Chapter Text
“What’s got your tail in a twist, kitten?”
Hermione spun around so fast she was nearly dizzy. “Sirius! You frightened me.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time.” The sly smirk that curled around the edges of his full lips was far too Slytherin for any Gryffindor. “Bad day at the Ministry?”
“Understatement of the century.” Grabbing the bottle of Firewhisky out of the cabinet, Hermione poured herself two fingers and slammed it back like it was water. She coughed for a moment, fully aware of the sound of Sirius snickering behind her, before she filled it again and prepared to repeat the process.
“Easy there.” Sirius’ palm was warm where it wrapped around her wrist, pulling the bottle from between her fingertips. “Save some for me, will ya?”
“As if you need it.” Her voice was dripping with sarcasm she could only manage with the taste of firewhisky still sitting on her tongue.
“Feisty tonight.” If anything, Sirius’ smile only widened as he turned to face her fully, leaning against the counter. “I like it.”
“Shove off.” Hermione snagged the bottle and tipped it back directly against her lips, swallowing the burn as she pressed her eyes shut. She wasn’t much of a drinker, but tonight certainly called for it.
A warm weight settled on her shoulder, and it took everything in her not to flinch. Hermione wouldn’t open her eyes— couldn’t. She didn’t want him to look too closely. She could hardly even think about what had happened just hours before, she was in no way prepared to put voice to the reason she wanted to get lost in the bottom of a bottle. If she turned around, if she let him examine her up close, she knew he’d see the things she couldn’t say. He was far too good at doing that, looking through her in a way that made her skin prickle and her heart thump hard in her chest.
“They don’t deserve you, love.” Calloused fingers tickled her temple as she felt him tuck a wayward curl behind her ear. “None of those Ministry dolts are half as smart as The Great Hermione Granger.”
A laugh bubbled up her throat that Hermione was powerless to stop. Many moons ago, life had taught her that intelligence was not a prerequisite for success. Determination and integrity were similarly not required, and often, all but absent in the most successful wizards. Therein laid the problem: Hermione was a witch, not a wizard, without a pedigree to boot, and therefore, no matter what she brought to the table, it would never be enough.
Her deep, hearty chuckle morphed into a choked sob. Within seconds, she was almost hysterical, gasping for breath.
It was too much. Everything. All at once.
Frozen in time, the weight of reality—the days, weeks, months, and years of being nothing more than a name for the Ministry to bandy around while ignoring the woman underneath—finally pulled her under. Thrashing around in the tumultuous depths of her own mind, Hermione could not breathe.
She was falling.
Or maybe flying.
Floating through time and space.
The walls were too close, the floor too far away, and her skin a size too small.
Everything was wrong.
Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.
“Shhhh. I’ve got you, love. Breathe with me. Yeah. Just like that.”
She had no idea how long it lasted, but her throat was raw and her cheeks were warm when she felt the first tendrils of awareness snake through her mind. Strong arms were wrapped around her waist, and Hermione realized her face was pressed into Sirius’ neck, soaking his skin with her tears, but she couldn’t make herself move. Not even an inch.
She came back to herself slowly, sinking back into the present as she blinked away tears and counted each breath.
In. Two. Three. Four.
Out. Two. Three. Four.
She thought about what her therapist said. Catalog each individual feeling. Find an anchor and ground herself. She could do that.
In. Two. Three. Four.
Out. Two. Three. Four.
Her fingers ached, stiff from clenching the lapels of Sirius’ robes in her fists for some indeterminate amount of time. She loosened her grip and took another breath.
In. Two. Three. Four.
Out. Two. Three. Four.
Sirius rubbed circles against her back, leaving a trail of tingles with each motion.
In. Two. Three. Four.
Out. Two. Three. Four.
His robe was soaked against her cheek. Warm and soft, she let herself rest against his shoulder for one more moment.
In. Two. Three. Four.
Out. Two. Three. Four.
