believing his godfather was really back, and it satisfied him to feel Sirius solidly in his arms. Sirius returned the embrace, hearing a gentle sniffling in the background. He released Harry and looked at Ginny. She had tears on her cheeks and her smile was bright but shaky. She took a hesitant step toward Sirius, and he strode to meet her, picking her up off her feet and swinging her around.
“Sirius! Put me down!” she laughed through her tears. Harry had told her he’d returned, but seeing him in the flesh was different. Hermione came in from the kitchen to see Sirius thrust Ginny in Harry’s willing arms. She smiled from the doorway, and Sirius saw an opportunity.
He crossed the floor to Hermione and pulled her into the room by her hand. Hermione smiled her greeting at her friends, and they responded. Harry’s eyes rested on Sirius’ hand which was still holding Hermione’s, and he looked questioningly at his godfather.
“Harry, listen.” Sirius began, stopping as he heard Hermione squeak beside him. He ignored her and continued on. “There’s no point in delaying this. When Hermione cast the spell to bring me back, it traded part of her soul for part of mine, and now our souls want to be together, and in order for that to happen, we have to be together. We have to have sex, basically. Otherwise, we could both become very ill and possibly even die. But I will take good care of her, don’t worry about that.”
Hermione’s mouth gaped open and she looked ready to faint. Sirius had just summarized in less than a minute what it had taken her a day to prepare mentally. All her gentle wording, all her planning of telling Harry after dinner… gone, because Sirius couldn’t keep his trap shut. She slapped his arm, but he only grinned at her.
Harry and Ginny both looked astonished. Ginny’s face was slowly forming into a knowing grin, but Harry just looked uncomprehending.
“You have to… have sex? What kind of crazy magic is that? This stuff doesn’t just happen! There’s no reasonable explanation for a spell that forces people to randomly need sex!”
Sirius laughed and looped an arm around Hermione’s waist, pulling her shock-stiffened form tightly against his side. “Well, Harry, apparently such things do occur, since we’re smack-dab in the middle of it right now. You’re a grown man, you can handle it. It’s not ideal, I suppose, but at least you didn’t bring me back… or Snape!” Sirius barked out a laugh but then seemed to absorb the horror of what he’d just said. His eyes grew wide, and he shook his head rapidly to rid himself of that mental image.
Harry only nodded blankly. He looked to Hermione, seemingly for confirmation. “It’s true, Harry. But it’s okay, we just have to figure out a way to fix it. As long as Sirius is back, it will always be worth it.”
Sirius leaned down quickly and brushed her lips with his, pleased that she still thought it was worth it. Harry gasped softly and Ginny’s grin grew wider.
Clearly, this would take some getting used to.
Sirius apparently believed the best way to acclimatize Harry to the news was to constantly confront him with it. He repeatedly kissed Hermione, touched her gently, held her hand, and even smacked her butt once, not daring to again after the indignant slap she’d delivered to the back of his head. All this served only to further fluster and perplex Harry. Ginny made inappropriate comments about their sex life throughout dinner, which only went slightly cold while they waited for Harry to recover.
However, by the end of the night, Sirius’ approach seemed to be working. Hermione had to admit she was glad Sirius had been blunt and told Harry at the beginning of the night, since if she’d had her way and waited until later, they’d be sending Harry home in a near-coma as he adapted.
But let it never be said that Harry Potter could not rally. Soon enough, he was laughing with the couple, even sharing a joke with Ginny over the unlikelihood of the pairing.
Ginny took Hermione aside as the evening drew to a close.
“’Mione, what are you going to tell Ron?” Ginny seemed a little concerned. She knew her brother was not right for Hermione and vice versa, but they had been practically an institution, and Ron still occasionally pined over her.
“The truth, I suppose. Though I suspect you or Harry will tell him before I do. We don’t talk much anymore, you know that.”
Ginny nodded and assured Hermione she would pass on the news, perhaps later in the week after Harry was a little more understanding. No sense in getting them both worked into a state.
As Hermione went to turn back to the dining room where Sirius and Harry were having a low talk, Ginny held her back.
“Are you… are you okay? I mean, I know you and Ron never… had sex. Have you ever…?” Ginny looked a little nervous asking, and Hermione suspected she already knew the answer, but she responded anyway.
“I’m a virgin, Ginny. That’s the main reason this spell was so… effective, I suppose you could say. And I’m going to have to lose my virginity to Sirius. I’ve accepted it. It could be worse; at least I know he won’t be a bumbling, uncertain… you know. He’ll be good, I bet.” Hermione blushed at her musings, and Ginny wholeheartedly agreed with her sentiments.
“I’ll bet he’s bloody amazing! You’d better tell me everything.”
Hermione shook her head, telling Ginny that it was private, but they both knew the details would come out eventually. It was too good not to share. They exchanged smirks and returned to the men.
Harry looked much less shell-shocked, and Hermione knew Sirius had explained the finer points to him. It was a complicated situation, but Harry’s acceptance made it infinitely easier.
Hermione and Sirius walked Ginny and Harry to the Floo, hugging them both goodbye. When Harry took Hermione in his arms, he whispered, “I know he won’t hurt you, Hermione, but if you ever want to talk… I understand his moods pretty well. You can talk to me.” Hermione nodded gratefully. She didn’t realize Harry told Sirius the exact same thing when he hugged him next.
It had been a trying day, and the pair wanted nothing more than to fall into bed. They retired sluggishly, barely undressing before they collapsed on the bed. Sirius gathered Hermione in his arms, trying to let her know he only wanted to hold her, not harass her as he’d done all night, and she let him wrap his arms firmly around her. The bond hadn’t bothered either of them all day, even when Sirius had gone to the grocery store. It seemed that even Sirius touching Hermione sexually was enough to appease the bond.
Thinking, as always, of the implications, Hermione fell fast asleep in the arms of the only man who’d ever brought her comfort.
Chapter 12
Hermione woke early and quietly the next day, preparing for work without a sound to wake Sirius. They had both slept like the dead the night before, and neither was bothered by the bond’s strictures. Hermione’s fairly regular bad dreams had given her respite for the night as well, the whispering sound she always heard just beyond the reaches of her consciousness having abated for the time being.
Hermione brushed a soft kiss over Sirius’ sleeping cheek, feeling a nice little jolt at the contact. She wondered whether she was blessed or cursed to be bound to such a handsome and sensual man. Blessed because he was obviously good in bed and seemed to genuinely care about her and like her as a person. Cursed because she would never know what it was like to have a man love her because he wanted to, not because he had to. She wondered if, if they never found a solution, Sirius could ever grow to love her.
Dismissing her thoughts as morbid, Hermione headed to work for another dull day.
Sirius woke up later than he’d ever admit to Hermione. Sometimes it was just too nice to sleep in, even if he wasn’t sleeping and just daydreaming. He’d lain in bed for hours after he’d awakened, just using the time to think about his current predicament. Truth be told, things could be much, much worse. He could still be beyond the Veil in stasis, not knowing he was dead or as good as, not knowing everything he was missing.
He also admitted that he was grateful it had been Hermione to bring him back. She had grown into a truly lovely young woman, and she had such passion brewing just beneath the surface. He’d seen her incendiary side the day before when he brought her to orgasm. Watching her face had nearly made him come, and he’d had to hold back from wantonly thrusting against her leg to get himself off. The girl could make him embarrass himself if he wasn’t careful.
But now that he’d had a taste, all Sirius could think about was more. He wanted more. He’d pursued many women over the years, both before and after Azkaban, but no one had intrigued him like Hermione. He loved talking with her as much as kissing her. Okay, almost as much. But he was fascinated by her mind. There was something to be said for the only witch in history to ever successfully bring someone back from beyond the Veil. It was a true accomplishment, and Sirius was proud that he’d had a hand in it, even if his part was not exactly heroic (especially since she’d told him she’d bathed him like a child the first night he’d come back. Way to make an impression!).
Sirius prided himself on being one of those rare types who could sit around and do nothing all day. He didn’t need to work: Harry had told him the fortune Sirius had left for him was still intact, and he’d given it back to Sirius. He hadn’t wanted to take it, but he knew that Harry had more than enough money to last him several lifetimes in the manner to which he’d become accustomed. The Black fortune would last Sirius his entire life with more than enough left over to support his children and grandchildren, of which he hoped there would be many. So he didn’t plan on working, but he knew eventually he’d have to do something with his time. He’d always wanted to write a book, but could admit to himself he had no real writing talent. He needed a hobby.
Reclining on the sofa in the library, Sirius grabbed a couple books off the shelves and put them on the coffee table in front of the sofa. There was much more in the Black library than just Dark Arts texts, including a number of both Muggle and Wizarding classics he’d always meant to read. Now was as good a time as any, he supposed. But instead of choosing one, Sirius rested on his back on the sofa, arms behind his head.
He glanced over at the pile of books, wondering where to get started, when he saw a very odd thing. The pile of books seemed to be floating. There was a space of about three inches between the bottom book and the coffee table. Sirius wasn’t unaccustomed to strange happenings in this library, but this seemed unusual even to him.
He picked the books up, and his fingers grazed against the empty space between them and the table, which wasn’t empty at all. Moving his books, he touched the space. Using his fingers to define its shape and perimeter, it was clear it was some sort of invisible or Disillusioned book. The cover seemed to be leather, and when he opened it, he got a very uncomfortable sensation all over his body, like ants crawling on him and biting him. He closed it quickly.
Sitting back on the sofa, Sirius wondered what it meant. Why was this book here, on the table? What did it contain? Sirius knew the best way to make a text such as this reveal its secrets was to give it a blood sacrifice, but he was completely unwilling to do that. Blood magic was Dark, and he had no intention of travelling that road, the road that had led just about every other member of his family to madness and death. He left the book where it was, thinking to ask Hermione if she’d pulled it out. He doubted it, since it would have been nearly impossible to find, but she might even know more about it than he did.
He plucked a Muggle novel up off the pile. He was sure he’d bought it in his youth, but he’d never read it. Northanger Abbey. Should be fascinating. He sighed and settled himself in for a long day of nothing.
Hermione was ready to pull her hair out, but was loath to make a bigger mess of it than it already was, thanks to the constant tugging and twisting she’d been doing all day.
She wasn’t going to be able to go home during her lunch break today. She wouldn’t even be able to stick her head through the Floo and talk to Sirius. Her project manager had rejected her team’s latest proposal on the grounds that the Ministry had no money in the budget for it. This was ridiculous, since Hermione had specifically researched the budget, found out how much was allotted every year to projects exactly like this, and made her proposal accordingly. But now with the deadline coming up, they had to rework the entire assignment, finding money in other places, and downgrading the entire thing to cost half the money they’d proposed.
So she’d be working all through lunch and most likely doing few hours overtime. Just the thought of being without Sirius that long made her stomach clench in fear. She had no idea what would happen to them. She was hoping that because of… what he’d done to her yesterday, it would tide them over until she got home. It was her only hope; there was just no way to get out of this project, especially with her team counting on her.
Around one in the afternoon, Hermione felt a little queasy. It wasn’t overwhelming, just highly uncomfortable. She rubbed her upset stomach and got back to work.
Around four p.m., Hermione’s head was aching, and her stomach was in constant clenches. Each thought of Sirius brought a wave of yearning so strong, she almost cried out.
At six in the evening, the time which she normally got home for her second dose of Sirius, Hermione was sweating, having blurred vision, and her skin felt clammy and twitchy. She’d vomited twice, and she could barely hear through the ringing in her ears.
When eight p.m. came, Hermione was sure she would die. It was no longer a matter of getting the job done; it was a matter of life and death. She had to get home now or she would surely perish. She couldn’t bring herself to think of what Sirius was going through, and she silently promised him she would never hurt him like this again. She already hated her job; it didn’t make sense to suffer this torture for a Ministry that resented her existence, as evidenced by the constant rejections of her hard work. The only thing that kept her in place was the knowledge that her teammates’ jobs were on the line as well.
Stumbling along the corridor, gripping the wall and ignoring the odd looks she got from other employees, Hermione made it to the public Floos. Her project wasn’t finished, but she’d no longer been able to read the writing in front of her, and making a cohesive thought was beyond her capacities.
Fairly screeching “Number twelve, Grimmauld Place,” Hermione launched herself into the Floo, twisting and turning and nearly throwing up in the Floo system, before she was deposited, mercifully unconscious, on the floor of Sirius’ sitting room.
A loud thud awoke Sirius from an exceedingly raunchy dream. He had only a moment to contemplate his options (jerk off or investigate noise) before a sweeping sense of nausea assaulted him. His body was wracked with pain immediately, and he was able to see the dark sky through the library window. Merlin, what time was it?
Sirius tried not to panic, but the pain was as deep as his bones, and he was fighting to maintain consciousness. Heaving himself off the sofa and letting his momentum carry him to the top of the stairs, Sirius fairly slid down them. He paused at the bottom, hoping beyond hope that Hermione was okay, was here within his reach. Gathering what was left of his strength, Sirius crawled into the sitting room. He saw Hermione’s deathly still form in front of the fireplace, and got to his feet to get to her.
She looked awful; she was sweating and twitching. Moans were escaping her lips, and her face was deathly pale. He threw himself down beside her, gathered her in his arms with the last vestige of strength, and promptly lost consciousness.
Hermione woke up feeling extremely hot. She was so hot, she was sure her flesh was on fire. She tried to escape the heat, but she was pinned down.
Her eyes felt like they were covered in sand, but she forced them open anyway. She was looking at… something blue? It was too close. Pulling her head back, her entire body protested movement. But she was able to see that the blue thing was a shirt, and it was adorning Sirius, who looked a little worse for the wear.
She remembered getting into the Floo, but that was it. She must have fainted… Oh, Merlin, she nearly killed Sirius! I am so stupid, to risk his life just to finish some silly project that doesn’t even matter, she berated herself. She didn’t want to leave his arms, but she was so very hot. She tried to get up, but failed. Sirius wasn’t hot though, so where was the heat coming from?
Hermione groaned. She was lying right in front of the fire. Today was not a good day for her brain; perhaps it had been completely fried.
Reaching for her wand, she put out the fire and snuggled into Sirius’ arms once more.
A sleepy voice sounded, “’Mione?”
“I’m here, Sirius. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t think it would be so bad. I’ll never, ever do that to you again.”
“’S’okay, you’re here now.” He kissed her lips gently, but the effort proved too much, and he laid his head back again.
“Are you okay, can you move?” Hermione didn’t think she could, but she really wanted to go to bed.
