Archive of Our Own

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Hermione landed in her bedroom at Grimmauld Place and proceeded to ward her door and cast a litany of silencing charms. She didn’t want to know if a certain someone was on the other side. She wasn’t ready to face that embarrassing reality yet. She groaned before flopping back on her bed and staring at the ceiling. 

What in Merlin’s name had she been thinking? 

She hadn’t. That was the only explanation. 

Hermione had let that giddy feeling overshadow any semblance of her typical rationale. Between the memory of him wrapped around her on the sofa that morning and the ever-present chant to let go for the first time in ages, she’d forgotten for just a moment who she was, who he was—and why they could never be anything more.

Gods, he was her best friend’s godfather and nearly two decades her senior. While the age difference meant nothing to her, she was sure society would have something to say otherwise. Harry would certainly have something to say on the matter, too. 

Hermione pressed her palms into her eyes and took a deep breath. In the grand scheme of things, utter mortification aside, kissing Sirius wasn’t the worst thing in the world. She’d probably blush around him for the foreseeable future, especially now that she would be spending her days at home rather than in the bowels of the Ministry. She’d see him more often, but maybe immersion therapy was a useful technique. She could rip the proverbial band-aid right off, and they could hopefully move past this egregious error in her judgement. Maybe, she let herself believe, he would pretend it never happened. That was likely wishful thinking, but only time would tell.

Long-term it’d likely fade into a distant memory, but in the meantime, she would probably stay in her room and let the sting of rejection dull a little before she had to face him. 

Unfortunately, Harry seemed to have other plans. His glowing stag slipped into the room and stood at full attention at the end of her bed. 

I made tea if you’d like to join me. If not you know I’ll be up there before long.

Hermione sighed. If she didn’t go down for tea now, Harry would just come up to her room, and some part of her wasn’t ready for that. At least if she went downstairs it was on her own terms, and she could take a few moments to cast cooling charms on her overheated cheeks. She wasn’t crying, so she didn’t need to worry about her eyes being swollen, but her hair was another story. On the back of the motorbike, the wind had felt good, great even, but looking at the aftermath of a tangled mess of curls, she added another line to the list of reasons she wished she’d never gotten on the bloody thing. 

The last twenty-four hours had not gone at all according to her carefully laid plans. In hindsight, she could highlight multiple missteps: from storming out of the Ministry with a box of her belongings, to falling to pieces in the kitchen, to waking up to Sirius hard and hot behind her, to the stupid ride on the back of his motorbike. 

Looking at her reflection now in the bathroom mirror, she hardly recognised herself. With a few quick charms, she twisted the mass of curls into a messy bun and freshened up her cheeks. Her jeans and jumper were still good enough; it wasn’t like she was dressing to impress, after all. 

It was just Harry.

“Hermione, you know that I support you in whatever you decide to do.” Harry laid his hand over hers and gave it a quick squeeze. “But being an Unspeakable is hard work, and not that I don’t think you’re capable—obviously I always have or I would’ve said something sooner—but don’t you think that’s a rather lonely life?”

Sighing, Hermione pulled her hand back and cradled the cup of perfectly sweetened tea. Harry always made her cup to her exact specifications; it was one of the many perks of a nearly life-long friendship. “I know that, Harry, and I would have done it without complaint, you know? It wasn’t the work that was taxing, it was the environment that was toxic. Muggles have this colloquial saying about ‘Boys’ Clubs’ and that’s what the Ministry always felt like to me. It felt like no matter how hard I tried or what I accomplished, if I wasn’t a man and didn’t have a name that dated back generations, I didn’t stand a chance at making any kind of real, tangible difference.” She took a sip of tea, letting the subtle sweetness roll around on her tongue. “That’s what I’ve always wanted. I just want to do something that helps those who can’t help themselves.”

She stared into her tea cup for a long moment, mourning the loss of the life she thought was all laid out in front of her. She’d planned to climb the ranks in the Department of Mysteries and spend her days learning about things most witches and wizards only dreamed of. 