“I—” Hermione cleared her throat and wiped her eyes as she pulled back. Her gaze was fixed on the ground. “I’m sorry, I—”
A finger slipped under her chin and her breath caught in her throat as she met Sirius’ eyes.
“No need to apologize, Hermione.” Hearing her given name roll of his tongue in that soothing purr made her knees weak. It was always something playful, some pet name he knew she abhorred but he insisted on using anyway. She was never Hermione—not to him. “I’d ask if you’re okay, but I’d wager I already know the answer.” When she dipped her head in a nod, his eyes softened around the edges. “And I won’t ask what happened because I’ve only just got you back.”
Hermione swallowed, her throat burning with the motion, still raw.
“So how about a drink?”
Hermione barked out a laugh. She really shouldn’t have been surprised—it was Sirius, after all—but that was certainly something she wasn’t expecting. Anyone else would have poked or prodded, told her to let it all out or lectured her on the dangers of keeping it in, but Sirius simply asked her if she wanted a drink.
“I’d like that.” Her smile was weak at best, but it appeared to appease him.
A sliver of light sliced through the room, painting a line across Hermione’s face. She squeezed her eyes shut, vaguely aware of a persistent thumping inside her skull. Groaning, she turned her face into the pillow before realizing it wasn’t a pillow after all.
Her eyes shot open. She didn’t dare move.
She couldn’t see much from her current vantage point, but she could feel everything —one thing in particular, firm against the curve of her back, sent her pulse into overdrive. The pounding from before increased tenfold, evolving into a drilling that felt like it was inside of her brain, threatening to crack her skull open any second. A groan slipped past her lips as she squeezed her eyes shut again.
This could not be happening.
She peeked at the arm around her waist, noting it was still covered, then chanced a subtle glance down at her own body, also still clothed. Breathing a sigh of relief, she tried to recall any fragment of the night before.
She’d come home from work. Well, it wasn't her workplace any longer, which was the catalyst for her subsequent meltdown in…
Oh god. Oh no. No. No. NO.
She’d had a full-on panic attack. In the kitchen. In front of Sirius Black.
Great. This was great. Just bloody—
Something shifted behind her, and then she felt it again, firm, insistent, rocking ever so slightly against the curve of her arse. He didn’t mean it, she told herself, letting her eyes slip shut. He was probably fast asleep with no idea who he was holding. She should move. She should roll off the couch as quietly as possible and tiptoe away. She could pretend like this never happened, and he’d be none the wiser. But there was a strange breakdown between her brain and her body. She told herself to get up, yet her body didn’t budge. No matter what Hermione told herself she should do… she didn’t.
It was just a natural reaction, she reasoned. An involuntary physical response that he had no control over, just like she apparently didn’t have control over her own motions when she arched back into him. His breath was hot against the curve of her neck, and his arm was heavy as it laid against her waist. Warmth pooled low in her belly, and Hermione choked back a moan as she clenched her thighs.
It’d been far too long since anyone had been this close, even longer still since she’d been touched by a hand other than her own. Not for lack of prospects, simply a lack of effort to slog through first dates and awkward small talk combined with the absence of time to dedicate to such feats.
Sirius’ guttural groan rumbled against her back, and it took everything in Hermione to finally force herself into action before she embarrassed herself. Sliding out from under his arm, she padded across the room, pausing briefly in the doorway to appreciate the view.
Sirius was sprawled on the couch, his robe tossed across the back and one arm curled up over his head. The spot she’d occupied just minutes before was still open in the circle of his arms, but she forced herself to ignore the impulse to slip right back in. His hair was a mess, rogue strands curling in every direction, and his chest rose and fell with each shallow breath. She let her eyes dip a little more, taking in the top few buttons, carelessly left open to expose hints of the tattoos that decorated his broad chest. With his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, she could see the thick chords of muscles in his forearms, painted with black lines of scrawled letters and images she’d memorised ages ago.