“Yeah, I can move. We should head upstairs, it’s almost midnight.” Hermione was aghast; she confirmed his assertion by looking at the clock. She tried to prop herself up, but only groaned and flopped back down. Her joints were stiff and sore and her muscles felt stretched beyond reason.
Sirius pulled himself to his knees beside her and pulled her into his arms. It was a major effort to get to his feet with her in his arms, but he managed. Getting her to the bedroom was a Herculean task, and he nearly dropped her twice along the way, almost deciding that sleeping on the stairs would be as good as the bed.
Finally in bed, Sirius undressed Hermione, feeling nothing but exhaustion and a male appreciation for her lovely form, but no desire. He was too tired.
Pain and relief brought tears to Hermione’s eyes, and when Sirius got into bed, she clung to him like a lifeline, which, indeed, he was.
He stroked her hair back from her face. Her skin felt cold despite the blazing fire, and he was worried for her health. She was looking into his eyes, her whiskey orbs conveying her apologies, but Sirius wasn’t mad at her. He only wanted to make her feel better.
He started rubbing her arms, neck, stomach—wherever there was bare skin, he caressed soothingly. He avoided areas that would inflame him, since he absolutely could not follow through. Hermione sighed in something akin to contentment.
She pulled his head to hers, their lips meeting in a half-languid, half-desperate kiss. Relief spread through them both slowly, starting in their bones and spidering outward to their sensitive flesh.
Tongues grazing in a sensuous dance, Sirius and Hermione both revelled in the kiss and the relief it brought. It was almost enough. In the back of both their minds, they realized the only way to relieve the pain entirely, but neither had the energy nor the inclination. The kiss would have to be enough, for now at least.
Sirius tried to maintain the kiss for as long as he could, feeling better from it and wanting more, but when he moved his mouth to her throat, sliding his lips along her collarbone and ghosting over her neck, her lack of response made him aware that she’d fallen fast asleep. Her face was no longer pained, though she was still chilled to the touch.
He kissed her once more on the lips, trying not to think about how afraid he’d been for both of them and wondering how the hell he was going to live his life like this. He tried, and tried hard, to banish the thought that being without Hermione felt like being Kissed by a Dementor. He didn’t want to make comparisons, but try as he might, he still fell asleep with the uneasy feeling that he was horribly, horribly trapped.
Chapter 13
Sometime in the middle of the night, Hermione slowly woke up. Her long sleep in front of the fire, distressed though it had been, was making it impossible to stay asleep. She imagined it was around four in the morning, and it would probably start to get light out very soon.
Hermione felt incredible guilt for what she’d put Sirius through. She suspected half the pain she’d felt was actually his. She’d had the suspicion for a while that she would be able to sense his pain. Since the first time she’d lost her temper for no reason at all, she’d begun to wonder what had brought about that change. Then she’d come home from her visit with Snape, and though she hadn’t noticed at the time, the living room had been totally trashed. She’d even recalled having to avoid stepping on a lamp. So, it would appear that along with everything else, she’d inherited some of Sirius’ temper, because though she could be fierce, she was never needlessly violent and almost always kept control of her temper.
Sirius didn’t seem to be experiencing the same transference, but until he started doing research just for the heck of it, she supposed he might not notice. She would keep an eye out for anything unusual, and she decided not to tell Sirius unless it became a major issue. After all, maybe she could use a bit more... impulsiveness in her personality. But to be fair, Sirius could use some rationality in his own.
Hermione shivered as Sirius moaned in his sleep. He turned slightly and draped an arm over her midsection. She held still, not wanting to wake him up or reveal that she was awake. The heat and weight of his arm was all she could think about, and she swore she could feel his coarse arm hair through her camisole.
The hand tightened on her side and began to draw small circles on her ticklish flesh. Hermione bit her lip and tried not to let a sound come through, but it was difficult when that devilish hand was moving up her stomach to her ribcage. Hermione sighed; his hand was scratchy, pulling her shirt higher with its roughness. She was quite sure he was awake now, but she didn’t dare open her eyes to confirm that. She wanted him, she would never deny that; but she still had reservations about giving herself to a man who was forced to want her. It was humbling and somewhat humiliating.
“Hermione... what are you thinking right now?” Sirius’ voice was thick with sleep, but she could hear the smile in it.
“Nothing,” she whispered, her voice catching as the hand slipped past the valley between her breasts to trace her collarbone.
“We both know that’s not true. Tell me the truth.”
Hermione heaved a sigh. Of course he knew she was thinking; when wasn’t she? She thought about lying again, but in a moment of clarity, realized she would have to tell him how she felt. He was going to take her virginity eventually, and she owed it to herself to be honest with him about her fears. Not that she thought he could alleviate them, but maybe he felt some uncertainty as well.
“I’m scared. Not of you,” she added quickly, seeing the hurt look on his face. “But of what I feel, and why. I always... I always dreamt of falling in love, getting married, and having children. I didn’t think I’d be in a position to have to be intimate with someone in order to stay alive, and certainly not with... you,” she finished lamely. It was true: she’d never considered Sirius to be an option, mostly since he had died before she’d been old enough to consider anyone other than Ron as a candidate for her affections. Given time, surely she would have recognized his many... attractive attributes, but thinking about it and doing it were two different things, and she felt out of her league. About twenty thousand leagues below her league, actually.
“You can still have those things, Hermione,” he told her in a soft voice. Hermione froze; is he saying...? He went on, “I’ll just be a little... complication. You’re a brilliant and damn sexy witch. I’m sure you can find a man who doesn’t mind that you have to... attend to me... every now and then,” he finished with a broad smile, obviously proud that he’d found a solution to her dilemma. She looked away, and she didn’t see how quickly his smile fell or that his face took on a sickly pallor.
“And I guess you would do the same?” she asked.
“Well, I don’t really intend on getting married, not anytime soon, anyway. But I guess if you were seeing other men, I wouldn’t be opposed to seeing other women.” His words sounded certain, but Hermione was sure she saw a flicker of unease on his face.
“I don’t think I could ever be with two wizards at once. I’m not that kind of girl. Even if you and I weren’t really together. I’ll just have to... deal with it.”
“Well, what if I married you?”
Hermione felt a pang in her heart and a panic that she wasn’t entirely sure was her own, before she laughed out loud. “Sirius, everyone knows you’re not the marrying sort. I’m sorry I even brought it up.” Hermione went to move away, hurt by his callous “offer.”
He pulled her back quick as lightning. Holding her tightly in his grasp, he rubbed her back with one hand and held her neck in the other. Her face was pressed against his chest, and she struggled for a moment before succumbing to the quintessentially male scent and feel of him.
“You might have a lot to learn about me, Hermione Granger. I am the marrying sort. I happen to think I’d make a very good husband. And father.”
Hermione felt like a world-class prat. “I know you’ll be a good husband. Just... not mine. And of course you’ll be an amazing father! I know that like I know your name is Sirius Black.”
“So, you don’t think I’d be a good husband to you?” Sirius’ voice was teasing, but slightly tight, and she knew she had hurt him.
“You’re not understanding what I’m saying. I mean, if we had to be married, you’d be a good husband, certainly. But you’ll never be my husband, so you’ll never be my good husband. Do you see what I’m saying?”
“What if I really want to be your good husband?”
Hermione only shook her head against his chest. “You shouldn’t feel like you have to marry me out of guilt or gratitude. That would be so wrong! Can we drop it? I only wanted to tell you I was nervous about losing my... about being intimate for any reason other than love.”
Sirius’ voice rumbled under her head, and his breath whispered against her ear. “I’ll only say one other thing. If I were to marry you... it would not be out of guilt or gratitude. It would be... because of what you said.”
Hermione tried to focus on what he was saying, but his hands were stroking her arm and back, and his body was warm against her, so hard compared to her softness, so large compared to her petite frame. So perfectly... Sirius.
He tilted her face up to his, and his lips were insistent against hers. She moved softly against his mouth, delighting in the low growl she felt in his chest. Holding onto the back of her neck with an insistent grasp, Sirius deepened the kiss, his tongue passing her barrier and exploring her mouth. No hollow was left untouched, and Hermione felt herself melting into his arms, pressing her body fully against his. His arousal was pressed against her thigh, and she couldn’t stop her leg from moving over his, pressing her centre against his.
Sirius moved them from lying on their sides and pressed Hermione into the bed on her back. He pressed one leg between her thighs, and her hips twitched at the contact. She wanted to finish their conversation... but she liked this one better. The kind with no talking....
Sirius ran his hand up and down her side and slipped it beneath her tank top. Her skin felt enflamed by his touch, like she could feel the trail he left behind for long moments after he’d moved on to a new place to explore. His kisses were leaving her reeling and she barely had enough time to recover from one before he was lavishing another upon her, stealing her breath and dizzying her senses. His kisses were hard and demanding, and Hermione relinquished everything he asked of her.
When his fingertips grazed the underside of her breast, Hermione moaned into his mouth. She could feel him smirk against her lips, so she rotated her hips against his groin to wipe it away. It worked, and Sirius’ hand faltered as he absorbed the feeling.
Taking his hand away from her body, Sirius pulled her camisole over her head in one swift movement. She put her arms around his body, partially to hide herself from his view, but mostly because he looked too delicious to not touch. She tugged at his tee shirt and he took the hint, removing it quickly and tossing it over the edge of the bed. She remembered his body well, but being this close to it, feeling it against her own bare skin, was something quite different. Her body was raging with blood as she ran her hands flat over his chest and stomach, delighting in his crisp hair and hard muscles. His skin felt aflame, making her feel cool in comparison despite the fire within.
He brushed a wayward curl behind her ear and met her eyes. “So lovely... so perfect.”
Hermione closed her eyes against the barrage of emotion, wishing with all her heart that he meant the words he said, that they were not forced or false.
Deciding for once in her life to accept her emotions at face value, Hermione arched into the hand that had captured her breast, caressing her flesh and gently pulling her turgid nipple. Her hips were moving of their own volition against his, and he was responding in kind.
When his mouth finally left hers to move down her body, Hermione could only ride out of the sensations: his hot mouth on her nipple, biting and laving, his hand moving down her stomach and pulling her pants down and off. He left her for only a moment to remove his own trousers and underpants, and when he settled atop her again, his hard length was separated from her by only the flimsy barrier of her panties. He kissed both her breasts again before moving down her torso, leaving a cool trail as his tongue anointed her.
He circled her navel, nipping lightly on the skin before moving lower. His fingers preceded him, and he caressed her through the cotton containing her. She writhed at the contact, wanting something she only had a clinical idea about. With one quick motion, her panties were gone, and Sirius was settling between her thighs. He caressed her lower lips reverently, parting the silken curls and sliding a finger down her slit. Hermione tried to still her wayward hips and grasped the sheets in her fingers convulsively. The anticipation was almost more than she could bear when he finally lowered his mouth to her.
Hermione keened as Sirius licked and sucked her clit, using his fingers to circle and caress around her entrance. Hermione didn’t know how much of her hymen was actually intact after all the years of hard activity, but she worried he would feel it if he entered her with his fingers. Not wanting to give away her last secret just yet, Hermione leaned down and grabbed his hand just as he was about to enter her, holding his fingers in hers.
Glad to have made that choice, though Sirius looked at her questioningly, Hermione let the waves take her away. She felt a tightening flow through her, her toes curled as the crescendo built and Sirius licked harder and faster until she could stand it no more and came with a wild cry as he firmly sucked on her clit one last time. Her head thrown back, she panted, her hand squeezing Sirius’ to a point of near-pain.
He rose up to lie beside her, rubbing her quivering stomach with his hand and kissing her neck. She turned her face to meet his in a kiss, and she could taste the foreign flavour of herself on his mouth and tongue. Sirius devoured her mouth, bringing Hermione down from her cloud with the insistent hardness rutting slowly against her thigh.
Again following her instincts and leaving her rational mind behind, Hermione pushed Sirius onto his back. She placed open-mouth kisses all over his chest; he tasted slightly salty and she couldn’t get enough. Circling his nipple with her tongue, she bit lightly and smiled at the groan Sirius didn’t even try to hide. She snaked down the length of his body, caressing his heated flesh and nibbling on his belly button just as he had done to hers. His light laugh was cut off when she placed a light lick on his hipbone.
Hermione could no longer avoid what she was about to do. Settling herself between his spread thighs, Hermione took in the sight of him. His cock was rigid and straining, darker than the rest of him. She could see a thick vein on the underside pulsing in time with her own heartbeat. He was very thick, more so than she’d expected and much longer than could fit into her mouth. But she would try.
Too shy to meet Sirius’ eyes, she leaned down and swiped the cloudy liquid from the crown. She heard her lover gasp and smiled at her power. She wasn’t experienced in this arena, but she had researched—if Playwitch could be considered such.
She swiped a long lave from the base of his cock to the head, swirling her tongue around the plumed tip before surrounding it with her mouth. She sucked gently, bringing one hand to stroke his throbbing shaft and the other to gently caress his silken balls. Sirius gasped her name, and she could feel his eyes on her, watching intently. Under his scrutiny, Hermione felt emboldened rather than embarrassed, and she looked up to meet his gaze.
His face was the picture of pleasure, his mouth open slightly, breathing in heavy gasps, and his eyes were half-lidded and the darkest she’d ever seen them. She sucked a little harder, and his head fell against the pillows, unable to maintain his gaze.
Hermione felt him get even harder beneath her fingers and in response, moved her hand faster, flicking her tongue against the bottom of his head.
“Hermione, I’m going to—” Sirius gasped out, but she wouldn’t move. With an animalistic shout, he flooded her mouth and Hermione fought to swallow his come as more came to take its place. Finally, he finished, and Hermione swallowed the last of it. It hadn’t tasted as she’d expected, but she would do it again because of the way he was looking at her right now.
Sirius dragged her body up against his. He encircled her with his arms so she was facing him, her breasts pressed firmly against his chest, his hair tickling her sensitive skin.
“You are... amazing, love.” His words were husky and sent a thrill through her. She smiled and kissed his lips lightly, but he wouldn’t let her pull back and kissed her thoroughly.
“You weren’t so bad yourself. But then you probably already knew that.” He winked at her, and she had to roll her eyes.
Sirius’ leering face was interrupted by an intense yawn, and, watching him, Hermione couldn’t resist the one that took her over as well. She had a couple hours before she had to be up for work, so decided to try to get back to sleep.