“How much of yourself are you going to give away before you realise that there’s none left for yourself, ‘Mione?” If she hadn’t known for a fact that Harry and Sirius were not directly related, she never would have believed it in that moment. The way he was looking at her, the lines softening around his eyes and the desperation in his voice, it was all too reminiscent of another member of their little household. “Do me a favour, yeah?” Hermione nodded, holding Harry’s steady gaze. “I’m not asking you to plan out what you’re doing after this or pick a new career path today or anything. In fact, I want you to do something completely different. Something very unlike the Hermione Granger I know.”

She had no idea where this was leading, but deep down she knew Harry always had her best interest at heart. “O-okay.” 

“I want you to go out tonight. I’ll be at work, but I can ask Sirius to tag along so you have someone to Apparate—”

“That won’t be necessary, Harry. I don’t plan to be in a state where I can’t—”

“That’s the thing. I want you to be. I want you to go out, have fun, pick up a bloke if you feel so inclined, and really let loose. You’ve been wound so tight the last few years that I’m surprised your head hasn’t popped right off your shoulders. And don’t give me that look; you know I’m right.” Hermione rolled her eyes. “That’s what I thought. Anyway, just for tonight. Take one single day out of your entire existence and dedicate it to yourself. Be present, yeah? Don’t worry about the rest of the rubbish, that can wait to be sorted. As far as money goes, if you need help you know I have—”

Harry choked on his words as Hermione surged forward, wrapping her arms around her best friend. “You know I appreciate you, right?” She pulled back, a soft smile tilted on her lips. “I don’t need your charity. I’ve done rather well for myself, and your insistence that I don’t pay rent has already padded my vault. But I’ll do something fun, I promise.”

“Good.” Pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, Harry laughed. “I’ll just let Sirius know—”

“Know what?” 

The hair on the back of Hermione’s neck prickled. She wondered how long he’d been standing there, what he might have heard. 

“Just wondering if you’d be up for taking Hermione out tonight.”

The clap of Sirius’ boots was drowned out by the sound of her pulse thumping in her eardrums. 

“Sounds like a good time to me. If she’s up for it, that is.” 

“What about that one?” Sirius tipped his nearly-empty glass towards the opposite side of the crowded bar. “Ten o’clock.”

As subtly as possible, Hermione turned in her seat, surveying the crowd until she was positioned in the direction he’d indicated. It was impossible to know exactly who he’d been referring to. Just as she was about to turn back around and ask him to clarify, she felt the scruff of his short beard brush her ear. Fighting off the shiver snaking down her spine, she sat completely still. “Brunet. Tall. Sitting next to the couple who can’t keep their hands to themselves.” 

She zeroed in on the man in question. He was… handsome enough. His teeth weren’t quite straight, and his hair was a tad unkempt, but other than that, there didn’t appear to be anything visibly wrong with him. 

Twisting around slightly, relishing in the drag of the coarse hair across the sensitive skin of her ear lobe, she asked, “Why him?” 

At that, Sirius pulled back, his eyebrows arched. “Why not?”

Hermione spun back around to the bartop and tossed back the last sip of her Firewhisky. It burned on the way down. 

“‘Why not’ is a far cry from a viable reason in my book. I’d like to think if I choose to sleep with someone it will be because I find something about them… irresistible.”

“Oh?” 

His smirk could only be described as sinful, and Hermione tried her hardest not to read into the gesture. Thankfully Sirius hadn’t let her act awkwardly since they’d walked into the bar, behaving as if nothing had happened. Which was exactly what she thought she wanted earlier. But somehow his complete disregard for the incident stung worse than the initial rejection. Watching him pick out every other guy as a prospect for her next conquest was now bordering on nauseating. 

“There’s nothing wrong with having standards, Sirius.” Motioning to the barkeep for another drink, Hermione willed the heat rising to her cheeks to abate. 

“I was specifically instructed to get you to ‘let loose’ tonight, love, and so far all you’ve done is sip on whisky. That’s hardly the night of debauchery I think my godson had in mind.”