It wasn’t the first time she’d seen Sirius like this, sleeping and unaware. Merlin, it wasn’t even the most exposed she’d seen him, thanks to his propensity to walk around the house shirtless like he owned the place, which… well, he kind of did. Despite giving it to Harry years ago, his reemergence from the veil just a few short months before had transferred the ancient magic’s allegiance back onto the Black heir. On paper, Grimmauld was Harry’s, but at its core, the house knew it belonged to Sirius.
After her eyes had lingered on everything from the soft curve of his lips to the taper of his waist, Hermione finally let herself look at the one thing she'd been avoiding. He was still hard. Long and thick, his erection pressed against the seam of his trousers. She blew out a breath at the sight, pressing her thighs together and relishing in the pressure. The slick sensation of her already ruined knickers rubbing against her throbbing lips was too much.
Hermione spun on her heel and inched down the hallway. She needed to find her wand. Casting a silencing charm was necessary for what she was about to do. She’d find her wand, silence her room, and lock the door with as many charms as she could then take care of the ache between her thighs. Yes. Good. Solid plan.
Hermione’s headache had mostly faded. Left with only a slight throb in her temples, she stirred her tea and tried her hardest not to piece together what had happened in this exact spot the night before.
“Sleep well, kitten?”
Hermione’s spine stiffened and she took a sip of her tea. “Mhm,” she hummed. “You?”
“Can’t say the sofa is my preferred bed. It’s a little lumpy, but it had... ” Holding her breath, she wanted for Sirius to continue, not yet ready to turn around and face him. “Other perks.”
She almost choked on her sip of tea, coughing in an effort to cover her surprise. Now she definitely wasn’t turning around. Her cheeks burned with a blush she was glad he couldn’t see. Hermoine took a deep breath and decided to bite the bullet.
“Listen I—I just want to say I’m… Well, I’m sorry for yesterday. I know when I came in, I was in a bit of a—of a panic.” Toying with the handle of her teacup, she willed her voice to steady. “It’s just that… Well, I guess you’ll find out soon enough anyway. I—I quit yesterday.” Hermione blew out a gust of air. She hadn’t even allowed herself to admit it yet, much less aloud, but now that it was out there, hanging in the space between them, she felt like a weight had been lifted. “It’s not a big deal, really. I’ve been—”
A hand settled low on her back, and Hermione fell silent, steadied by the simple gesture.
“I stand by what I said last night.” His breath tickled that spot on her throat again, the same one from this morning, and she was suddenly transported back to the compromising position she’d found herself in shortly before.
She could do this. Hermione turned and leaned against the counter, her tea all but forgotten behind her. Sirius’ expression softened, and she suddenly remembered why she hadn’t wanted him to see her in the first place. She dropped her eyes to the ground and toyed with the hem of her jumper. “Thank you, by the way. I don’t normally—I just mean that doesn’t normally happen, and I’m a little embarrassed by it all, truth be told so if we could just…” She gestured in the space between them. “You know, just pretend like nothing happened, I think that would be for the best.”
He was silent for a moment, a searching look in his eyes. “Whatever you say, love. As far as I’m concerned, your departure was long overdue. In fact, this is good news.”
Hermione couldn't help it; she barked a laugh. “Good?”
“Yup.” He reached behind her and grabbed her cup before tipping it back and making a show of draining the remainder of the surely tepid tea. “Leaves more time for other activities. I think I know what your problem is, kitten.”
“Do you now?” The turn of the conversation was unexpected, but Sirius had a way of doing that to her, catching her off guard in the most surprising ways. He merely nodded. “Well then, go on. Enlighten me.”
A wicked grin curved across his lips, and she had a sneaking suspicion she might regret inviting his commentary on the current state of her life.
“I think you’ve bottled everything up for so long that you’re bursting at the seams with repressed...” He paused for a moment. “Energy.” The twinkle in his eyes was downright sinful, and Hermione had to remind herself that this was just how he was. Sirius liked to play with people, and she wouldn’t let her emotional state make her believe otherwise for even a single second. “It’s no wonder really; working in that bloody department you can’t even talk about for Merlin’s sake. I’ve an idea.”