Sirius watched her breathing slow and even out. She looked ethereal in the moonlight, and he felt a tightening in his chest at how very innocent she looked, how very young. He would always be grateful that it was she who had rescued him, but a part of him hated that he would be taking away her youth, forcing her into a relationship from which her loyalty would not allow her to stray. Sirius’ heart had nearly stopped when he’d told her she was free to pursue other men, but she’d reacted as he’d hoped. He’d meant what he said about marrying her, too. He could think of worse matches, that much was certain. Sirius didn’t believe in that all-consuming, all-encompassing love from fairy tales. It would be enough for him to enjoy the company of his wife; if she was intelligent, fun, and sexually compatible, that was more than enough for him. And Hermione was all those things and more.
Sirius closed his eyes and sank into the pillows, scratching his chest absentmindedly and trying to ignore the strange feeling in his stomach, a twisting feeling that wouldn’t go away. He made a mental to note ask Hermione about the vicious scar on her chest. He’d wanted to before, but though she didn’t seem the type to hate imperfections, he hadn’t wanted to risk spoiling the mood.
Finally, sleep put an end to his aimless musings.
Chapter 14
For the first time since she’d started her job, Hermione slept through her alarm. It was nearly lunch time when she finally woke up. She had no intention of going in that day. Working so long had nearly killed her and Sirius the day before; she was pretty sure she deserved at least one day off.
Truthfully, she felt fine. Well rested and in good spirits. Sirius must have been even more tired than she, since he was still out cold beside her. She absentmindedly ran her fingers over his chest, but he frowned in his sleep and she stopped. She didn’t want to leave the warmth of the bed just yet, so she settled in to watch him sleep.
After about half an hour, Hermione decided they’d slept enough. If Sirius ever wanted to get to sleep at a reasonable hour that night, he’d have to get up soon. Smiling a little evilly, Hermione set to tickling Sirius’ ribs. He didn’t jerk away like she’d hoped he would. Instead, he groaned and tried to escape her fingers. Frowning at her failure, she placed small kisses on his lips and face. His eyelids fluttered open, and he smiled at her.
He immediately winced and closed his eyes again.
Hermione was getting worried. Why wouldn’t he look at her? Was he ashamed of what they’d done... or disappointed that she’d been there when he awoke?
“Sirius, is everything okay?” She prided herself for keeping a level tone.
But Sirius’ tone was anything but level. “No, something is really wrong.”
Hermione immediately forgot her self-esteem issues in favour of concern for the man in her bed. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know,” he moaned. “I feel sick... really fucking sick, actually. Everything hurts... something’s wrong.”
“What, specifically, Sirius?”
He took a deep breath, trying to combat the pain. “My head is pounding, my stomach’s twisting... I feel weak, exhausted... my skin’s on fire, and my blood feels like it has glass in it.” He groaned. “Specific enough?”
Trying not to panic, Hermione ran through what would be causing this illness. As far as she knew, she was doing everything right; they’d certainly had enough contact during the night to combat any residual pain from the entire day apart. There was no reason why Sirius should feel ill. It could be a regular human sickness, of course. But his symptoms were so like those from when he needed her, only more extreme.
“I’m going to kiss you, okay? To see if that helps,” Hermione informed Sirius, but he only nodded weakly.
She pressed her lips lightly to his, increasing the pressure when she got no response. She teased his lips with her tongue, and he opened his mouth obligingly, but she could tell it wasn’t helping.
“I’m going to have to get help. I can’t—I can’t lose you! Not like this. There is an answer, we just have to find it. Stay here. I’ll go see Professor Snape.”
Sirius groaned at the mention of the hated name. “Why do you always run to him for answers? I thought you were the smart one.”
Hermione frowned, but knew it was (mostly) the sickness talking. “Severus Snape is one of the smartest men I’ve ever met. If it weren’t for him, you would not even be here for him to save again! He’s the only one who can help us, I just know it. I won’t be gone long.”
Sirius only nodded and accepted her parting kiss with as much energy as he could spare, wanting to show her he was the only one. He felt irrationally jealous of Snape. Sirius knew that he himself was intelligent, but his brains just could not compare to Snape’s, and he knew Hermione held smarts in the highest regard.
A few moments later he heard her call out, “Snape’s dungeon office,” into the Floo, and he felt a flash of pain behind his eyes before he lost consciousness.
Hermione had had the presence of mind to grab the invisible Dark text before she ran to Snape’s. She had read everything it had to offer, but maybe Snape could find more answers somehow. She put a lot of stock in his abilities, and she counted on him to help her.
She tumbled out of the Floo and landed on her knees in his office. She cried out from the contact, but stood up quickly. Snape was not at his desk.
Glancing at the Grandfather clock in the corner, Hermione saw it was lunchtime at Hogwarts. He would be in the Great Hall.
Not thinking about her inappropriate attire of a camisole and pyjama bottoms, Hermione clutched the invisible book to her chest and ran to the Great Hall as fast as her legs would carry her. Never an athlete, she was panting by the time she arrived.
She flung the huge door open and bent over, trying to catch enough breath to yell to Snape.
Dragging as much air into her lungs as they could hold, Hermione screamed, “Professor Snape! I need your help right now!”
Panic had seized her on the run over, and she was nearly hysterical with it now. Sirius was dying Sirius was dying she’d killed him he was dead dead dead.
Every single head in the hall whipped toward the girl in her pyjamas, eyes wild with fear and hair in terrible disarray. Most recognized her, either from school or from the papers, but many of the younger ones looked lost and a little scared.
All the professors were looking at her as well. Snape had immediately leapt to his feet as soon as she’d said his name, and he was now billowing violently down the centre aisle, glaring at all and sundry. Minerva McGonagall was on her feet, looking concerned for her former pupil, but she calmed the students with her soft brogue and silenced the hall.
Hermione felt only relief as Snape approached her, grabbing her arm and leading her quickly from the hall. He did not let go as he fairly dragged her to his office.
“Miss Granger, what is the meaning of this? Do you always go around causing such distur—”
“Professor Snape, Sirius is dying!” The panic still had a hold on her. She’d felt it ever since she exited the Floo, and she couldn’t escape the feeling of fear that was flooding her. Something is really wrong!
“What are you talking about? Haven’t you... taken my advice?” He looked awkward, and this was the only thing that clued her in to what he meant.
“Well, we haven’t had sex yet. We’ve done other stuff, just last night. So there’s no reason for him to be sick!”
Still dragging her along, Snape queried, “What are his symptoms?”
“Headaches, stomach-ache, severe fatigue... something’s wrong, sir! I just know it. I can feel it!”
“Please do calm yourself, your histrionics will solve nothing—you know this.”
Hermione let his impossibly low voice sooth her frazzled nerves. Remain calm, find the answer. You are his only hope.
“I’m okay. I’m okay.” She nodded, trying to believe it.
“Is there something wrong with your arm?” He looked at her questioningly. She was holding onto the invisible book, and it looked like she was holding her arm to her chest protectively.
“No, sir. It’s the invisible book. The one with the potion and incantation to bring him back.”
“Invisible? How odd.” They finally arrived in his office, and Hermione fell gracelessly into the chair opposite Snape’s desk. She dropped the book onto his desk with a thunk.
Snape ran his fingers over it, feeling for the edges and opening it to touch the pages, hidden though they were.
“How were you able to get it to reveal itself?”
“Have you a knife?” Hermione was not looking forward to cutting along the barely-healed wound on her chest yet again, but she wouldn’t hesitate for a moment.
Looking at her sceptically, Snape passed her a shining silver blade he used for slicing potions ingredients. He always kept it razor sharp.
Without a moment’s pause, Hermione pulled down the front of her camisole slightly, baring the scar over her heart, and ran the blade firmly across her sorely abused flesh. Snape shouted her name and leapt up to stop her, but she was already running her fingers through the wound and slicking them across the book.
Snape grabbed her wrist firmly in his hand and yanked her away from the book. “Merlin, Granger, what have you done? Have you any idea—?”
“Of course not! I think we’ve already established that I have no idea what I’m doing! Just help me! ” Her words were nearly hysterical, and she tried to rein herself back in. She silently begged him to speak to her in that calming voice; she needed something to quell the fear threatening to drown her.
“Hermione, be quiet for a moment. What’s done is done. Obviously, this was one of the worst things you could have possibly done, but there’s no need to dwell on it since, evidently, it is not the first time you’ve used this method to read the book.” He’d gestured to her scarred chest, and she shook her head.
“We’ll talk about the repercussions later. Now, we must read and help your friend.”
Hermione opened the book and found the page with the information on the Veil. She smeared more blood across the blank page, and words suddenly filtered into sight.
“‘In which what we desire returns to us,’” Snape murmured.
“But there was nothing after this! The next chapter was about... earthbound spirits!”
Snape gingerly turned the page. It was blank. Hermione looked at her former professor desperately. He returned her gaze, letting it fall to the open cut on her chest. He raised his hand and trailed his fingers through the blood that was dripping to stain her shirt. Hermione shuddered at the touch, thankful that he didn’t just shove his fingers into the wound like she had. Snape didn’t meet her eyes, but placed his wet fingers on the page.
It was a new page.
Hermione groaned. “Why can’t we ever have all the information the first time?”
“Because that is not how Dark texts work, of course. I told you at the very beginning there would be a dear cost. Now, we learn what it is.”
Snape read out loud when Hermione’s eyesight refused to focus. She tried to take steadying breaths, focussing on his melodic voice, but it wasn’t working anymore. She needed to see Sirius.
Snape had finished and was looking at her expectantly. She groaned. “I’m sorry. Could you paraphrase for me?”
“It’s nothing you don’t already know. Until you offer a sacrifice, Sirius will suffer unbearable pain. He needs an anchor of blood to keep him in this world. Your offering was good but insufficient.”
Hermione felt like screaming in frustration. “What does that mean? ”
“Your virginity, stupid girl. Try to follow along. A sacrifice: because it’s not how you wanted to lose it, I’m assuming; but also because you are offering a part of your body that is pure, untouched. It will anchor him to this side of the Veil, and the Veil itself will release its final hold on him. It will bind you together in a different way than before. The original bond was meant to bring you together. Because you have not consummated, the bond is giving you an ultimatum. For some reason unknown to us mere humans, the Veil wants you and Sirius Black together. You have to offer him your virginity—and soon—or he will surely die, and you very well might die from the withdrawal. It is most unfortunate, but easily remedied. Go home and copulate, and stop bothering me!”
Hermione couldn’t find the strength to be shocked at Snape’s outburst. She suspected she had been rather slow on the uptake regarding this whole mess, but he usually wasn’t so abrupt with her.
“Professor Snape... thank you. Thank you so much for your help. It means the world to me, and I don’t know what I would have done if...” she broke off. Sirius might have died without his help. More than once. She’d known they would have to have sex, but she didn’t realize there was a time limit, and now that she knew the clock was ticking, there was only one thing she could do.
Snape seemed mollified by her words. “Miss Granger, you can always count on me. As much as it displeases me to see Sirius Black alive and relatively well, and even more so to see him forced upon you, I am glad that his presence is at least making some people happy.” His words sounded more than a little forced, and Hermione knew it was both from saying the words aloud and because he probably didn’t mean them.
Hermione impulsively hugged him, wrapping her arms around his neck. He didn’t return the embrace in the slightest, leaving his arms stiffly at his sides. His rough frock abraded the wound on her chest, and she frowned. Pulling back, she noticed she had bled on him.
“I’m sorry.” She gestured at the blood that barely showed on the severe black material.
“It’s not a problem. I work on potions; I am continually stained.” Hermione nodded. She made to move back to the Floo to return to Sirius and fulfil her part of the original bargain.
Snape stopped her, and she turned. He placed a potion into her hand, a clear viscous salve in a squat square bottle. She looked at him with a question in her eyes.
“It will help heal that rather unsightly wound on your chest.”
Hermione nodded her thanks and returned again to the hearth.
“Miss Granger!” She turned again, raising an eyebrow expectantly.
Snape looked uncomfortable and cleared his throat. She was pretty sure she knew what was coming, but decided not to spare him. He’d called her stupid, after all.
“It will also help with discomfort... afterward. Apply it... directly. Go!”
Hermione couldn’t help the laugh she left behind as she stepped through the Floo. Her panic had dissipated once Snape had told her the solution to Sirius’ illness, and she was more in control of her emotions. That, and making Snape squirm never ceased to amuse her.
With the best intentions in mind, Hermione ran up the stairs of Sirius’ home and entered the bedroom they shared. Sirius appeared to be asleep, and Hermione snuck into bed beside him. She decided it would be best to wake him now rather than risk his health by letting him sleep.
“Sirius,” she whispered as she shook him gently. “We need to... talk.”
Chapter 15
Sirius was slow to wake up. Hermione had to nudge him quite a few times to get a reaction.
“Wha... what?” His voice was groggy, and he couldn’t seem to open his eyes.
“Sirius, I know what’s wrong. You might not like... okay, you’ll definitely like it, who am I trying to kid,” Hermione joked, making light of the situation in order to contain the fear that had threatened her when he didn’t wake up right away.
“Well, I actually feel a little better... but if you think I’ll like it, I’m not averse.” He pulled her body against his and kissed her soundly, holding her in place with his strong arms, not letting her settle or catch her balance.
“Sirius! I just need a minute to talk to you,” she blurted between kisses.
Sirius sighed and plopped her back on the bed bedside him. “Your minute is granted; go over and face dire consequences. Like not getting the snogging of your lifetime.”
Fighting the urge to roll her eyes, Hermione decided not to pull punches. “I went to see Snape. He helped me again, and—”
“Gods damn, Hermione, you are bleeding everywhere! What the fuck did he do to you?”
Oh, yeah. Hermione’s shirt and chest were covered in blood. The cut was concealed for the moment, but Sirius was looking for the source of the mostly-dried blood.
“Sirius, Snape didn’t do anything. I did it.”
”What? For fuck’s sake, why?”
“I had to! To get the book to show itself! To read the chapter and get the answer! I would have done anything to help you!”
Sirius pulled her camisole down to expose the cut and a generous portion of her breast. The wound was angry-looking, that much was true. But it was a flesh wound, nothing to write home about.
“There are other scars beneath. You’ve done this before?” His voice was hard and brooked no denial.
“Yes. I had to bring you back, I had to do it! It’s just a scar, Sirius, please.”
He got up abruptly and left the room. Hermione lay against the coverlet, wondering if she could find him and have sex with him before he died. Hermione spasmed her legs and arms against the bed like a child having a tantrum. This is so not how I pictured the sweet seduction of my first time!