“Let loose does not always have to mean shag.”  Sirius quirked a brow at her, and Hermione huffed. “Fine. Let’s try something else. There’s a Muggle game I used to play when I was younger that I think could be easily adapted into a drinking game. It’s called truth or dare. Are you familiar?”

The way Sirius’ smirk stretched told her all she needed to know.

Sirius’ arm was heavy around her shoulders as they made their way to the Floo; neither of them was in any state of Apparate. Hermione wasn’t sure if she was holding him up or the other way around. 

He sagged against the ledge of the fireplace and gestured towards the opening. “Ladies first.” 

A giggle worked its way up her throat before she could stop it—though Hermione had never thought of herself as the giggle and blush kind of girl, but Sirius Black brought out the strangest sides of her. 

She tossed powder into the opening and watched the green flames dance to life. “Grimmauld Place,” she called out a little too loudly before stepping through.

“Truth or dare?” They’d settled on the same sofa for the second night in a row.

“Hmmm…” Hermione tapped her chin in an exaggerated fashion and pretended to mull over the simple question. “Truth.”

“I should make you drink double for these. Other than the one time I made you get that scrawny bloke’s Floo address—”

“Which I will never use and already plan on incinerating.”

“—You haven’t chosen dare once.”  

He wasn’t wrong, but Hermione knew for a Gryffindor she had a rather Slytherin sense of self preservation, and allowing Sirius to dare her to do something was a risk she wasn’t willing to take. “By that same standard, maybe you should drink double because you haven’t picked truth even once.”

“Touché.” Tipping his glass in her direction, Sirius winked. Hermione felt the familiar fluttering low in her belly; she was quickly losing her ability to tamp it down. Which was silly. She’d already tried to kiss him once that day, making that error again would be nothing short of self-destructive. “Truth, you say. Hm… Let me think on that.” He paused, making a show of mirroring her earlier actions as he appeared deep in thought. “Ah. I know something. If you insist on being predictable, I guess I’ll have to be the one to shake things up.” When his eyes met hers again, Hermione felt the energy in the room shift. She was absolutely certain he was going to ask  her about the kiss. “Why did you sneak away this morning without trying to wake me up?”

“I—” Her pre-planned response died on her lips. That was not what she was expecting him to ask, but now that he’d brought it up, her traitorous mind zeroed in on the memory of waking up in Sirius’ arms. Then she realized exactly what he’d said… and what he hadn’t. “How do you know I didn’t try?”

“Ah, ah, ah. It’s my turn, kitten. Answer the question.”

“I—” Hermione licked her lips as she watched mischief sparkle in his silver eyes. “I—” Oh, bugger. There was no way around this. Rather than saying anything, Hermione grabbed her drink and took a big gulp, hissing through the burn. “Happy now?”

“Mhm, you have no idea.” 

Her head was spinning with the sense of whiplash. This morning he hadn’t been awake enough to consciously control his actions… right? He’d certainly been fully-aware of his decisions when he’d turned her down after she’d kissed him. What exactly was he angling for here? Could it be… 

No. No way. 

She couldn’t even entertain the idea lest her heart get tangled up in the mess she’d made of the situation. 

“Truth or dare?” 

“Aren’t you getting tired of this game?” Sirius rolled his eyes as he tipped back his glass. “And before you ask, I would have said truth, you would have asked your question again, and I would have drank anyway. I simply cut out the middle step. Back to you now. Truth or—”

“Sirius! That’s not how this works. What’s the point of playing if you’re not going to follow the rules?” 

Her bubbling laughter died out as Sirius leaned into her. For a solid second, she forgot how to breathe. 

“As much fun as this game is, I don’t feel much like playing anymore.” His voice dipped into that low, sensual tone. She’d almost forgotten how charming he could be. “Let’s just cut to the chase, yeah?” He grabbed both of their glasses and set them off to the side. 

Hermione nodded. “Yeah.”

“I know you didn’t try to wake me up because I was already awake.”

Hermione gulped. Merlin, she hadn’t expected that. 