Hermione only quirked a brow and gestured for him to continue. Now she was curious.
“Give me half an hour, and then meet me out front. We have somewhere to be today.”
Sirius moved to turn, but Hermoine’s hand shot out, wrapping around his wrist. “Wait a bit. I haven’t seen Harry yet this morning. I’m not even sure if he’s home yet. And I haven’t exactly agreed to your plan.”
“Yet.” He looked entirely too smug for his own good. “Don’t worry that pretty little head of yours, kitten. We’ll leave Harry a note if he’s not home by the time we’re ready to go and,” he removed her hand, “I’m not giving you a choice.”
Hermione had half a mind to protest, but it wasn’t like she had any other plans for… well, the foreseeable future. What harm could it do?
“Alright. What should I wear?”
Wisps of wind snuck through the loose tendrils that’d escaped Hermione’s ponytail and whipped around as they sped down the deserted road. It was an odd sensation, sitting on the back of a bike she’d once sworn she’d never go near. With her arms wound around the wizard who seemed to understand her need for fleeting glimpses of freedom, she felt strangely at ease, despite the high speed of the hazardous contraption vibrating between her legs.
Sirius Black’s motorcycle was his in every way: worn, dark, shaggy around the seams of the saddlebag, but oh so rugged in a way Hermione found fascinating. Rough around the edges, but perfectly polished for the ride, the motorcycle represented more than just a chunk of steel driven by a motor. It represented an utter lack of restraint, a sense of ease, a hint of that elusive freedom she’d lost sight of over the last few years; the same thing she’d sworn to hold within her grasp after the dust settled on the final battle years earlier.
“Almost there.” If she hadn't felt the rumble of his chest beneath her palms, she wouldn’t have even known he’d said a thing. The motorcycle was loud as it wound down the dirt road, kicking up rocks and leaving a plume of smoke in its wake. With her knees slotted around his and her chest pressed flush against the soft leather of his jacket, Hermione inched closer, closing her eyes and steeping in the strange amalgamation of her senses.
She’d spoken to Harry before they’d left, and ever the diligent Auror, Harry had instructed her to take some time to herself and asked Sirius to make sure it happened. He’d meant well, always so worried about her, but Hermione hated feeling like she was being babysat.
The bike slowed to a crawl, but she wasn’t ready to open her eyes just yet. There was something so serene about keeping them closed and letting her other senses take over. The air was crisp, the bike was warm, and the man she was clinging to smelled positively divine. A mix of leather and spice, the unique combination of his cologne or aftershave was embedded in his jacket. He was the only thing grounding her to reality. Feeling each breath he took beneath her palms, she timed her own to match.
Far too soon for her liking, the bike rolled to a stop, and nothing was left of the engine’s steady purr beyond the residual vibrations thrumming through her veins. Reluctantly, Hermione pulled back, loosening her grip and letting her arms drop to her sides. Even her fingertips were tingling.
“You ready, kitten?”
“I don’t know why you insist on calling me that.” Playfully swatting at his shoulder, she felt her breath catch as she finally took a second to look around the clearing. “Wow.”
“Not too shabby, eh? Now come over here and close your eyes; I’ve got a plan.”
“Close my eyes?” Hermione almost laughed.
Sirius leveled her with a look. “Don’t you trust me?”
Grudgingly, Hermione acquiesced, holding out her hands and allowing Sirius to help her off the bike. “Fine.”
The last thing she saw before she shut her eyes was that same stupid smirk that meant nothing but mischief.
“Just a little bit farther.” He guided her, one hand on each shoulder, steering her around what she suspected were rocks or roots for a few dozen steps. His grip tightened as he pulled her to a stop. “Okay, open up.”
When Hermione opened her eyes, she was terrified.
Everything was open as far as she could see. Chancing a glance down at her feet, she saw that her toes were nearly touching the edge of the last bit of solid ground before the drop-off. She nearly panicked, until she felt the press of Sirius’ palms curled around her shoulders holding her steady. “Easy now. I’ve got you.”