Sirius returned with a washcloth and small basin of soapy water. He sat on the bed beside her and wet the cloth. Without looking at her face, he gently washed the blood from her body. He spoke only to tell her to take off her shirt, and Hermione obeyed only because she’d never seen this side of him. He didn’t even glance at her breasts in any non-clinical way; he merely washed the blood from her body and did his best to clean the wound itself.
“This looks infected. Not this new wound, but the older ones. I think we need to go to St. Mungo’s.” His voice had no inflection, and Hermione wondered what was happening in his brain, especially since he’d said ‘we,’ and he was thought to be dead.
“Actually, Snape gave me a salve that he said would help. Let’s try that, and if it doesn’t work in a couple days, we’ll go to the hospital.” Hermione had mastered the art of the placating compromise from years of doing it with Ron and Harry, and Sirius was not immune to her rationality.
“Two days, and then we go. Understand? Where’s the damn salve?”
She wordlessly handed it to him. He took the lid off and dipped his fingers into it. He smelled it suspiciously and even brought it to his lips to taste. Apparently satisfied when he didn’t immediately keel over and die, Sirius massaged the salve into her chest.
Try as she might, Hermione couldn’t hold back a whimper when the cool salve and his gentle fingers caressed her heated skin, despite the sting of him touching the cut. Sirius’ hand hesitated, and she was sure she could see his fingers tremble. But he continued to tend to her until he was satisfied.
“I need to tell you what Professor Snape said,” Hermione told him, hoping that his position of power over her reclined form would be enough to make him feel he had the upper hand.
“I’m listening.” He cleaned away the excess salve and covered her gently with the bed sheet.
“Sirius, the reason you got sick is because we didn’t do what the bond wanted. It isn’t satisfied with... what we’ve been doing.” She watched emotions flicker across his face before he settled on chagrin.
“I know.”
“What do you mean? How could you know?”
“It was more a feeling than anything. I just... I’ve wanted you so badly from the start, more than I should have, given the circumstances. And then, after last night... I mean, I can honestly say it was the best... um... I’ve ever had. And yet I didn’t feel... satisfied.”
Hermione nodded, trying her best not to take his words personally. Sirius gathered her in his arms. “Hermione... it was good. Please believe that. It’s this bond! But as much as the bond wants us to have sex... I want it more. I’d love to have been able to seduce you properly, make you want it just as much, but I don’t think there’s time.”
“There’s not. It has to be today.” Her words were flat, and as much as she felt excited, she was disappointed that fate had allotted her such a loveless life. But maybe she deserved it for all her meddling.
“Well. Do you want to... um. Have a shower? I know I do.” Sirius bit his lip, and she had to smile at his awkwardness. She was a little glad to know this was hard for him, too.
“Yeah, actually, I feel pretty grimy. Let me go first, okay?” He looked like he wanted to propose going at the same time, but she hadn’t taken that suggestion well the first time, and apparently he remembered. He nodded, and she left.
Hermione couldn’t help but feel like a bride being prepared for her wedding night. She wasn’t sure exactly what to do, so she just paid extra attention to the places he might give extra attention and made sure she was all smooth and soft. Even if it was not the ideal first time, she knew Sirius would make it pleasant for her. Merlin knew he knew exactly how to play her.
When she was finished and Sirius was in the shower, Hermione debated over getting dressed. Part of her wanted to maintain her modesty, as well as give Sirius something sexy to look at, but for expediency’s sake, she decided to just perform a few drying spells and get under the covers nude.
When Sirius entered the room wearing only a towel, Hermione couldn’t avert her eyes. It wasn’t polite to watch him, but she did it anyway. He didn’t seem to notice. He dropped the towel into the hamper and crawled into bed with her. He was wholly unashamed of his nudity, though he had no reason to be. He was a beautiful specimen of maleness, all sharp angles and hard muscles. Even his tattoos were sexy, though Hermione didn’t usually go for the marked type.
Without wasting any time, Sirius pulled her on top of him. She struggled to straddle him, and he smiled at her discomfort. Glaring at him as she settled her legs on either side of his, she tried to avoid contact with his burgeoning hardness, but he rolled his hips into her and she couldn’t escape it.
“Do you know how long I’ve wanted this?” he murmured against her ear. He licked and kissed a spot beneath her ear that made her feel faint.
“No... how long?” Hermione was half-teasing; she was treading dangerous ground here. She didn’t want to hear: ‘Since I got back from beyond the Veil, of course.’ For some reason, she wanted to hear something like forever or always, even though she knew that wasn’t so.
He smiled against her cheek, nuzzling her softly. “Too long, love. Much, much too long.”
Hermione placed small kisses on the corners of his mouth, teasing him with flicking licks and soft touches of her lips. He growled at her and she raised her eyebrow in return. A challenge.
Sirius picked up the gauntlet as she knew he would. He reversed their positions in one smooth movement, tossing her onto her back and settling between her thighs. She raised her knees and held his hips with her thighs. She could feel his arousal against her mound, and he took her mouth violently at the same time as he thrust his cock against her lower belly. Both moaned at the contact, and Hermione’s hips moved in an ancient dance.
“’Mione, gods, where did you learn that?” His voice was strained, and she was thrilled to have that effect on him.
“Just feels good... gods... doesn’t it?” She, of course, hadn’t learned anything, it was just coming to her. Her body knew what to do, even though her mind was a flurry of emotion and sensation and little practical knowledge.
“Everything you do feels good...” Sirius groaned, rocking his body against hers, sending sparks throughout her veins to settle back between her thighs. “But this feels fucking amazing, ” he added, grinding against her and nipping her lips playfully.
His hands caressed her breasts, and he bent to lave and suck her nipples. She moaned at the delicious contact, and he bit gently on the flesh of her breasts, teasing her nipples with his fingertips. Hermione felt a fire build within her, and her body would not let her forget or ignore the impossible hardness against her belly. She reached down to touch him, running her fingers lightly over his silken shaft. He moved into her hand as she closed her fist around him.
“Careful, Hermione. If you want this to last, you’d better go easy,” he warned her playfully, and Hermione responded with a tug before she brought her hand back to his side instead.
Sirius pulled his body from her slightly and stroked between her folds with his thick fingers. She was wet already, and he slicked her thoroughly, spreading the wetness. Hermione bit her lip as his fingers grazed her clit before slipping slightly into her body. But he drew them out immediately, and Hermione shut her eyes against the sight of him tasting his fingers. But she experienced the outcome anyway when he kissed her lips with her flavour on his tongue. She whimpered at the sheer wantonness of the act.
“Taste so good, baby. Wish you hadn’t denied me so long,” he whispered against her lips. She wanted to deny it, but she knew it was her fault he’d gotten so sick. She’d been so afraid, so stupidly cowardly, and for what? Being with him like this was the best thing she’d ever experienced.
“I want you, Hermione. Will you have me?” Hermione heard the vulnerability in his voice and tried not to think that he meant more than just this, just right now. Tried not to hope he meant more.
“Yes, Sirius. I want you, too. So much—” her words were cut off by his soft but demanding kiss, and her body soared.
Sirius lined his cock up to her entrance and seemed to breathe deeply. He looked to her, a heated gaze that seemed to glitter in the air between them. His eyes were nearly black and his face overtaken with passion. Hermione rolled her hips in acquiescence, and Sirius exhaled sharply. He thrust into her with one deep, slow movement, intending to fuck her good and hard when he felt her impossible tightness give slightly and heard a stifled gasp from the woman beneath him. He watched her wince in pain. What the...?
Her eyes were pleading with him, and he realized what he’d really known all along. She’s a virgin. His mind raced with all the things he would have done differently. He even thought about stopping, but that notion was dismissed when her tightness clenched around him. The only thing to do now was make it as good for her as possible.
He moved slowly from her, pulling out only a few inches before returning to her heat. Her sublime tightness was wearing down his resolve, which wasn’t exactly steel to begin with. He gritted his teeth against the sensation and made love to her as gently as he knew how. Hermione was responding, her hips rising to meet his, her breath coming in huffs against his neck.
“You,” he breathed, “are amazing. So tight, so perfect.” Hermione tried to focus on his words and let her body move as it seemed destined to do. Any nervousness abated when he’d entered her, and now only pleasure remained.
Instead of responding, she pulled his face to hers for a kiss, and he told her everything he felt about her in that transfer. How he adored her bravery, her sweetness, her innate goodness, her sacrifice. All for him. All of this was for him, and he was going to treasure it like the precious gift it was. Not just her virginity, but her trust.
He rocked into her body, falling into her dark chocolate eyes and feeling a delicious calm settle over his body. He felt both frenzied and completely at ease. She trusted him, she wanted him... he wanted to make her feel good. He kissed her hard, pouring his passion into the kiss rather than letting his hips showcase his need.
He felt the telltale signs of her orgasm and thrust a little deeper into her, trying not to hurt her but needing her to come soon before he did. His fingers manipulated her clit and got the reaction he wanted. She cried out against him, his name. Her body trembled with the sensation, and he continued to thrust shallowly until he plunged one last time, deeper than before and came with a short grunt. His vision went black, and he barely held himself from crushing her. Her body drew every ounce from him, and he couldn’t help but feel that she was made for him. He pulled gingerly from her and they both winced at the feeling.
Hermione and Sirius were both lying on their backs, panting lightly. His hand searched hers out and held it tightly. Suddenly, both were accosted with a sudden ripping sensation deep within their bodies, deeper than the core; it came from their very souls. Hermione screamed and Sirius gasped. He tried to sit up to make sure Hermione was okay, but his body didn’t seem to be under his control. The ripping continued until they were no longer able to maintain consciousness, and they simultaneously slipped under the spell of forced sleep.
She was floating. She couldn’t see anything ahead or behind her, there was only a gentle wave of air upon which her body rested. She felt at peace. She thought she sensed someone there with her, but she was alone. When she looked at her body, since it was the only thing to look at, she was surprised. There were no scars, no imperfections. Her skin was glowing an unearthly white, and light emanated from her.
The hissing sound that always came along with this dream was not entirely absent, but it was not as malicious as it had been before. It seemed... appeased. Almost pleased with her. The sibilance trailed over her naked flesh like a compliment, and she felt pleased that she had done well. She had the feeling she would not hear the noises again.
She spun aimlessly through space, the light from her body flickering but not fading. The presence of another person was always palpable, but not tangible. He seemed to be out of reach. Always beyond her grasp....
Sirius woke up first. He immediately checked Hermione beside him to make sure she was okay. She seemed to be sound asleep and was breathing steadily.
He took stock of his person, but everything seemed to be in order. The memory of that terribly tearing feeling was too fresh to ignore, yet there was no residual evidence that anything had happened. Sirius rubbed his eyes until he saw brilliant patterns in his eyelids. It had felt like he was being torn apart... but he was fine now. Better than fine. He felt more complete, more centred than he had since he had returned from beyond the Veil. He didn’t feel any need or any illness. It was brilliant.
But unnerving at the same time. What did it mean?
And Hermione... her screams still resonated in his head. He checked her again, but she was perfectly alive and seemingly well.
He couldn’t believe she hadn’t told him she was a virgin. He regretted that. He would have done things differently, taken more time... but you couldn’t have, his traitorous brain reminded him. There was no time.
But didn’t she trust him with the knowledge? Maybe not, but she trusts you with her body and her heart.
He felt closer to Hermione than ever before, but something was haunting him. Being with her had been amazing, but he wished it had been on their own terms. He hated not being in control. After spending twelve years in Azkaban where his soul was not his own, and then five years beyond the Veil doing Merlin-knows-what, all he wanted was a little free will. It wasn’t too much to ask.
But it wasn’t Hermione’s fault that his will was denied him. She only meant to bring him back, not to tie her to him. And yet... she must have known, even a little, what could happen. People don’t go around sacrificing life blood like she had without having even an inkling of the consequences... and if Snape had been helping her all along, it was likely that he would have told her. Sirius imagined it was a big joke to Snape, tying an innocent young girl to a washed-up old reprobate like him; just the kind of thing Snape would get off on.
But what would Hermione gain from tying Sirius down? She didn’t seem like the type to go after him for his money; they were usually easy to spot, though Sirius had been fooled a couple times in his youth. And now that his fortune was restored to him, he couldn’t be too careful. But she hadn’t made any demands on his Galleons at all.
Though Sirius knew he was a good catch as a date or a lay, he couldn’t imagine a witch wanting to trick him into marriage. He was lazy, arrogant, irresponsible... at least, that’s what people were always telling him. Maybe she’d had a crush on him in her youth and was trying to bring a fairytale to life. Or maybe she saw him differently than he saw himself; maybe, to her, he was a real prize.
Sirius shook his head to clear his thoughts. Hermione was a sweet girl, a good girl. She wouldn’t trick him. She did the noble thing, just as he would have done in his Gryffindor days. Hermione stirred on the bed beside him, and Sirius left the room to have a shower.
Chapter 16
Hermione awoke with a gasp. That pain....
She took a moment to take in her surroundings. She was in her bed, seemingly healthy and whole. Sirius was gone. She heard the shower running, and her heart rate slowed a little.
She hadn’t predicted any sort of pain from the bond at their consummation. Not even Snape had suggested anything negative would happen. But it was undeniable: something bad had happened after she and Sirius had made love. The ripping sensation left echoes in her body, and she could almost still feel it in her bones.
Despite a general sense of completion, which could have been from a good night’s sleep or the wildly fulfilling sex from the day before but was most likely due to finally fulfilling the needs of the bond, Hermione nevertheless felt like something was missing.
Why can’t anything just go as advertised? Why do I always feel like I take two steps back for every one forward? Hermione wished she could claim everything was well and good in the world, but she’d be lying. Something was wrong, and it wasn’t a tangible thing that she could take note of and research, but an underlying feeling that was no less intense for its vagueness.
Hermione reached for Snape’s salve on the bedside table. She didn’t need it between her legs like Snape had suggested she might, but she definitely needed it on her chest. Her wound was achy and sore, not to mention itchy as hell. But itchy was good. It meant healing.
Applying the medicine, Hermione was glad to note the cuts actually looked a little better. They were less angry, less red, and the cut she’d inflicted only the day before had closed up already. The latest one might not even scar.
Satisfied with the salve, Hermione got up to get dressed for work. She’d taken two days off now and couldn’t afford to keep that up, financially or responsibly. As much as she hated her job, she had a team to think about.