“Now tell me, kitten…” He trailed a single finger along the curve of her jaw. When she bit her lip, he pulled it free. “Why did you leave this morning?” Looking up, his eyes met hers again, and she saw something there she’d never seen before. He looked open, expectant— vulnerable.

“I thought you were asleep.” That was the truth. Well, that and the added fact that if he was asleep she theorized he’d been dreaming of anyone but the woman in his arms. “I thought you—that you didn’t know I was—”

He slipped his finger beneath her chin and tilted her face up towards his, inching her closer until their noses nearly brushed. Surely she was hallucinating. There was no way this was real. Earlier he’d— 

“Why didn’t you kiss me back?” She whispered it so low she wasn’t even sure he’d heard.

“Why did you leave this morning?”

“Oh.” Though Hermione liked to consider herself reasonably intelligent, sometimes it took a little push for her to see what was right in front of her. “So you… because I left?”

“Is that surprising?” 

Yes. It was. Because that meant… 

“So…” Hermione could feel her cheeks flush as she processed the implications. For as confident as she knew him to be, she could see a fissure in his facade. 

“What do you want, love?”

That was the million dollar question, wasn’t it? What did she want? For the first time in her life, she couldn’t answer that with any sort of long-term goal or plan. So much was up in the air at this crossroads in her life, but there was one thing she was absolutely sure of. She wanted him. 

It didn’t take much to close the scant space between them. Hermione leaned forward and pressed her lips against his. Unlike earlier that afternoon, his responding pressure quelled any of her lingering doubts. 

Sirius took his time as he kissed her. Nipping her lips before slipping his tongue against the seam of her mouth, every movement was slow, leisurely, indulgent. He kissed her like he had nothing else to do in the entire world, like he could spend hours in this state of mind-numbing bliss. 

A firm hand slipped around the nape of her neck, and Hermione tilted her head back, allowing him to take what he wanted from her. For the longest time, they did nothing more than trade panting breaths between soul-searing kisses and every tentative touch. Time held no meaning with his tongue sliding against hers, with her fingers twisted in the rebellious locks of his silk soft curls. The taste of Firewhisky was sweeter against her tongue when mixed with the spice of his lips. It was a heady feeling, wrapped up in his strong arms and barely able to breathe as he guided her through the motions of each decadent kiss. 

Not that she’d let herself have any true expectations of this ever actually happening, but if she’d had to theorise about what kind of kisser Sirius Black was, she would have had it all wrong. Rather than the raging force of an untamed fire, he was the smouldering ash left at the bottom of a burn pile. It was the kind of heat that seeped through her skin, sinking into her muscles and spreading down to her bones. Warmed from the inside out, she felt like she would go up in flames if he didn’t do something… and soon. 

“Sirius.” Hermione barely recognized her own voice as she pulled back just enough to take in a gasping breath. “Can we—I just—” Barely able to string together a coherent thought, Hermione struggled to find the right words. Some part of her was still convinced that this was all a dream. That she’d wake up the next morning with ruined knickers and a deep, unsettling need, but he felt real beneath her fingers and his weight was solid against her frame, so she allowed herself to be present in the moment and ask for exactly what she wanted. “As much as I like the couch, I think I’d prefer a bed.”

Sirius licked his lips, and she watched as his eyes skated over her features. The silence stretched for a moment too long, and she almost wished she could cram the words back down her throat and go back to the slow, sensual kisses they were trading just minutes before. 

“Oh, kitten… I would love nothing more than to have you sprawled across my sheets for the foreseeable future, but,” his eyes met hers for the briefest instant, “we shouldn’t.”

Her eyes widened and her breath hitched and that stupid, sinking feeling of regret came back with a vengeance. “I—Okay—I—”

“But I’ve never been very good at following rules anyway.”

With that, their lips met again, and this time there was no mistaking where this would all lead. Large, calloused hands cupped her jaw, and he tilted her just so, just enough to dip his tongue between her lips and suck every ounce of air from her lungs. Steering them down the hallway, with one hand on her hip and the other tangled in her curls, Sirius’ taste, touch, and scent assaulted her senses. 