Her shock wore off as she took in the sights before her. There was a tiny town in the distance, nestled amongst the trees and barely visible through the hazy swaths of fog rolling off the mountain tops.
“Where are we?” She didn’t dare turn around or move even a single muscle.
Sirius laughed. “Does it matter? I said I had a plan, remember.”
Hermione nodded.
“Right, so take a deep breath.” Hermione did as she was told, sucking in as much air as her lungs could possibly hold. “Good, now breathe out. Perfect. Repeat that a time or two more. Good. Good. Now close your eyes again.”
“Really? We are quite literally standing on the edge of a cliff, and even the slightest mistake could—”
“You wound me, kitten. I thought you said you trusted me.” Even without being able to see his face, she could hear the lilt of his smirk. “Right then. Are your eyes closed now?”
“Yes.”
“Perfect, take one more deep breath.” She did. “Now scream as loud as you possibly can.”
“Wait. What?” Hermione was not going to do that.
“I believe the instructions were quite clear. I thought you used to be good at following those.”
“I am, but—” Hermione blinked. Well, it wouldn’t hurt anything just to do it. She’d look silly, but it was only Sirius, and the quicker she did what he asked, the quicker they could be done with this exercise in frivolity. “Fine.”
The first time she did it, Sirius’ booming chuckle was louder than her voice.
“Again.”
The second time, he didn’t laugh. The third time was louder still, and by the time she felt her throat rasp with the effort, a strange sort of rush was racing through her veins. She felt… lighter.
“Well?”
Hermione spun around, her pulse racing and a smile stretching her cheeks. “Well?” she mocked, laughing as she shook her head. “I have to say it wasn’t the worst idea you’ve ever had.”
Sirius looked more smug than she’d ever seen him. “Far from my worst idea, indeed.”
With only a few steps separating them from the bike, only a few moments left in this strange sense of euphoria, Sirius reached out to grab her wrist, pulling them both to a stop. Being so close allowed her to see the way his features softened as he reached up to twist a curl around one of his fingers. She tried not to watch the motion, willed herself not to think about those thick fingers skating the curve of her jaw, trailing down the dip of her waist, touching other…
“I hope this helped.” His eyes drifted from the lock of hair wound around his finger to meet her gaze. “They’re the ones missing out. Not you. You don’t need the Ministry of Magic to make something of yourself, Hermione. You can do that on your own.”
Hermione swallowed around the lump in her throat, watching his eyes drift down to her lips. If she was honest with herself—and that was something she was actively working on—she could admit she felt something for the roguishly handsome man standing in front of her. She could admit that on especially lonely nights, after fielding his flirtations, she'd allowed her mind wander a time or two. It had always seemed like a far off prospect, something that existed only in a fantasy she’d held longer than she’d ever divulge. Sirius Black was a charming wizard and plenty of pretty witches wanted the heir of the ancient house. Hermione never let herself dwell on such pointless dreams. She was practical to a fault, buried under her work and married to her schedule.
But none of that mattered in that moment.
She no longer had a job or a plan of any kind. Under any other circumstances and with anyone else, she might have had a meltdown, but Sirius had a way of distracting her from that. He had a talent for pulling her out of her own mind that no one else could match.
Later she might blame the rush of endorphins for the decision. She might blame her lack of useful experience with the opposite sex. She might even blame the man in front of her and the unfair way his hair, even whipped around by the wind, fell just so, framing his stupidly handsome face.
But Hermione knew, deep down, that the only person she could blame for her next action was herself. It was a conscious choice to rise up on the tips of her toes and close the distance between them.
The kiss lasted for half a heartbeat before Sirius pulled back, his eyes wide, and Hermione felt her heart stop.
Sirius shook his head. “Hermione, we can’t—”
She didn’t even stay long enough to listen. In the blink of an eye, she spun around and Disapparated on the spot.