Dressed in a smart grey pencil skirt and a dark purple jewel-toned blouse, Hermione went downstairs to make tea. She generally made breakfast as well, but only made toast today.
Sirius was really taking his time in the shower, and Hermione wondered if she’d even get to see him before she had to leave.
Answering her unspoken question, Sirius entered the kitchen, somehow looking like he could rule the world in only a white towel and dripping hair. He leaned against the doorframe and studied her, and Hermione couldn’t help but shiver at the appraisal.
Apparently deciding she’d suffered enough, he came up and slid his arms around her, drawing her body against his damp form. She tried to pull back but relented, realizing the fight would end with her clothing wet one way or another, since her struggles invariably made him fight harder for whatever it was he wanted.
He brought a hand up to softly stroke the skin of her jaw and tilted her head up for a kiss. His lips were soft and insistent against her, licking the seam to request entrance. She acquiesced because denial was never an option with Sirius.
Just as she melted into the embrace, he broke the kiss.
“Did you feel that pain last night, after we had sex?” he questioned, and Hermione started a little to hear it spoken of so... casually. It was anything but, to her.
“Yes, that was unexpected.” That, of course, was an understatement. It had felt as though her soul had been... oh, my gods. Could their souls have been restored?
“Sirius, do you think the pain was connected to our bond? I mean, I felt like my soul was being torn somehow.... What if the bond... reversed, or something?” Hermione gulped. Did she feel relief or disappointment at the idea? She quite liked Sirius, more now than she even had in her youth, that much was certain. But did she want to be bound to him forever? And equally important, did he want that? It would be good to have the bond dissolved, wouldn’t it?
“I don’t know. I definitely felt a deep pain, as in deeper than just bodily. What do you think it means?” Sirius looked concerned but not overly so, and his calmness helped even Hermione’s breathing.
“I can’t be sure. But maybe we should test the bond? See if it’s still intact?” She hated the idea that this might cause Sirius pain, but she figured it wouldn’t get to the point it had last time, and if they began to feel ill-effects, they would be able to be together to satisfy it.
He nodded, obviously thinking. “Okay. Go to work and we’ll see how badly we feel by lunchtime. If we don’t feel ill or anything, we’ll wait until you get home from work. By then, we should have an answer.”
“It’s a plan, then. Maybe I should ask Professor Sna—” She didn’t finish because Sirius cut her off with a kiss. She fell into it, expressing her concerns without saying a word, knowing Sirius wouldn’t know why she felt so distressed, any more than she did.
“Let’s try to figure out this one thing before involving... other parties, yeah?”
Rolling her eyes, Hermione agreed.
“Yesterday you said something about an invisible book? I meant to ask earlier, but... more important things happened.” He predictably winked at her, and feeling bold, she winked back. Laughing, Sirius continued, “I wanted to have a look at it.”
Hermione thought about where she’d put it in her hurry to get home to him from Snape’s office. She must have put it on the coffee table.
Feeling for it, her fingers hit an edge, and she picked it up. “Here it is, but you need blood to see it, and I don’t want you to cut yourself. I can tell you what it says.”
“No worries, I won’t go hacking up my chest just to do research. You can fill me in later. I just wanted to see it.”
Hermione handed it to him, grabbed her briefcase and walked to the Floo. She wanted to go to Sirius for a kiss goodbye, but that felt so... domestic, and she wasn’t sure that he would want that from her.
Sirius solved the problem by grabbing her upper arms and fairly hauling her body against his.
“Thought you could get away without saying a proper goodbye?” he murmured against her lips, punctuating with a lick on her mouth.
“Of course not, Sirius,” she whispered, parting her lips to accept his ‘goodbye.’ He kissed her deeply before releasing just as she was falling into it, for the second time that morning. She gave him a light glare, only a four on the Hermione-Glare scale, and tossed some Floo powder into the hearth, stating her department at the Ministry, and whirling away in a dramatic whoosh of flames.
Sirius weighed the book in his hands. He’d meant what he said; he had no intentions of cutting himself to read the words. He trusted Hermione’s near-perfect recall, and while not a stranger to pain, he was averse to it on a personal level. He’d seen the book, or at least had known of its existence, from when he’d come across it in the library. He hadn’t thought that it was the book, nor had he remembered to ask Hermione about it before.
He’d been so disappointed in his little bluestocking when he’d learnt that she’d used blood magic to read the book. That had been highly careless of her, and careless was not her style.
He went to sit on the sofa, lounging on his back and resting his head on his hands. He studied his boots, wondering what exactly he thought about the possibility of the bond being reversed. He definitely hated being tethered to her and worried about what could happen if they were somehow divided. He certainly didn’t relish the idea of dying from sex withdrawal. On the other hand, he wondered if Hermione would consider dating him outside the realm of the bond. She was a brilliant girl and a brilliant shag... Sirius cringed internally at the term. She was definitely more than a shag, and yet the bachelor in Sirius rebelled against putting a word to that.
So basically, I want to be a free man with access to Hermione’s body and heart. If that wasn’t a case of wanting your cake and to eat it too, Sirius didn’t know what was. If Remus were here, he would know exactly what to do, and better still, he would tell Sirius what to do. Sirius closed his eyes against the barrage of emotions that hit him when he thought of Remus. It still hurt to think about, and Sirius hated being the only Marauder left. He felt pressure in that, as though he had a duty to not let his friends down (except Peter—that shit could rot in hell).
Thinking of Remus made Sirius remember little Teddy, who lived with his aunt. He desperately wanted to meet the little guy, one of his only remaining family members, since Tonks was his cousin. He’d been seriously remiss in reconnecting with the real world. He had a responsibility to certain people, and he needed to see it through. As much as he’d love to live in a little world with only Hermione, it wasn’t realistic.
He did worry about the fallout Hermione might experience. She could be labelled a Dark witch because of her actions, and Sirius had lived with the stigma of being a Black for long enough to know that could be very alienating and disheartening, especially when it was untrue.
His mind made up to visit Teddy and Andromeda that night or the next day, Sirius felt better. It always helped to make a decision one way or another. The problem was, there were so many decisions to be made, it would be a wonder if he would ever feel normal again.
Deciding to put a stop to his maudlin musings, Sirius sent off an owl to Harry. He wanted to see his godson, to explain to him what was happening, and to hear about Teddy. He knew Harry was Teddy’s godfather, and it made him smile to think of Harry, little Harry, being Remus’ son’s godparent. I’ve missed so much....
Better not to dwell on those things, of course. He had a life to live and a responsibility to the witch who saved him to live it.
When lunchtime came around, Hermione couldn’t sort out her feelings. The bond was not putting any sort of pressure on her whatsoever. She felt fine. She hung her head. I’ve lost him. For what man would stay with Hermione Granger when he was a sex god? And now that her knowledge of sex was more substantial than what she’d read in PlayWitch, she knew Sirius was a sex god.
Heat flooded her when she remembered the intensity of her orgasm, the heat of him within her, the way she’d woken up still wet with his come between her legs. But more than that, his eyes....
No matter. If their souls were reinstated, she would learn to live with it. At least she’d had him once; at least she’d gotten to know him better.
Hermione ignored the bitter tinge deep within when she’d Firecalled home to have Harry answer the Floo and relate the message that Sirius was ‘doing just fine without her.’ When she felt the emptiness inside her, she knew, for the first time, that it wasn’t just the bond that needed Sirius.
“So, you and Hermione, yeah? How’s that going?”
Sirius rolled his eyes. He might have to teach his godson a thing or two about subtlety.
“It’s going great,” he answered. “We’re both a little uncomfortable with the situation, but things are getting easier, I think.”
Harry nodded. “I worry about her, you know. She hasn’t had much experience in the dating department, and to go from nothing to you has got to be tough.”
“Are you saying I’m high-maintenance, Harry James Potter?” Sirius teased.
“Not at all. I’m just saying you’re a lot more than she’s used to. And I worry that... you know. She might not be able to handle it.”
Sirius was curious. “In what way?”
Harry shrugged, and Sirius got the impression he was hiding something. “I don’t know. She just hasn’t been with many guys... any guys, really. Just—be careful with her, you know? With her heart.”
Sirius clapped Harry on the shoulder and smiled. “I will, Harry. She is lucky to have a friend like you, and vice versa. I wouldn’t hurt her for the world.”
Harry smiled, looking reassured. “Good, because I’d have to kill you if you did, of course.”
Sirius laughed. “Of course.”
Harry pulled a pack of Exploding Snap cards from one pocket and a bottle of Firewhisky from the other, a cheeky grin on his face and looking so much like his father that Sirius’ heart hurt.
“You’re on, Potter.”
Hermione walked through the front door of Grimmauld Place, having decided to Apparate home and save her silk shirt from further Floo damage, and was accosted by an impressively drunk Harry Potter.
“Is that my woman?” Sirius called from another room, and Hermione snorted.
“No, it’s Hermione!” she called back. A part of her squealed at being called his woman, but a larger part rebelled against the idea of being a possession.
Harry gave her a sloppy kiss on the cheek and stage-whispered, “Better not get him started, ‘Mione, he’s had a lot to drink!” He laughed heartily and dragged Hermione’s amused form to the sitting room, where Sirius was sprawled on the couch on his back, one leg on the floor and boots on.
Hermione took in the sight of a languorously reclined Sirius and sighed in pleasure before noticing the utter wreck of the room. Playing cards were everywhere, and that was no understatement. To add to that, they all looked as though they’d been shot with hexes, being scorched and half-burnt. A couple were still on fire!
She immediately doused the disasters-in-waiting and chuckled as Harry poured a shot for each of them.
“I thought I heard my girl’s voice!” Sirius slurred, grinning madly.
“And I thought I said I wasn’t your girl?” she countered.
“How can you deny me, love... after everything we’ve done together?” His voice had dropped to a sultry whisper, but Harry still picked up on the insinuation.
“You shagged my godfather, Hermione Granger?” he demanded, a sly smirk giving away his appalled tone.
“And it was the best bloody shag I ever had!” Sirius declared. Hermione took her shot and Sirius’. She would need it more than he, having to look after these maniacs.
“Hey! No fair. That had my name written all over it,” Sirius groused, reaching up with speed incongruous to his state and hauling Hermione facedown onto his body, settling her between his thighs and attacking her throat with wet, but somehow amazingly sexy kisses.
Harry groaned and protested, “None of that, now! I came for a game, not a show!”
Sirius broke away from her jugular long enough to quip, “Like I’d let you see anything!”
Harry blurted, “Nothing I haven’t seen before!” He laughed at his own self-perceived hilarity, and Hermione groaned.
Sirius froze against her neck. “What?” he whispered into her ear, voice suddenly clear and full of possessiveness.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake. We saved the world together, obviously he’s seen me naked a few times, circumstances called for it!”
“Yeah!” Harry agreed. “Circumstances like the time we were all hot and had no swimsuits, so we went in the buff!”
“Harry!” Hermione hissed, suddenly nervous about the tense body beneath her.
“Oh, yeah,” Sirius said, “Saving the world, one skinny dip at a time. Anything else you’d like to tell me, love?”
“You want a list of everyone who’s seen me naked?” Hermione questioned, voice almost as dangerous as Sirius’.
“In writing, actually. With updated home addresses, if you please.”
Before the bickering turned into full-scale Hermione-Sirius war a la before Sirius’ death, Ginny’s head appeared in the Floo.
“Harry! You had better be on your way home now, and you had better be sober upon arrival! Am I understood?” Her voice was bordering on shrill, and Sirius winced, making Hermione smirk.
“Yes, Gin. I was just leaving!” Ginny’s face disappeared, and Harry pulled a Sobering potion from his robes. “Always prepared!” he announced with a wry grin before downing it, gathering what was left of his playing cards, and waving goodbye before stepping through the Floo.
Hermione was immediately reminded of her position atop Sirius when he turned them both over, pressing her facedown into the sofa beneath him, but relieving her of his weight by holding himself up on his elbows. She squirmed to get comfortable, and he bit the back of her neck, moaning and pressing his arousal against the back of her skirt.
“So, this list?” he prompted, licking her neck lightly.
“There’s no list,” she whispered, amazing at how quickly the heat from their little argument transformed into another kind of heat. “Just Harry and Ron, and my parents, I guess. Oh, and one time Moody walked into the bathroom while I was using the shower.”
Sirius growled, the noise causing an immediate reaction in her lower belly.
“Well, I’ll just have to prove that I don’t share what’s mine, won’t I?” he whispered dangerously.
“What is your obsession with owning me, Black?” Hermione shot back. “Three such statements in one night. Do I have your name tattooed on my arse or something?”
Sirius started to bunch up her skirt as if to check, and she laughed, hiking it back down and snaking out from beneath him.
“No, I don’t. And if you want me, you have to treat me with respect. I’m serious!”
He sat up and pulled her unresisting into his lap. “No, I am. Silly girl.”
She slapped his arm and he recoiled as if in great pain. “All right, all right! Really, love. I think you’ll see treating you with respect is the easiest thing in the world.”
Hermione smiled, placated. For now.
Chapter 17
Sirius let Hermione guide him up to bed. He’d sobered up a bit after their little tiff—but he was still waiting on that list of people who’d seen her nude—and now he was enjoying the attention.
Spending the day with Harry had been a blast. The boy (man, he reminded himself) was so funny and clever, and just an all-around amazing kid (adult! ). Sirius was so grateful that he had grown up right despite everything working against him. He’d even spoken to Sirius about wanting kids, and Sirius couldn’t hold back his grin. It had been so long since he’d held a little baby....
Sirius pounced on Hermione the moment they stepped into the bedroom. He groaned when his hands came into contact with her smooth skin, and he undressed her rapidly to get more of that feeling.
“Sirius,” she laughed. “What’s the hurry?” She sounded breathless, and he crowed internally to cause an immediate reaction in her like she did in him.
“I can’t wait. I’ve wanted you all day,” he answered honestly, pushing her onto the bed and watching her bounce lightly, fire shining in her eyes. He undressed just as quickly and crawled up her petite figure.
“I’ve wanted you, too. I’m glad you’re not as drunk as I thought you were,” she admitted, running her hands over his heated skin, causing an immediate reaction in his groin.
“Not drunk at all, love. I’ll prove it to you,” he promised, and did so, kissing her with deft precision, parting her lips and drawing her tongue into his own mouth, where he was sure the spicy taste of Firewhisky still resided.