Hermione clung to him, her arms wrapped around his neck and her nails scratching lines into his shoulders. He was so much taller than her, and even with him hunched over and holding her, she was navigating the way on her tiptoes, relying on him to guide them to their destination. 

Bumping up against the door, she sucked in a breath while Sirius fumbled with the doorknob. The wooden door gave way, and she swayed back a little before strong hands gripped her hips and pulled her into the room. In a mess of tangled limbs and urgent kisses, they shed their outer layers, tossing the clothes aside with no regard for where each piece would land. Down to nothing more than her undergarments, Hermione realized she was wearing plain knickers and a mismatched bra; she definitely would have swapped the pair for something more aesthetically pleasing if she’d wagered there was any chance a certain someone might see them.

It all felt a bit surreal, standing in the middle of Sirius’ room, panting for breath, and exposed to the open perusal of his hungry gaze. But turnabout was fair play, and she took a beat to let her eyes skate along the ridges of his equally exposed form. He was covered in various tattoos, magical and Muggle alike, some dancing with every movement, others completely still. 

Sirius wrapped an arm around her bare waist and hauled her up against him, shoulder to hip, skin to skin, pressing every inch of their bodies together. “Gorgeous,” he mumbled against her temple, trailing kisses down the curve of her jaw. He stopped just short of her mouth, and she knew this was a game. He wanted her to make that move. So she did—willingly. Her lips barely pressed against his before he lifted her off her toes and took the few steps to the bed. Never breaking their kiss, he leaned her back against the blankets, caging her in and propping himself up on his forearms.

When Hermione reached down to push off his boxers, Sirius pulled back and gripped her wrist. “Not so fast, love.” The heat in his eyes was palpable, burning her very being with the intensity. She could feel him against her core, and even with two layers of flimsy fabric separating them, it was evident that what she’d seen earlier that morning was a trick of the eye—an illusion. Sirius Black’s cock should have come with a warning that it was larger than it appeared, and that was saying something because she’d been thoroughly impressed with the sight alone, but feeling the full press of his length, she knew she’d underestimated just how large it was.

She moaned when he canted his hips forward, that delicious pressure sending waves of want straight to her core. 

“Sirius.” His name hardly even sounded like a word, hissed through clenched teeth as she felt him rock forward again.  

He lifted her hand and pressed it to the front of his pants. “Do you feel what you do to me, kitten?” Leaning down, he ran his teeth along the line of her neck, a series of sparks snaking down her spine. “Tell me you want this.” Hermione nodded. “Tell me.” He sucked a bruise into the side of her neck and she moaned. “Say it out loud. I want to hear you say it.”

“I—I want you.” Breathless and nearly mindless with want, she curled her fingers around his cock. “Want this.”

Practically growling, Sirius pulled back and hooked a finger in either side of her knickers. He pulled them down slowly, peeking up at her from beneath thick lashes, watching, waiting, taking his time. As soon as she kicked them off the rest of the way, he was on her again, each warm breath fanning out over her soaked cunt. 

Watching him plant kiss after kiss so close to where she wanted him the most was maddening. He was circling the area, moving closer with each breath, and Hermione had to grip the sheets to stop herself from threading her fingers through his already mussed locks. 

Finally, with one broad swipe of his tongue, Sirius licked a line straight up her slit, swirling his tongue around her clit before suckling the nub between his lips. Maybe it was a holdover from his Animagus form, or maybe he was just more experienced than she cared to know, but either way, there was no doubt he had a certain talent with his tongue. Alternating between licks and flicks, he drove her half-mad with each small movement. It was agonizing, much like standing at the edge of that cliff, and she felt her stomach swoop and her thighs clench as she neared release—only to have him slow down enough for her to catch her breath before he started all over again. 

She wanted to whine, to grab him by the shoulders and pull him up the length of her body. She wanted to fucking impale herself on him and ride him until she couldn’t see straight. But he continued to take his time, savouring the taste of her and exploring every inch. Deft fingers plucked at her sensitive nipples; pulling and twisting and pinching, she danced along the razor sharp line of pain and pleasure. 

