Crawling
A.N. Not sure what I'll do with this, going have a go at a first chapter, this is more a prologue or maybe one shot. Sirius/Hermione, fairly graphic with plenty of swearing. If this will offend you please don't read. Reviews would be super . Just a first draft, probably revamp once I've decided where it's going.
Warning: This contains underage Hermione, OotP – summer at Grimmauld Place is the setting.
I never should have let it get this far. But you've infected me like a cancer and now what the fuck am I supposed to do? Cut you out like the malignant little tumour you are? But I can't. I'm emphysema patient clutching at my Benson and Hedges. And I fucking hate myself. I hate you. I hate your smile. Your pretty little innocent face that looks like it hasn't been kissed let alone done the things I've seen it do. I hate your creamy skin. I hate the way you moan when I bury my hands in your thick brown hair and tug just a little bit. I hate the way you wrap your legs around my back and dig your pretty little nails into my shoulders. I fucking hate you. You've turned me into a monster. You've finished the job Azkaban started. Christ if Harry knew. Harry. You know. Your best friend. My Godson. The reason I escaped. The reason I didn't let them send me fucking mad in that hell hole. The only piece of James I have left, and I'm risking it all for you?
But I always was an idiot. And why change now? Too reckless. Too bloody reckless you say. And what about you sweetheart? Wandering around like a little tease, flirting with a man old enough to be your Father right under your best friend's nose? Slipping through his bedroom door in the depths of night in your little pyjamas, crawling onto the bed and kneeling there with that hair I hate tumbling around your shoulders, your creamy little thighs, leaning forward towards me, asking if you can stay. And I tell you should go back to bed, that it would destroy Harry if he knew, that I can't risk it, that Dumbledore would take me back to Azkaban personally.
But I don't, of course I don't. I grab you, and pull you against my chest, and you stare up at me in a way that I hate, and I hate the way your little wrists feel caught up in my hands, I hate the faint flowery smell coming from your hair, I hate the way that gorgeous little chest of your rises and falls so rapidly, I hate the way you lick your lips as you look at me, the way your eyes narrow in desire, and-
I hate how easy it is, how easy it is to pull you up to me, to crush your sweet little mouth with mine, to run my tongue against yours and feel your moan vibrate against my lips, feel your breasts pushing against my chest as you try to wiggle closer to me, how easy it is to push you down onto the bed. To climb on top of you and pin your hands above your head. To whisper things in your ear that I had almost forgotten. To see you blush and moan and squirm underneath me, bucking your short covered hips up against me, to-
To make you scream, to make little know it all Hermione scream out a convicted mass murderer's name, to make you moan it and breathe it and gasp it.
And it's so much easier to pretend I hate you, because the truth is infinitely more repulsive. Reckless to the point of clinically insane, even by my standards. I'm obsessed with you, and when you go back to Hogwarts I'll go out of my mind. And you will go back to Hogwarts. I hate you. I hate Hogwarts. I want you. Merlin.