Hermione moaned, pulling away to bite and suck at his lower lip, causing him to growl and move his mouth to her neck. For someone inexperienced as she, she knew exactly how to demand a reaction. He licked the slightly salty skin of her neck, sucking the flesh into his mouth and worrying it with his teeth, purposefully marking his territory. Hot and no swimsuits, indeed!
Hermione’s hips rolled, desperate for contact, and he settled between her slightly parted thighs. He wanted her now, but he could wait. It seemed that she didn’t agree, because her body was grinding against his in an insistent motion, and he groaned when her damp pussy slid against his straining cock.
“’Mione, need you now,” he gritted out, all his effort going toward keeping his hips still.
“Want you, too. Fuck me, Sirius.”
He couldn’t have held back if he’d had the notion to. Each of her words was like a new jolt into his arousal: her desire, her dirty words, his name.
He brought one of her thighs up to rest against his hip and slowly slid into her. Her tightness was shocking, as before, and he recalled images of McGonagall to stave off his orgasm. She was so wet, so ready for him. He hadn’t even touched her, and she was dripping. It was intoxicating.
Her head sank farther into the pillows, and she urged him to move with her hips. He obliged, slowing pulling out and sheathing himself again, quickly. She met his every thrust with her own. Her kisses were made of fire and sweetness, and he gorged himself on them.
Before long, his almost lazy plunges turned into an impassioned pounding, her entire body shaking with the force of his thrusts, and little grunts escaping him as he indulged his desire to completely master her body.
His orgasm was impending, and by the look on her face and the tenseness of her body, he knew hers wasn’t far behind. A few flicks to her clit brought her off quickly, and she cried out, shutting her eyes, face blissfully beatific. The clenching of her inner walls made it nearly impossible to thrust, but he tried, coming after three final strokes. He could feel his muscles straining as he ground into her pliant body, filling her and barely holding himself up.
He managed to roll off of her before his arms gave out, pulling her body against his and inhaling her sweet, warm scent.
“Beautiful,” he whispered, and she smiled before they both fell asleep.
The next day, Hermione brought up the topic she’d been thinking about for some time. She was sitting at the kitchen table with Sirius, drinking tea after they’d finished breakfast. They were both up quite early after having gone to bed early the night before, and she had some time before she had to leave for work.
Brushing crumbs off her black suit jacket, Hermione broached the subject. “When do you think you’ll let everyone know you’re alive?”
He looked at her thoughtfully. “Actually, I was thinking about that yesterday. I really want to meet little Teddy, and it would be good to see my cousin Andromeda again. We have a lot in common.”
“That’s a wonderful idea, Sirius. Teddy will be so lucky to have you around.”
He smiled. “I can’t believe there’s a little Lupin out there. I heard he’s a Metamorph like his mother.”
Hermione nodded. “Yes, and he’s quite bright as well. He looks just... he looks like his father.”
Sirius’ face split into a wide grin. “Gods, I hope so. I miss him.”
Hermione leaned over to kiss him a quick kiss, which he immediately tried to turn into a long one. She pulled back, shaking her head and smiling.
“And what about the rest of the world?”
“I don’t know—maybe I should just take a stroll down Diagon Alley and wait for the fallout. It would be easier than spreading the word person by person.”
Hermione considered that. It actually wasn’t a bad idea, for all that it was a joke. “Honestly, that might be something to think about. You should tell the important people first, like the Weasleys. They all cared for you very much. And maybe you could talk to Draco? He is your family.”
Sirius frowned. “I’ve never even spoken to the boy, and I’m not sure I want to. From what Harry’s said—”
“Yes, but Harry hates Snape as well, and he is a hero.”
Sirius glowered. “Draco can find out with the rest of them. I doubt he will even care. Will you come for the inaugural Diagon Alley stroll with me?”
“I think it would be better if Harry went with you, Sirius. It will make sure people know it’s really you. And I think he would really like it. He might be feeling left out because of our... association.”
He leered at her, saying, “Association? Hermione, my dear, how... platonic you make it sound.”
She reddened, saying, “Yes, well. In any case, it’s ultimately up to you. I just think Harry would be the better choice, the first time.”
He said thoughtfully, “I think you’re right. Harry it is, then.”
“Good. So, I suppose I won’t need to come home during my lunch break, now that it appears the bond has... been satisfied.”
He smiled softly. “No, you don’t have to come home,” he said, brushing his fingers over her hand. “But you could.”
Hermione blushed. “I have fallen behind in my work, lately. I probably should try to use the time to catch up.” He pulled his hand away from hers and she missed the warmth.
“Do you think the bond has been destroyed, Hermione? I haven’t felt anything since the first night we were together. Not even a twinge.”
“Neither have I. I can’t really say. The bond was mysterious in the first place, but it doesn’t really make sense that it would let us off the hook so easily, does it? I just don’t know.”
Hermione tried to meet his eyes. She really did. She never saw herself as the type who couldn’t meet another’s gaze, for any reason. But she was afraid that if she looked at him, he would see right through. She had enough tells as it was; she didn’t need her eyes broadcasting for her. She was afraid, plain and simple. She didn’t want the bond... but she wanted the choice.
But what did he want?
“I guess we have to wait and see, then. But, whatever happens, I want you to know...” Sirius chuckled nervously. When she did raise her face to meet his eyes, he was the one looking away. “I want you to know I am so grateful that you brought me back. It doesn’t feel like I was really gone, to me... but I know it must have, to Harry. To you. So, thank you. For the second chance.”
He took her into his arms, tucking her head under his chin and holding her too tightly for real comfort, but she still wished he would never let go.
She hated to be the first to speak. “I have to go to work, now.”
“I’ll miss you,” he whispered, kissing her hair and then her lips. She let herself fall into the kiss, his lips soft and slow against hers. He seemed to be in no hurry, and the steady seduction was almost, almost as good as the ravenous fire that usually burned between them. Just as she parted her lips to admit him, he pulled away. He smoothed a finger over her softly swollen lips and smiled.
Hermione arrived at work in a bit of a daze.
Sirius decided that the next day would be perfect for his initial outing into the real world. He’d owled Harry, and the young man had responded with excitement. Sirius suspected his godson was eager to be seen in public, possibly for the first time in his life. Though Harry did hate publicity, Sirius knew he was excited to no longer have to hide the secret of his return, especially from Ronald.
Sirius also suspected Ginny was having just as much, if not more, difficulty keeping it between the few people who knew.
In order to tell the Weasleys, Harry had asked them all to meet him at Grimmauld Place for dinner. They were due to arrive around the time Hermione got home. He didn’t know how much Hermione wanted to tell them about their relationship, but he had absolutely no intention of hiding it from anyone.
For the first time, Sirius had something he wanted and was allowed to keep—he wasn’t going to hide it away for all the world.
And for the next day, Sirius and Harry were planning a relaxing little jaunt down Diagon Alley, during the busiest time of day, with plenty of stops planned along the way. He hoped that most people would get their surprise and mistrust out of the way, because he didn’t relish spending the rest of his days explaining himself.
As to that, he hadn’t decided exactly how to explain his miraculous return. He hoped he could just claim ignorance and say that he just came back one day, no rhyme or reason. He didn’t know how amenable the public would be to that, but being Harry Potter’s godfather did have its benefits; in the world to which he’d returned, Harry’s word was gold.
Hopefully the Prophet would pick up the story and by the end of the weekend, everyone would know he was alive and well. And probably owing about five years in taxes to the Ministry, the bloody vultures.
Sirius decided to get the dinner started, knowing that Hermione would hate to cook for so many people on such short notice after working all day—but that, despite hating it, she would do it with no complaints. Not obvious ones, anyway—like he would make—but ones that would get him into trouble later, and he saw no reason to go through that.
He stared forlornly at the pile of ingredients on the counter. They made no sense to him without some sort of recipe. He knew he could cook, but he couldn’t make anything he didn’t already know how to make. And no one was there to show him how to make roast beef or some other suitable meal fit for a large number of guests.
He sat at the kitchen table, contemplating his options. He could order food, Muggle or Wizard. Muggle food might be a hit with Arthur Weasley... but Hermione might not approve because hosts and hostesses were supposed to actually cook—or, at least, that was what he had been taught. He had no idea what she might think.
In a fit of frustration, Sirius cried out, “Kreacher!”
And to both their immense shock, the impossibly gnarled old house elf was standing before him, eyes widened and mouth working soundlessly.
“Master! You is returned! Kreacher was told you was dead and Kreacher was free. Now Kreacher sees it is all a trick!”
Sirius gaped, uncomprehending that his house elf was still alive, let alone still indentured.
“Well, the rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated.” Waiting for recognition in those glaring eyes would be a lesson in futility, so he hurried on. “However, I am back now, and you still work for the House of Black. Are you... capable?” He felt little concern for the old curmudgeon, but he did worry about finding elf pieces in his dinner.
“Of course Kreacher is capable, ” he spat, looking mutinous. “Kreacher is, of course, honoured to serve the blood-traitor again.”
“Good,” Sirius grinned, not quite believing his luck. “Here are the rules. Do whatever I say, and don’t let anyone know you’re here. Got that? Not the lady who lives here with me, not anyone.”
Kreacher nodded, looking at the pile of haphazard materials on the counter. “I is understanding. Is you wanting Kreacher to make dinner from that?” Disdain dripped from his voice, but Sirius knew the elf wouldn’t actually harm him. Despite his dubious allegiances, the house elf was loyal to him... just a little vocal.
“And whatever else you can find. I need a dinner for...” Sirius counted in his head. “Eight people. Possibly more if they bring guests.”
Kreacher immediately got to work, throwing out some of the ‘ingredients’ and getting more from the pantry and fridge.
Sirius suspected it was wrong to hide Kreacher’s existence from Hermione, but he’d grown up with a house elf and wasn’t used to doing everything for himself. It would be nice—for both of them—to be able to relax a little. Kreacher could cook and clean while Hermione was at work. Sirius would... find a hobby or something, and she’d be none the wiser.
For the dinner, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were expected to come, as well as Harry, Ginny, Ron and George. He’d heard about the death of Fred from Hermione, and he wondered how George was coping. He himself knew all too much about loss, and he made a mental note to make sure the boy was all right. Man, he mentally corrected himself.
Everyone had gained five years except him.
Harry and Ginny arrived even before Hermione. He poured wine for the three of them, grateful that Kreacher had finished with dinner only moments before. The table was set, and dinner was waiting under warming charms for the rest of the guests to arrive.
“Sirius, you did all this yourself?” Ginny’s voice was surprised, though she tried to mask it.
“What, you don’t think an old dog can learn new tricks?” Sirius skilfully avoided answering, and Harry looked at him calculatingly before smiling widely.
“If any dog could, it’d be you,” Harry joked, and they all laughed. Sirius never failed to be surprised and grateful at how easily he’d moved back into comfort with his godson. He’d expected many angst-ridden weeks of turmoil and uncertainty, but Harry had accepted his return wholeheartedly, and now it was as though no time at all had passed. Sirius was thankful for the normalcy, illusion or not.
The Floo sounded, and Sirius heard numerous voices in the other room. He nervously straightened his clothing before flashing a cocky grin at Harry, who returned it, obviously excited.
“Showtime,” Harry smirked, and Sirius couldn’t help but feel eager. He did so love to shock people.
Harry and Ginny stepped first into the room that was brimful of Weasleys, greeting everyone and smiling mysteriously. Sirius waited just outside the room for this cue, whatever that might be.
“I have a surprise for you all!” Harry announced, and Sirius almost snorted. His godson had no flare for the dramatic. If it had been him, he would have built it up to near-bursting levels of anticipation and teasing.
Taking his cue, Sirius rounded the corner and entered the living room. All eyes moved from Harry to Sirius, and a veritable hush fell. Molly gasped and immediately began making choking noises, and the boys were all stunned into silence. Ginny and Harry only grinned madly.
Arthur was the first to speak. “Could it be? Sirius Black? Is that really you?”
Sirius grinned, spreading his hands wide, palms up. “In the flesh.”
Molly came at him so fast he hardly had time to brace himself for the assault. She hugged him tightly to her, forcing him to bend to meet the hug. Despite the animosity between them, Molly had known Sirius had only wanted the best for Harry, and she must have felt that losing him had hurt the boy more than just about anything else in the world at that point.
“I can’t believe it, I just can’t! How? Where were...? Who—?”
Sirius laughingly interrupted her jolted questions. “The truth is, even I’m not entirely sure of the details. One day, I was just... back. And I’m in perfect health, it seems.” Not the entire truth, but not exactly a lie. He met his godson’s eyes and Harry nodded in understanding. He didn’t want his friend judged or maybe even arrested for the magic she’d used. That part of the equation would stay a secret until they knew more about the situation. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the Weasleys; it was just that it was too big a secret to allow out just yet.
Ron stepped forward next, first shaking his hand and then pulling him into an awkward hug. The boy had grown so much over the years he’d missed. He was so much taller and broader than before. George followed, a solemn but searching look on his face. Sirius immediately knew what he was thinking, but he only shook his head in negation. Wherever Sirius had been, it wasn’t the same place as where Fred was. Sometimes, there was no coming back. George nodded imperceptibly, a haunted look coming into his wide eyes.
“Welcome back,” George said to him after they’d hugged. Sirius smiled his thanks. He was glad to be back and glad to have a reception such as this. He’d expected to be hexed or have them ask him questions that only the real Sirius would know. He suspected that Harry’s acceptance precluded all that; if Harry believed it, it must be true.
Arthur gave him a hearty handshake, a wide smile on the man’s face. “So, where have you been, then?” he asked quietly, but everyone heard him anyway, and the rest of the family turned from hugging Harry to hear his answer.
“We don’t really know. Somewhere... else. Where nothing happens and nothing changes. I’m the exact same age as I was when I went into the Veil. And I didn’t even have a day’s growth of beard when I came out, five years later. I have no recollection of the time in between.”
“We believe he was in stasis, a sort of suspended animation,” Hermione’s clear voice announced from the doorway.
All eyes turned to her, but Sirius didn’t care, since his eyes were the first upon her and the only ones that had a right to look at her. He was in front of her in two long strides, gathering her into his arms and tilting her backwards into a dip. He saw surprise and possibly a little bit of anger in her face before he leaned in for a long and very thorough kiss. He ignored the gasps and shocked exclamations of the Weasleys as his tongue probed her mouth. She seemed hesitant to admit him, but he was persistent. A part of him heard Harry’s simple explanation that they were ‘together now,’ but mostly he focused all his attentions on the charmingly squirming woman in his embrace. She could struggle all she wanted, but her lips and tongue were responding, and Sirius always believed everything that came out of her mouth.