Mumbling incoherent half thoughts, she only heard broken bits of his words. It was a mixture of praise and what sounded like awe. The added vibrations from his lips only served to push her closer to the edge. “Please,” she mumbled, moaning as he dragged his teeth lightly over her throbbing clit. “Please, please, please.”

Finally, Sirius looked up, and Hermione was not at all prepared for the effect that sight would have on her. His chin was glistening with the evidence of her arousal, and his eyes were blown wide with obvious want. When he licked his lips, she thought she could come from the sight alone. Then she felt a thick finger slip into her and watched a wicked grin curl across his lips. 

“You gonna come for me, kitten? Think I can make you purr?” 

Hermione could only moan as he added another finger and started pumping into her in long, slow strokes. Lowering his head once again, she watched as he worked her right back into a frenzy. In less than a minute, she felt release wash over her. Between his lips and teeth and tongue and fingers, she had no hope of holding out. Nor did she want to, for that matter. As soon as the aftershocks of her first orgasm ebbed to nothing more than a steady thrum, she pulled him back up against her. 

Slim fingers wound around wayward strands of his inky black hair, and she didn’t even think twice as she sealed her lips over his. It didn’t matter that she could taste herself on his lips; in fact, she found it incredibly arousing. The gesture must have caught him off guard, because it took little effort to push him onto his back. Swinging her leg over his hip, Hermione straddled him in one fluid motion. 

Before she could situate herself fully, strong fingers gripped the swell of her hips, halting her motions. “We don’t—”

“Please,” she whispered.

Watching the drag of his throat as he swallowed, she held her breath. With the smallest dip of his chin, she felt the pressure of his fingertips finally ease. It didn’t take much to line him up at her already drenched entrance. He was thick and long, his erection standing at full attention, and her body welcomed him like a missing piece.

Rolling her hips to take all of his length, Hermione moaned as she leaned forward to plant both hands against his chest. 

“So good, love.” His voice was rough, thick, like sandpaper to her senses. Dragging his hands up the curve of his waist, he pulled her all the way down and lifted his hips at the same time. The motion sent a jolt through her core and lit up every one of her nerve endings. She was on fire, burning from the inside out with a need so devastating she wanted to throw herself into the flames. 

Consumed in the symphony of noises coming from them both, she lifted and dropped, dragged herself up and down, rolled her hips, and rode him —hard. His lips sealed around the hard nub of her nipple, lavishing the sensitive flesh with attention. It was a strange sort of sensation, taking control over her pleasure and his. He let her lead the way, only rocking his hips up in time with each of her movements. 

She was lost in a sea of bliss, adrift and at the mercy of her own release as she felt her cunt throb and clamp down around his cock. Her name was a desperate cry, spilled from his swollen lips, when he followed just after. The warmth of his release coated her walls, and she clenched around the delicious pressure each time his cock twitched.

They were both panting when she lowered herself to the bed beside him, letting his semi-hard cock slip free as warmth seeped from her core. She was sure the sheets would be ruined come morning, but she couldn’t bring herself to care about such trivial things right then. 

Sirius’ gaze was fixed on her lips, and after all of the other boundaries they’d blasted through that night, she found it rather sweet that he was still letting her dictate such things. Cupping his jaw, she leaned into a languorously decadent kiss. 

There was no need for small talk or reassurances, Hermione let her lips tell him she had no regrets, and his kiss was affectionate enough for her to know he felt the same.

“A note? Really, kitten?”

Sirius was still shirtless, yawning and dragging a hand over his face when she turned around and caught sight of him leaning against the kitchen doorway. She cast a quick wandless stasis over the bacon and eggs still frying in the pan and padded over to him. 

“Well I didn’t want you to think I’d disappeared again.” She smiled when his eyes dipped down to take in the sight of her in one of his old, ripped t-shirts. “Good morning.” As he returned her greeting, his fingers played with the hem that fell high on her thigh. It wasn’t short enough to be indecent, especially with a fresh pair of sleep shorts underneath, but if he kept tugging at the hem, that might change. 