After what probably felt like an eternity, Sirius pulled Hermione upright and let her go. The glare that greeted him did nothing to subtract from the perfection of the kiss, and Sirius grinned unapologetically.
Hermione was still the focus of a number of stares, but his witch was nothing if not brave. Taking the Weasleys by the horns, she pre-empted what promised to be a very long and irritating discussion.
“Yes, Sirius and I are together. No, it did not begin before his return. No, he has not Confunded or Imperiused me, nor I him. Yes, we are happy together.”
Sirius nodded firmly, adding nothing but his support, manifested in a firm grasp on her hand and a light squeeze.
The witnesses to their kiss were all a little shocked. Mrs. Weasley in particular looked disturbed, and Ron looked rather green around the gills himself. They seemed to accept Hermione’s declaration, however; or more likely, they were saving their questions for Harry and Ginny, once out of the earshot of Hermione and Sirius.
The Weasleys et al eventually left in a mass exodus, leaving Grimmauld Place rather sedate in their absence. Harry and Ginny left with them, with Harry promising to return the next day for their little outing. Hermione raised an eyebrow at this, but he suspected there was too much for which she was annoyed at him for her to choose only one thing.
He smiled cheekily at her and ran upstairs to get ready for bed. He was thankful, but not entirely surprised, that she soon followed him and all seemed to be forgiven.
Or at least put on hold.
Chapter 18
The next day, the day of the ‘outing,’ was probably more nerve-wracking for Hermione than for Sirius or Harry. The latter two had been bouncing off the walls since Harry had arrived. She was thankful she only had a few more minutes until she could leave for work; otherwise she doubted she’d be able to handle them when they were this excited.
And Sirius was a true instigator, following her around and pestering her, asking her how she would feel when the offers from interested witches began to come in, now that he was exonerated (posthumously, which led to interesting questions), alive and more handsome than ever. His words.
She, of course, told him that any witches with designs on him would have to get through her, first. Their relationship may not be ideal, but it was one, and she would never settle for anything less than complete monogamy.
He laughed merrily, saying something about her making an honest man out of him. She’d tuned out both of them at that point, packing her lunch and practically jumping into the Floo.
Once at her desk, she got to work without her usual ferocity. Sirius exposing their relationship to the Weasleys had been surprising and alarming. She was usually the type for tact and a slow build-up. She had felt very exposed. But she couldn’t deny the part of herself that had thrilled at being claimed in such a public way. Surely Sirius must want her, if he was willing to make their relationship public?
And then he’d told her he planned to take his own advice and go for a stroll down Diagon Alley. She could only imagine the shock he would face, and she hoped he and Harry were both up to it. She was frightened that someone might think he was some sort of impersonator and hex him before asking questions, but Harry had convinced her that he would erect a powerful spell around her lover and himself, just in case.
They’d even booked an interview with The Daily Prophet, though she seriously questioned the intelligence of that idea. But it was either feed them the words to misconstrue, or allow them to devise their own. Hopefully, giving them a base of truth would be better than an article containing nothing more than second-hand witnesses and conjecture. Either way, the Wizarding World was in for a shock, and many people would not accept Sirius’ explanation of “It just happened. I know nothing.” She knew she wouldn’t have, if she hadn’t known the truth; she would have cried foul if anything like that had been printed for her to see, and she was very worried that some intrepid reporter would somehow find out what she’d done.
She would do it again, though. Even if it meant going to Azkaban. She would never have been able to forgive herself if she hadn’t at least tried to bring him back.
It was only a little into lunch when she heard her co-workers talking about Sirius. She tried to listen to their conversations, joining them in the break room for the first time in ages.
“Have you heard, Herms? Sirius Black is alive!” That was Megan, one of her team members.
She nodded cautiously, saying, “Yes, I just overheard someone saying that.” She casually poured herself a cup of coffee, sitting at one of the tables for employees.
“Well, I wonder if he was actually dead to begin with! After all, no one’s ever come back from the Veil,” Jessica said, a receptionist and their most capable busybody.
“But do we know for sure if he even went through the Veil in the first place? I never heard conclusive proof of that.” Megan again, becoming more and more excitable.
“So maybe he was just playing dead until his name was cleared,” said Robbie from accounting.
“His name was cleared over a year ago, Robbie,” Hermione informed him before clamping her mouth shut.
“Yeah, you’re Harry Potter’s best friend! You must know all the details! Come on, Herms! Spill!” She didn’t know who was speaking because she’d closed her eyes against the inevitable.
“All I know is that Sirius really was gone, dead or not. But now he’s back, alive and well.”
Her words set off a flurry of gossip, and more questions were directed at her, but she pretended she saw an owl at her desk and snuck out.
There was no avoiding it—people were going to talk. There had been three crazy theories (or not so crazy, considering what had actually happened) in the lunch room alone—who could know what the rest of the Wizarding World was thinking? Sirius was in for a surprise if he thought people were going to accept his bland explanation without question.
Hermione heard a couple reports on the Wireless about infamous Azkaban escapee Sirius Black, but nothing conclusive, which of course made sense, because nothing was conclusive. Hell, even she didn't know the whole of what had happened, and Sirius knew less than she! Ignorance was highly frustrating, she decided, stabbing her quill through a parchment.
Hermione tried not to remember the difference between this day and days only recently passed, when her neglect to return home by this time for some serious Sirius-touching would render her incapable of coherent thought. Now she felt barely a twinge, and what she did feel might be attributed to her feelings for him, rather than the bond’s strictures.
Half of Hermione wanted to maintain the status quo by pretending nothing was wrong, but that had never been her forte. She was usually honest to a fault, and when she wasn’t honest, people were almost always able to see right through her. All her new feelings, her fears, her hopes—everything boiled down to the question, Does Sirius really want me?
Would he have wanted her if he hadn’t been tied to her? In the same vein, if someone else had brought him back from beyond the Veil, would she have noticed him the way she did now? Who was to say her own feelings were true?
She didn't want to test the bonds again, not like before. But her brain was telling her she’d never be really happy if she didn't know whether her feelings were real or constructed.
Hermione begged her brain to simmer down and give her a few weeks of happiness before getting all involved and making her doubt herself. For surely she was happy right now, at least with her sex life. Sex was different than she’d thought it would be. When she was younger, she thought it would be all romance and sweet words. When she grew up a little and started noticing couples around her, she’d realized sex was messy, complicated and funny. Sex was a joke.
But now, it was some strange, complex meshing of the two. Sex could be sweet, soft, hard, loud, confusing, fascinating, awkward and everything at once. But it was good. And she found herself wanting it all the time, which surprised her. Maybe because it was so new; after the novelty wore off, surely her libido would settle. But what if Sirius’ didn't? After all, he’d been having sex longer than she’d been alive....
Hermione was finding it nearly impossible to focus on her work.
Thankfully, the office was in such a tizzy she really didn't need to. No one was doing their work, so it didn't look quite as bad when Hermione went home at the end of the day with a project not quite finished.
Walking through the door of Grimmauld Place, Hermione was assailed by a number of familiar voices. All loud, all excited.
She removed her coat and hung it on the rack, hearing Sirius’ voice as he described in loving detail the astonishment on one Rita Skeeter’s face as Harry requested, no, demanded a different reporter for their interview.
Hermione entered the sitting room where Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were all sitting, staring in rapt attention at head instigator, Sirius Black, whose back was to her. She smiled wryly at his audience and saw Harry jerk his head toward her, looking at his godfather.
Sirius spun around so quickly Hermione had to take a step back. He was upon her in a flash, picking her up and spinning her in a circle, while trying to kiss her. The kiss was messy and awkward and Hermione laughed before begging to be put down.
“Never!” he declared, his eyes bright and sparkling in a way she was sure hadn’t happened before. The man was nearly wild with excitement.
“So I take it you had a good day? The ultimate prank, eh? ‘Oh, I’m dead. No, I’m not! ’” Hermione snarked, giggling at the wide grin on his face.
“Why, ‘Mione, I do believe you’ve sussed it out! Nothing gets me more wound up than exceeding the expectations of society!” he said laughing, before lowering his voice so only she could hear and adding, “Well, almost nothing.” Winking at her in that typical Sirius way, he kissed her again before practically tossing her into an armchair and sitting on her lap.
He was way too heavy, but he wouldn’t budge. “Sirius, come on! You’re crushing me!”
Everyone in the room was smiling and laughing, even more when Sirius rejoined, “Are you calling me fat? You know I’m sensitive!”
Hermione only groaned and resigned herself to be squashed. Thankfully, most of his weight was braced by his arms on the sides of the chair.
“How was work, Hermione?” Molly kindly inquired. She seemed to be eyeing Hermione carefully, but Hermione couldn’t decipher why.
“Long and unproductive. Everyone was caught up in the fascinating subject of this hyperactive, attention-seeking girlfriend-crusher!”
Harry laughed and sniped, “And nothing frustrates Hermione more than an unproductive work day! Where’s your briefcase? I would have thought you’d be working on it already!”
“Actually,” Hermione said primly, “I decided not to bring my unfinished work home today.”
A chorus of exaggerated gasps followed and she smiled, rolling her eyes and saying, “Yeah, yeah.”
“I bet I know why!” Sirius declared. He stood and rapidly pulled Hermione to her feet, snaking her spot on the armchair and promptly yanking her back into his lap. She was sprawled ungracefully before he settled her, pulling her back against his chest.
“Why, Sirius?” Harry and Ginny refrained.
“Because she would rather spend time with her lover, of course!”
Harry and Ginny both laughed, and Arthur let out a guffaw, but Ron and Molly were both silent. Ron looked a little upset, and Hermione remembered what Ginny said to her when she’d first learned about Hermione and Sirius—that Ron still pined for her, despite his being married to Lavender. Hermione wondered about that for a moment, realizing she hadn’t heard a thing about the girl in ages. It could be that she’d been so wrapped up in her own personal dramas, but even Harry hadn’t mentioned her. Hermione hoped she hadn’t been so remiss in her duties as Ron’s friend that she didn't even know if they were still together. Their wedding had been small and hasty, and Lavender had never really fit in with the group.
“Or maybe I just wanted an evening to myself?” Hermione said, smiling.
He looked like he was considering her answer. “Nah. Pretty sure I’m right.”
She had to laugh. She leaned down for a quick kiss, but like all her quick kisses, Sirius just as quickly turned it into a long one. His tongue only just brushed her lower lip when she whispered, “I think you’re right, too.”
“Okay, everybody out!” Sirius announced, clapping his hands imperially. Again, everyone laughed, but they were getting up anyway. Ron looked especially upset.
“Sirius!” she admonished, slapping him lightly on his arm.
“What?” he said innocently.
“It’s okay, dear. We had best be getting home anyway. Dinner won’t cook itself, you know!” Molly said, a soft smile on her face.
“We should also head out as well. I skived off work for you today, Sirius, and now I get to catch up.”
Hermione got off Sirius’ lap so she could say goodbye to everyone, and Sirius rose to take Harry into a hug.
“I know, Harry,” he said. “And I’m so grateful. I couldn’t have done it without you... and thank you for—”
“No worries,” Harry interrupted, smiling and looking searchingly at his godfather. Hermione watched the exchange while seeing the Weasleys through the Floo, but she had no idea what it was about.
After everyone had left, Hermione went to sit on the sofa. Sirius settled beside her, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her ear softly.
“I wished you were with us today,” he told her.
“I do, too. But it was better this way, Sirius. And I think Harry really enjoyed the time with you. I haven’t seen him so thrilled in a long time.”
Sirius smirked mysteriously. “Oh, yes, we had fun today.”
Hermione shook her head. “I’m not entirely sure I want to know.”
“Then you might not want to read the Prophet for the next few weeks.”
Hermione gaped. “I thought the interview was to tell the truth, not play jokes!”
He shushed her gently, saying, “The interview was fine, I was very serious—the boring serious, I mean.” She rolled her eyes, and he went on, “We just had some fun reintroducing me to society, that’s all. We went to Hogsmeade for a bit, too.”
Hermione suspected that meant certain people like Ollivander and Rosmerta had had the life scared out of them, and she snickered before containing it.
“When will the article be out?” she asked.
“Well, the reporter said he wanted to do some research on the Veil first, check for precedent and all that. I know he won’t find anything if you didn't. So maybe a week?”
She nodded. “He won’t find anything because there isn’t anything. The Veil is annoyingly mysterious.” She was still irritated that her research had yielded results so reluctantly.
“I’m sure it is, love,” he soothed, kissing her neck and collarbone. But she wouldn’t be distracted.
“Sirius, did something else happen today? Something for which you thanked Harry, before he left?”
He paused in his seduction before leaning back against the back of the sofa, head back. “Not much gets by you, eh?” he asked rhetorically.
“I just want to be sure everything is all right,” she whispered.
He was quiet for a long time, tracing his fingers over the back of her hand. He sighed and began to speak. “I had a bit of an... episode. It was in the Three Broomsticks, and there were so many people, all talking and getting really close. And suddenly it was like I couldn’t get a deep breath, the air smelled so sour and bitter, and the voices turned into this horrible hissing noise. I felt weak and inexplicably scared. Harry noticed right away that something wasn’t right, and he took me outside. The fresh air helped, and in a few minutes I was fine, wondering if I’d imagined the whole thing. Stupid, I know.”
Hermione was thinking quickly. It sounded like a panic attack, but the hissing? She shook her head. No, he was free of the Veil.
“I think you had a panic attack, Sirius. It makes sense even without you having gone beyond the Veil. Your experiences in Azkaban, and then being cooped up here for so long... it’s no wonder you don’t like crowds.”
“I suppose,” he answered, but he sounded sceptical. In a flash, his maudlin mood lifted, and he smiled. “I did have fun with Harry today. And with the Weasleys as well, though I think all is not well with Ron.”
Hermione nodded. “I thought so as well. Maybe I should talk to him.”
“I mentioned it to Harry, and he said he’d look into it.”
Hermione was grateful. Sirius was much more observant than most people gave him credit for, even her at times. Thinking to take his mind off his rather awful experience at the Three Broomsticks, she climbed onto his lap, straddling him.
“Mmm,” he murmured. “To what to I owe the pleasure?”
Hermione shivered at hearing Snape’s obligatory greeting in Sirius’ voice, but distracted herself by kissing his neck, nipping him sharply and feeling heat between her thighs at his groan.
“To whom, you mean. And you owe the pleasure to me, Sirius Black.”