They both leaned in at the same time, and their lips met in the middle. Unlike the night before, this kiss was soothing; soft and sensual and sweet.

He leaned his forehead down and pressed it against hers, his silver eyes darting back and forth. "No regrets?"

Hermione would have laughed at the absurdity of the question if he hadn't looked so sincere.

"None." Once again their lips met in the middle, and Hermione felt Sirius' arms slide around her waist. Lost in the intimacy of the gesture, they kissed for what felt like hours but was likely only minutes. 

"Oi. Get a room, you two."

Hermione’s eyes widened in a moment of panic as she processed the implications of her best friend walking in on their current display. It wasn't like she could say it was an accident. She was wearing Sirius' t-shirt, for Merlin's sake. 

Sirius cleared his throat, tightening his grip on her waist and tucking her into his side. Hermione buried her face in his neck and willed her burning blush to dissipate. "Morning, Harry. You’re home early. How was work?"

"Really, Sirius? You're snogging my best friend in the kitchen we all share, and you ask about work?" She heard Harry's scoff followed by a slight chuckle. "For the record, I'm happy for you both. So you can stop hiding, Hermione." 

Lifting her head from the crook of Sirius' neck, she looked over at Harry. "You mean to say that, erm…" Sirius squeezed her hip. "You don't… mind?"

Both Sirius and Harry laughed. Hermione’s brow furrowed in confusion. 

"Mind? Why would I mind?" Harry turned towards Sirius. "Haven't you told her—"

"That's enough of that."

"Wait…" Hermione tilted her chin up to examine the sight flush to Sirius' cheeks. Odd. "Tell me what?"

He smiled affectionately. "Nothing, kitten."

When she looked over to Harry, he had a glint in his eyes. "Nothing? Really? I wouldn't call—"

"That's enough, Harry. Thank you very much. Shouldn't you get some sleep now? Long night at work and all."

"Yeah, sure. Sleep." Harry winked at her before he turned down the hall. He'd only taken a single step when he called back, "Ask him about his—"

"Enough!" Sirius' voice boomed in the small section of the kitchen. "It's nothing, love. I solemnly swear."

"Don't think for a minute you're getting off that easy, Sirius Black. I demand—"

"Oh, do you?" When she stomped her foot, he merely lifted a brow. "Does my kitten have claws?"

"Only one way to find out." With a defiant lift to her chin, she crossed her arms. "Tell me what Harry was on about."

"Does it matter? We're here now, all is well, no need to drudge up the past."

Hermione didn't say another word, holding his stare the entire time. 

"Fine. Not that it matters, and I'm in no way embarrassed, but Harry might have… erm." Sirius scratched the back of his neck. "Well you see, sometimes I forget to use silencing charms, and Harry might’ve heard…”

“Go on.”

“Oh, bugger. Not that it matters much now anyway. He might’ve heard your name a time or two.”

“My name?” Hermione couldn’t help but smile. “Really?”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Yes, really. I don’t know why you’re so surprised. I’m not exactly the subtle sort.”

Trapping her lip between her teeth, Hermione thought back on his little flirtations. It was true; he was rather obvious when she took him at face value. She’d just never let herself think him serious before, but maybe that’d been a grave error on her part. “No, I guess you’re not.”

“In the spirit of honesty,” he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her forehead, “I’d like it to be on record that I’m in need of your services today.”

“Are you now?” Her lips barely brushed his as she spoke. “And what, pray tell, can I do for you?” Looking up through her lashes, she watched Sirius’ eyes darken. 

“I have a small problem, you see. I’m rather shit at silencing charms, and I’m going to need your assistance because what I have planned for today might very well wake up the whole neighborhood.”

An involuntary shiver worked its way up her spine. Hermione leaned forward, cupping his jaw and letting her lips linger for a long moment after the kiss. “I think I could manage that.”

“Truth be told, I don’t care if you do, but Harry might have something to say.”

Hermione laughed. “Good thing I’m rather adept at charms.”