His hands trailed down her body to rest on her hips. “And that’s a debt I have no problem paying in full.”
Chapter 19
Hermione hadn’t been so excited about a Saturday in a long time. It seemed as though all she ever did was work, and while she used to enjoy being busy all the time, it was hard when all she really wanted to do was spend time with Sirius.
She realized she was becoming pathetically sappy and made a mental note to do something about that.
But for the time being, she was going to enjoy it. Overanalyzing might be her forte, but she was out to prove to herself that she could take things in stride just as much as the next guy.
The next guy being Sirius, of course.
The man honestly didn’t have a care in the world. One would think that spending one’s twenties in prison, one’s thirties either trapped in a house or floating in oblivion would make one a little cautious, a little wary.
But Sirius acted as though his life was perfectly normal, and it was enough to drive her barmy at times. His total nonchalance, while endearing, grated against her high-strung (his words) nature.
Of course, that didn't mean she could hide her smile when he’d snuck into the shower with her and showed her the exact opposite of nonchalance. But now Hermione was determined to just live a little, take things as they are, relax.
After she figured out what that ripping feeling was, and why the bond seemed to have dissolved, of course. She was only human, after all, and no one would be able to relax without knowing exactly what was happening inside them.
Except, of course, aforementioned “next guy.”
Hermione really, really did not like keeping things from Sirius. The way they’d been living completely precluded that. It was impossible to keep a secret from one another because they were so close in proximity, but also because they’d become used to talking everything out in loving detail. Of course, this usually meant Hermione talked and Sirius distracted her, or Sirius talked and Hermione analyzed until Sirius grew bored and distracted her.
But this was something Sirius seemed unwilling to discuss with her. She wanted to know what the hell was going on with the bond. She believed the bond was more than just a connection due to the spells she’d performed. Hermione had the suspicion the Veil was actually behind the bond, that it had orchestrated it. She was beginning to believe the Veil was actually a sentient being, with desires and motivations.
And this made her question what it wanted from them.
Because at first, they were compelled to have sex. The compulsion was so strong that Sirius nearly died from it. So why, then, would the bond dissipate after the consummation? If the bond, or the Veil, got what it wanted, what was it? What did the Veil gain from their having sex? It didn't make any sense.
Hermione sipped her tea and thought back to what this was really about: keeping things from Sirius. Of course, under normal circumstances, she would never go behind his back, knowing his qualms. Or rather, going directly against his qualms. But she wasn’t getting the answers she needed.
So she would go where answers were always somehow found.
Hermione hadn’t meant to lie when she told Sirius she was going out. Avoiding the truth would be easier for both of them, and she was so tired of hearing vitriol against her former Potions professor. So she would save Sirius the angst and just leave him in the dark.
She said she was going to see Ginny. Easy enough; she knew Ginny always did her errands and visiting on Saturdays, so if Sirius went to see Harry, she wouldn’t be there.
When Hermione Apparated on Hogwarts grounds, she took a few minutes to absorb the true enormity of the school. This building housed and educated nearly every single witch and wizard in England. It was an astonishing feat, something at which to be marvelled.
She decided to walk and marvel at the same time. She was, if nothing else, a multi-tasker.
A gnawing sense of guilt had taken root in her belly, and she could only convince herself to calm down by telling herself that Sirius honestly wouldn’t care; that he needed answers just as much as she did, and that she was doing them both a favour. What he didn't know couldn’t possibly hurt him. And really, he acted like a child sometimes with this age-old animosity with Snape.
The wards admitted her and Headmistress McGonagall met her at the doors, opening one wide for Hermione’s entrance.
“Miss Granger, what a surprise I received when the wards informed me of your arrival,” said the older woman in her lilting accent. She looked a little older and slightly less pinched. The defeat of Voldemort had, of course, relaxed even the staunchest of dispositions.
“Headmistress, it’s so nice to see you! You look well,” Hermione said smiling. They were walking together through the hall, students taking notice of Hermione’s rather casual Muggle clothing.
“As do you, I should say. Would you care for some tea? I have a meeting soon, but I could—”
“Oh, no, Professor McGonagall,” Hermione softly interrupted. “I wouldn’t want to hold you. I’ve actually come to see Professor Snape.”
The Headmistress startled a bit, though she hid it well. “Why ever for, Hermione?”
Hermione saw no real danger in telling her the truth, or at least an abbreviated and censored version of it. “You’ve heard about the return of Sirius Black?”
“My goodness,” the Headmistress exclaimed. “Was that true? There were so many witnesses, but I just couldn’t believe...”
“It’s very true,” Hermione informed her seriously. “He is alive and well.”
“Oh, Harry must be so thrilled. The poor boy, he’d lost so much.” Hermione’s eyes didn't linger on the shine in her companion’s, but she sympathized.
“Harry is ecstatic to have Sirius back. And Sirius is just as happy to be back. But there are, as always in such situations, complications.”
The older witch was quiet for a moment, before saying, “Nothing comes without a price, does it? And Severus will be able to help with these complications?”
Hermione nodded. They were nearing the dungeons, and the cold air wrapped around her like ribbons. “I really hope so.”
“So do I, from what you’ve told me. Well, he is in his office now, but I suspect he’ll see you regardless.”
“I do hope so, with me showing up so unexpected. I know he dislikes my company still, but he really is brilliant.”
“I should not say he dislikes your company, Hermione,” McGonagall said with a twinkle to rival that of her predecessor. “In fact, he commends you highly to his students, in his typically roundabout, backhanded way. Your academic achievements are held over the heads of every Slytherin—I assume with the intent to break your record—but the praise speaks for itself.”
Hermione absorbed this quietly. The approval of her former, impossible-to-please professor meant more to her than she’d realized. And it certainly made asking for his help easier.
“Well, that’s unexpected,” she said, carefully casual. “Well, I hope to see you again soon, Headmistress.” They’d stopped in front of the dungeon office doors.
“I would like that. Best of luck and please, if you see Mr. Black, tell him to expect an owl from me. I should very much like to catch up.”
“I’ll be sure to do that.”
McGonagall walked away, and Hermione waited until she was out of sight before knocking on the door.
“Enter,” called an unmistakable voice.
She did so, seeing Snape seated at his desk as usual.
“Miss Granger, how utterly expected,” he deadpanned, rising slightly in his chair in greeting. He gestured to the chair before his desk, seating himself only after she did.
She smiled expectantly, waiting for the familiar greeting. Unfortunately, her grin gave her away, because Snape waved at her impatiently.
“How can I help this time?”
Hermione schooled herself not to goggle at the blatantly helpful words and expectant tone of voice. Deciding those blessings could be counted on her own time, Hermione did what she knew Snape would appreciate and got right to the point.
“I think something has changed in the bond. No, I know something has. But I’m not entirely sure what, and...”
“And it makes you insane not knowing?” he accurately surmised.
She smiled self-deprecatingly and nodded.
“Tell me what has happened and I shall see how I can be of assistance, or more likely, what I can tell you to do to fix whatever it is you’ve broken now.”
“Well, Sirius and I did what you told me last time...” Looking at him to make sure he knew what she was referring to and assured that he did by the dramatic roll of his eyes, she continued, “And afterward, there was a rather terrible and very unexpected ripping feeling. We both experienced it. It was painful, but more than that, it was uncomfortable to a very intense degree. As though something was wrong. And now, the bond seems to have... dissolved.”
“Dissolved, you say?” Snape asked quietly.
“I think so. We don’t need one another, though we haven’t tested the extent to which that’s true. I can spend an entire day at work without even a twinge, and he is unaffected as well.”
Snape was silent a long time, first looking at her and then at the wall behind her. She could tell he was thinking, so she endured the quiet. She hadn’t realized before coming exactly how much she was relying on him for an answer that was both easy and painless. She didn't exactly know what outcome she hoped for, but she placed an inordinate amount of faith in Snape to uncover it.
“I can only hypothesize that the bond has been satisfied; that your sacrifice was sufficient and the bond needs no more from either of you.”
Now it was Hermione’s turn to be silent. The bond wanted nothing more? But why did it want them to be together in the first place?
“So, that’s just it? It’s done? Why all the dramatics? What was the point?”
“I can not begin to guess at the intricate workings of an artefact older than wizardry itself. I can only assume that the forces at work have intentions we know not.” Snape looked a little uncertain of his own words, and Hermione guessed that he disliked being in the dark as much as she did.
“Well, I suppose it’s best this way, really. Being bound to another person for life could have been quite... difficult.” She tried not to think about all the words she wanted to use instead of difficult.
“To be perfectly honest, I see no reason for the bond to have disappeared. Do you recall the main ingredient of the potion—the essence of pure azure?” At her nod, he continued. “It is a bonding agent. It should be a permanent bonding agent. Although the spell you performed was Dark Magic, I had seen similar bonding spells in the past. Most were used as a way to tie slave to master or army to leader, but they were bindings nonetheless. And those can never be broken except through death... or a horribly painful and nearly impossible ritual that causes ruptures in one’s soul and kills as often as it cures.”
“Have I bound Sirius to me like a slave?” Hermione quietly asked, aghast.
“I don’t think so, though it might have been a good idea, Merlin knows the man needs a collar and leash.” Hermione waved her hand at him to show him she was unaffected by his spiteful commentary and to just get on with it. “I think your bond is mutual for a reason, though I confess to be ignorant as to what that reason might be.”
Hermione sighed. For once she would leave Snape with no answers.
The Daily Prophet
Azkaban Escapee and Exonerated War Hero Back from the Dead!
Article by Jimothy Frankenhodge
This reporter was both honoured and thrilled to have been granted an interview by the notorious former prisoner Sirius Black and his godson, none other than Harry Potter.
Black wished to use the conduit to the people, our humble paper, to announce his return to the living and discuss his part in the Second Wizarding War.
...
Black claims to have almost no knowledge of where he has been these past five years, nor how he came back. In his words, “I expect my flavour wasn’t enjoyed, so I was spat back. Good thing, too, because a couple people owed me money, and with interest, it was quite a good day.”
In good humour and seemingly ecstatic to have his only living relative back, Harry Potter was the picture of poise. He regaled this reporter with stories of Black’s reintroduction to society, which included sneaking up on people and attempting to induce heart attacks, and jokingly denying Black’s existence, saying that people were imagining things and there was no one there. The two share a charming rapport, mischievous though they may be. Owls and missives flooded our offices with sightings and accounts of their first day in public, with many people outraged and many more amused at the antics of our hero and his godfather.
As I am sure our readers are aware, Sirius Black had appeared in public nearly a week ago. The reason for this belated report is the research that I have done in order to learn more about this phenomenon.
The more interesting thing I learned was that Sirius Black is, in fact, not the first person to return from the Veil. A witch by the name of Sofie Alensky went through the Veil five hundred and twenty two years ago, an accident that happened in the transporting of the Veil from its previous, unknown location, to its current home in the Ministry. She was gone nearly seventeen years before brought back by her husband Rolpho Alensky. She had not aged a day, like Sirius Black, and she, too, recalled nothing of her days in the Veil. If these names sound familiar, it is because three years after Sofie was returned, she and her husband became parents to Josef Alensky, the founder of the Magical Medicine Society and the Healer of more than eleven hundred strains of Wizarding viruses. His work in the medicinal field cured innumerable diseases and because of him, the Wizarding population has increased exponentially. He kept a meticulous journal, and it is through the surviving member of the Alensky family that this reporter was able to provide such extensive details.
Further research uncovered that the spell that was performed to bring back both Sofie Alensky and Sirius Black was Dark Magic. A bonding between Sofie and Rolpho was performed, with the help of a third party, their physician and family friend Dr. Jessop Manilla. Dr. Manilla played the part of what is called a Bonder, performing the rites and grounding the magic.
This information brings many questions to the fore. Who brought Sirius Black back? Why would he lie about having no idea of his return? Who was their Bonder? And who has gotten away with Dark Magic right under the nose of the Ministry?
Hermione folded the paper back into squares, calm exterior belied by trembling hands. Not only did someone have more information than she, they had more information about her than she had.
Why did the Prophet have to finally hire a reporter who could actually research?
Snape was going to be very displeased to learn that he was the Bonder for a relationship he wanted absolutely nothing to do with. And he must be the Bonder—no one else knew anything about her work until after Sirius had been brought back. But what exactly was the role of the Bonder?
And how could she find out what happened with the Alenskys?
And how long would it be until her role was exposed and she was tried by the Ministry?
And what was Sirius going to say about all this?
When the Floo sounded, Hermione suspected she would know the answer to her last question soon enough.
“’Mione, love? Are you here?”
“In the kitchen!” she called, hating the shaky tenor of her voice. Sirius came through the doorway, smiling widely and looking much too innocent.
“Were you with Harry again?” she guessed. No one else could put that type of grin of his face.
“I was, indeed, I was. I won nearly twenty Galleons off the scamp, despite his attempts to cheat, the little bugger.”
Hermione laughed, pushing the Prophet away. She knew Sirius would read it eventually, but she needed a few minutes—possibly days—to gather her thoughts on what she wanted to say.
A tapping was heard and Sirius left the room to deal with the owl making the racket. Hermione made tea for them both, hoping the day would bring no more strife until she was ready to deal with it.
When Sirius returned, he casually asked, “How was Ginny? Harry hadn’t known you two were getting together today.”
“Oh,” Hermione answered not quite as casually. “It was rather last minute.”
“And what did you ladies do today?” He poured himself a cup of tea, sweetening it lightly and smiling softly at her.
“Oh, you know. Girl stuff.” Pouring her own tea, Hermione ordered herself to stop acting so guilty and meet Sirius’ eyes.
“I never did take Snape for the type to enjoy girl stuff.”
Oh, Shi—
“Snape?” she asked weakly, caught and too stubborn to admit it.
“McGonagall did say, in her owl, you were at Hogwarts to see him. Was he the whole purpose of your trip, or just one of the errands?” Sirius’ voice was deceptively calm, and Hermione had the vision of a trailer park all too idyllic in the eye of a storm.
“Listen, I didn't tell you because I know you don’t like him and I didn't feel like listening to you go on about how horrible he is.” She was immediately defensive, all the while knowing that she wasn’t handling things very well.
“How I feel about the prick is irrelevant. You didn't just not tell me, you lied. Why, Hermione? Why lie unless there is more going on than you’re telling me?”
“What exactly are you saying? I was only there to get more information on the bond!”
“I’m saying, Hermione, that I think you’re fucking Snape. I’m saying, Hermione, that I think you need to leave.”